#the interval runs during the week just wipe me out but during the long run i’m purely just trying to see.. well how long i can run

[fingertipsmp3]

I ran for the entire duration of Cruel Summer btw 🥰

[beccascribbles]

omg I LOVEDDD your manager omegaverse fic, 100000/10 (also an atsumu simp so loved that for me) I was wondering if you could maybe do a similar one with Semi (he does not get enough love) whose mate goes into heat but goes to a different school and he goes to pick her up to take care of her with maybe a dash of harassment from a stranger and he goes sicko mode >< although I understand if this is too similar to the last prompt! anyways, love your writing sm

a/n - ahrgjfofh i’m glad you liked it!! honestly had so much fun writing it mainly because of how much i like the omegaverse dynamic (kind of one of my favourite things to read) and inarizaki. not too similar at all! hope you enjoy (and that you don’t mind i made her a manager for karasuno!)

warnings - harassment (unwanted touching)

Sometimes you were jealous of the couples you would see on your walk to school. While you acknowledged that your situation wasn't the worst (you still lived in the same prefecture), most of the time you felt your relationship was long-distance. It was rare to see Semi during the week, both of your after school times being taken up by volleyball, him as a player and you as a manager. There was the occasional late night meet up, though these were rare (and had not happened recently) as you often fell into a deep sleep as soon as your head touched the pillows on your bed. You looked down at your lock screen, a grin pulling at your lips as Semi's face stared back at you. He was leant against the foot of your bed, his guitar resting in his lap, a notebook open in front of him. The love in his eyes was clear, and it made your heart clench. You missed him, craved his scent, the feel of his arms wrapped around you, more desperately than you ever had before.

"y/n!" yelled a voice, snapping you from your thoughts. You turned to see Sugawara barrelling towards you, his bag hanging loosely from one shoulder. "Wait up. We can walk in together."

You stopped, allowing your friend to catch up. Sugawara grinned over at you, taking note of the distinct purple jacket you were wearing over your uniform. He gave you a playful nudge. “I’d take that off before Kageyama or Hinata see you. They’ll throw a fit, call you a traitor.”

In response, you simply shrugged, wrapping your arms around yourself and inhaling deeply. Semi’s scent was faint, almost non-existent. Sugawara’s scent was more prominent, making a small frown form on your face. It wasn’t that Sugawara didn’t smell nice. In fact, his scent was one of your favourites, calming you when Semi wasn’t present to do so. But Sugawara wasn’t Semi. He wasn’t your mate.

“Hey, earth to y/n!” yelled Sugawara, waving his hand in front of your face. This effectively snapped you from your thoughts, and you shot him a glare.

“What was that for?” you hissed, a low growl escaping from your lips. Looking rather sheepish at your sudden anger, Sugawara avoided your gaze, preferring to gaze at the approaching school gates. Briefly, he considered using his pheromones to soothe you, but something about your glare told him it wouldn’t be appreciated, that the only scent that could do anything was your mate’s.

“You were ignoring me,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his head, eyes frantically searching for a familiar face that might help diffuse the situation. He perked up, waving his arm in the air and calling out, “Daichi! Asahi! Shimizu!”

The group near the front of the school building stopped, turning around and raising their hands to acknowledge his greeting. Sugawara jogged forward, slinging his arm over Asahi’s shoulder. He murmured something to the group, likely a warning, and jerked his head in your direction. Kiyoko seemed to understand the fastest, being an omega herself, and headed towards you, her approach calm.

“Are you feeling okay, y/n?” she greeted, voice gentle and soothing. Her scent was also soft, washing over you pleasantly, easing your tension. You felt yourself relax, and a soft whimper escaped you.

“No,” you breathed, stepping forward and resting your head against her shoulder. Tears pooled in the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill as the longing for Semi hit you again. “I hate it. I just want to be near him. It’s so unfair.”

She reached up, giving your back a reassuring rub as she felt tears dampen her shirt. You let out a sob, your scent souring. A small hiccup escaped your lips and you sniffled, pulling away. Kiyoko held out a tissue for you, her next words a comfort. “Skip practice tonight. Go and see Semi. We can manage without you and I’ll tell you anything important that you miss. The coaches will understand.”

You nodded, a smile brightening your features as you wrapped your arms around her shoulders and pulled her into a tight hug. “Thank you, Kiyoko.”

Despite knowing you were going to see Semi later, the longing you felt, the desire for him, didn’t decrease. As the day dragged on, it got worse, your pheromones spiking at random intervals as if trying to call him to you. Your attempts to dampen your scent were increasingly weakening, to the point where a teacher asked you to meet them outside.

You rose from your desk shakily, legs wobbling. Beads of sweat formed at your forehead, and you swiped it away dismissively. You tugged at your collar, feeling suffocated. The teacher held the door open for you, giving you a concerned look before following you out into the hallway.

“l/n,” she began calmly, “when is your next heat cycle?”

Your eyebrows furrowed as you tried to recall the information. It had been a long time since the date had any significant meaning to you. You glanced at the teacher, quietly asking for permission to check your phone. She nodded in response, watching as your eyes widened and you breathed out a quiet, “Shit.”

The teacher’s assumption had been correct, and she could hardly berate you for swearing when the most important thing was to remove you to a safe place. She instructed, “I’ll go into the classroom and collect your things. Do you need my help to go to the medical room or will you be able to go there yourself?”

“It’s only down the hall so I should be fine,” you replied. Your heat had not fully started yet, your head still clear enough to enable you to make decisions, though you were slowly losing the ability to reign your scent in. It filled the hallway, causing the teacher’s nose to wrinkle. She quickly disappeared into the classroom, returning with your things.

“Call someone who can help you on your way there,” she commanded before stepping back into the classroom.

Hands shaking, you clicked on Semi’s contact, immediately pressing down on the call button. He was the only one you wanted to see now. Even if he was in class, you knew he would answer. He would understand it was an emergency. It was an unspoken rule to never call during the school day unless that was the case. The phone rang.

“y/n?” came Semi’s voice through the phone, rich and deep, “are you okay?”

“Eita...” you whimpered, leaning back against the wall, fingers convulsing around the phone. “Eita, I need you.”

“What happened?” he demanded. You sounded desperate, like the only thing you truly desired was him.

“I’m going into heat.”

He froze then, letting out a breath. It had slipped his mind that it was time for your next heat, evidently having slipped from yours too. Dread filled him at the thought of you, alone and defenceless. Anything could happen. His voice was tight when he spoke again. “Where are you? Please tell me you’re going somewhere safe.”

“I’m in the hallway,” you sighed. He let out a low growl at your words, not directed towards you but whoever might come across you. “I’m going to the medical room now.”

“Good,” he said. Through the phone, you could hear him running down the corridor. “I’ll see you there.”

The phone went silent, and you slumped against the wall, a pout on your face. He could have at least said goodbye. Hanging up so abruptly, though the meaning behind it was clear, still made you feel unwanted. The irrational part of your mind insisted that he didn’t want you, and you let out a pitiful whine, beginning to shuffle down the corridor. A tear dribbled down your cheek and you wiped it away angrily. The rational part of your brain knew you were being ridiculous, that Semi had hung up so abruptly to get to you quicker. You reached for the jacket you had folded up and placed in your bag, burying your face in the material and sucking in a deep breath. His scent was faint, but in your heightened state, it smelt more prominent than it had in weeks.

After a few more deep lungfuls of air, you began to shuffle down the corridor towards the medical room. A sudden pungent scent caused you to snap to attention, head jerking to the side as your eyes fell on a young alpha hovering in a doorway. Their body was tense, their gaze fixed on you. You froze under the attention, attempting fruitlessly to reign your scent back in. The alpha’s nostrils flared and they took a step forward, eyes shining with desire. Your whole body went tense, dread creeping up your spine. As you took a hurried step back, you felt your legs buckle, barely managing to catch yourself on the wall.

The alpha lunged forward, hands hitting the wall either side of your head as they leaned in, taking in a deep breath. They leaned forward, letting out a low growl as their nose traced the scent gland at your neck. You stayed still, breathing shallow, as their face buried into your neck, hoping that if you remained still they would lose interest. It was foolish of you to entertain this idea, knowing that the scent of an omega in heat was intoxicating, made weak and young alpha’s lose all sense of reason.

“Please,” you whimpered, hands going up to press against their chest, attempting to push them away from you. They simply growled, pushing closer to you, one hand bracing the wall while the other wrapped around your waist, fingers digging into skin. “Please let me go.”

It was pathetic, the way your heat made you weak. What was more pathetic was the way something as simple as an omega’s scent could make an alpha lose all sense of reason. As the alpha released their pheromones, the scent weakening you, making you dizzy, all you could do was whimper.

“Eita,” you whined, voice high-pitched and breathy. The desperation was clear in your voice, clearer by the way you weakly struggled against them. Your leg kicked out, landing a feeble strike to their shin. Still, they didn’t pull away. “Help me.”

It was those two words that filled Semi’s ears as he rounded the corner, slightly out of breath and panting from his run to Karasuno. The first thing that hit him was your scent, the second that of the alpha who had found you. He scanned the corridor for you, eyes immediately falling on your cowering figure. You pleaded helplessly with the alpha in front of you. The alpha wasn’t listening, ignoring the slight sourness to your scent, the wretched edge to your voice.

Semi’s lips curled upward, baring his teeth as a growl ripped from deep within him, the sound loud and threatening. His pheromones exploded outward, launching through the air and assaulting the younger alpha’s senses, causing them to release a choked groan. The other alpha’s head turned towards him, fighting against the more powerful alpha’s scent and growling in return.

“I found her first,” they declared. To punctuate their point, they placed a kiss to the scent gland in your neck, their teeth grazing the sensitive sink. You flinched away, fixing Semi with a helpless look, your whole body shaking with despair and disgust. Another alpha had dared to touch you in such an intimate way. The act was audacious, ignorant to the way you’d called for another alpha and the intimidating presence of that other alpha at the end of the hallway. It was this act that caused Semi to snap, his whole world focusing in on one point. It was the alpha in front of him.

He lunged forward, tackling them to the floor as his hands wrapped around the other alpha’s neck and his legs pinned the other alpha to the floor, keeping their arms trapped. He pressed his weight down on their wrists, a satisfied smirk overtaking his face at the slight cracking sound. As his hands tightened around their neck, the smirk widened, finding a sadistic delight in the choked grunt that escaped the young alpha’s mouth.

“Stay the fuck away from my mate,” he growled, shaking their limp body slightly. “You fucking piece of shit.”

Their mouth opened uselessly, attempting to speak even as they struggled to draw breath. Semi lifted their head up, slamming it back down on the floor with a loud thump. His voice was sharp as he spat, “Keep your fucking mouth shut. I don’t want to hear a word from your filthy mouth, you pathetic excuse for an alpha.”

He finally released the alpha, his hands imprinted on their neck in a ring of red. He stood up, leering over the alpha. “Get the fuck out of my sight.”

They scrambled upwards, taking off down the corridor, their scent reeking of the bitter tang of fear. Semi didn’t spare them another glance, immediately crossing the distance between you and pulling you into his arms, pressing your head to the scent gland in his neck as he brushed his wrist up and down your body. You pressed yourself firmer against him, arms wrapping around his slender waist to hold him tighter. He felt tears dampen his skin, letting out another low growl.

"Fucking piece of shit," he grumbled, holding you closer. His hands slid down to rest at the top of your thighs and the slight squeeze he gave them communicated what he intended. Semi lifted you up, your legs locking around his waist and arms around his neck. A distressed whine escaped your lips as you nuzzled in closer, taking comfort in his scent. "It's okay, y/n. I've got you."

He wanted to berate you, anything to ease the tension that still locked his muscles together. He couldn't do that to you though. While you should have been aware of your heat, it was also his responsibility as your alpha to be aware of this information. He could hardly scold you for what had happened in the corridor. That was the fault of that other alpha. The very thought of it made his blood boil, and he pressed his nose into your hair, drawing in another deep breath of your scent. It reassured him that you were there, that you were safe.

"Want to go home with you," you mumbled, hot breath tickling the sensitive skin of his neck. He knelt awkwardly, keeping his balance as he picked up your bag from the floor, slinging the strap over his shoulder.

"Okay," he soothed, voice gentle as he strengthened his own scent to stiffle your own, hoping to avoid attracting any other foolish alphas. "I'll take you home."

"Don't leave me, Eita," you whimpered. "Need you."

"I would never leave you," he said, brushing a gentle kiss to the top of your head, thumb rubbing calming circles into your thigh. A pleased purr rumbled through your body at his words, and a satsified smile took over Semi's expression. "We'll be home soon, okay?"

"Okay."

[allie1804-fan]

Kerensa

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Parting Is such sweet sorrow

There was just over a week before Keanu was due to head home. He was browsing in the Round House Gallery on the Harbour front for gifts to take home - he’d already bought an oil painting of Tresco from there for himself, arranging for it to be shipped home.

At the counter, a flyer advertising a production of “Romeo and Juliet” being staged at the Minack theatre caught his eye – The Minack is a famed open air theatre carved into the dramatic clifftop above Porth Curno. He took a flyer back to the cottage and showed it to Kerry suggesting they get tickets.

The night arrived and, at her suggestion based on previous experience, they took a couple of cushions to sit on and a rug for their knees to guard against the cold as night fell. The weather is mild in Cornwall but it was still only late May and temperatures would drop as it’s still cool at night.

Before the start, they bought some hot Cornish pasties and a bottle of red to share. The wine came with little re-usable cups with a cute image of the theatre printed on them that they could take home afterward as a keepsake. With pasties eaten, it was time for the rug which Kerry tucked around them both and they settled down, knees pressed together, to enjoy the show. During the show, Kerry could see Keanu silently mouthing some of the lines, especially Mercutio’s - he explained during the interval that it had been one of his earliest roles, aged at 21 for the Leah Posluns Theatre in Ontario.

The show ended to rapturous applause under the spotlights and with the moonlight sparkling on the sea below it was really a breath-taking spectacle.

They lingered a little in their seats while the crowd made its way up the steps to the exit. When it had cleared a little Keanu suggested they take in the beach before heading back to Sennen. They had a little time before their taxi came which they’d booked knowing they’d be having a drink and that the Cornish roads at night did not favour a driver with even just one drink inside them!

They stood on the sand, gazing up at the cliffs and stars - Kerry was tilting her head back so much she nearly lost her balance! You could see the main constellations really clearly and it was fun to name them. Keanu was enthralled by her wonderment - she looked so beautiful gazing up at the midnight blue sky and the clifftop theatre, her face lit up by the moon. She shivered a little with the cold breeze off the sea and he took the rug from her hands and threw it around her. As he tucked it around her, they smiled at each other. Her eyes had a twinkle, one he recognised from their time in Tresco when they’d got a bit giggly drinking in the New Inn and he remembered the same look when he’d said goodnight to her after they’d got drunk in the pub at Sennen with her sister. Her guard was down and the affection she felt was clear in her eyes. He stepped closer to her, still holding the edges of the rug in each hand. A voice in his head said this was rash but he couldn’t help it. Scrunching the rug up and using it to pull her to him, he placed a soft kiss on her lips. His arms slipped around her and the kiss deepened but just as their tongues touched and he felt virtual fireworks going off in his head, she pulled away, pushing on his chest and breaking their kiss.

Swallowing thickly and clearly holding back tears, she blurted out:

“No stop, we can’t, I can’t, I’m sorry, I just can’t - you’re going home soon and this, this will make it hurt even more”

She looked down at her feet, shoulders slumped, then wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

“I’m sorry, so sorry, I know shouldn’t have done that, it’s just, God, you’re so beautiful tonight and I feel so much for you and it all just came spilling out, you know, in the moment.”

She took his hand in hers, softly rubbing his knuckles with her thumb.

“Thank you” She sighed heavily “I feel so much for you too - just protecting my poor old heart I guess.”

He nodded, his expression as sad and wistful as hers. They were quiet on the climb back up to the car park from the beach. It was steep and a bit treacherous in the dark so she relented on one aspect of physical closeness and let him hold her hand up the path, dropping it when they got to the car park where the taxi was just pulling in. On the way back to Sennen she took the front seat and he the back. Keanu cursed himself for his impetuousness whilst also pondering that it had surely been a long time since a kiss had made him feel something so intensely. Once back in Sennen they said their goodnights with a chaste kiss on the cheek.

Keanu slept terribly, tossing and turning all night, dreaming of Kerry, of kissing her, of Kerry naked rising and falling above him, taking him inside her, her hair cascading over her shoulders. He woke with a start, grateful he hadn’t had a wet dream, then relieved his pent-up lust in his morning shower, pressing his head against the glass after he’d cum, finally letting tears of regret fall.

For the next two days, he didn’t see Kerry at all. Usually, they saw each other every day somehow or other but she was obviously avoiding him – he guessed she was taking Scout for super early walks knowing he wasn’t a naturally early riser.

On the third day and his last in Cornwall, he set an alarm for 6 AM and listened out for her leaving the house, then scrambled to get dressed and head out himself. He looked down the beach and could see she’d gone that way today so he’d be able to catch her up or meet her on the return leg of the walk. He had to apologise for the kiss.

In the end, he caught up on the outward leg as she’d stopped by the shore to let Scout run in and out of the waves and was just staring out to sea.

“Hey there!” he called.

“Hey” she said, her voice expressing her surprise.

“You’ve been avoiding me” he stated “So I set an alarm to make sure I could speak with you. Listen Kerry, about the other night. I’m so sorry, I know it was stupid and I’m sorry, the last thing I wanted to do was hurt you – I was just so caught up in the moment, the beauty of it all. The play, the moonlight, the sea and the stars.”

“I know, and I know you’d never hurt me. You’re too kind for that” she smiled but it was with sad eyes.

“And I should be saying sorry too, for sneaking around avoiding you. I’ve been a coward. And I promised myself I would stop that behaviour, you know, after the divorce. I said I’d be true to myself and honest with people and I need to stick to it.”

Up to this point Kerry had been mainly looking down, almost talking to herself but now she drew in a shaky breath and looked him in the eye.

“I could fall, no let’s face it, I am falling in love with you and I know there’s no future for us and a fling or a one nighter would be wonderful in the moment but would just be too painful in the end so that’s why I’ve avoided you! And I’m sorry for that, there I’ve said it now”

She blew out another long breath and let her shoulders droop, relieved to have said her piece.

Keanu was taken aback. Half thrilled and half devastated. Why did this have to happen now and here, over 7000 miles from his home?

“I’m falling in love with you too” he said quietly, sadly “but you’re right my life’s back there in LA. I have to go, I have commitments ……….. meetings, another location shoot. I’m sorry.”

She moved closer, took his hand and kissed it.

“Just one of those things, huh?”

He nodded and pulled her into a bear hug, she pressed her face against his heart which he knew was beating a little faster than usual.

“Come on let’s go walk it off, up on the cliffs, let the fresh air clear our heads.” he suggested.

They headed off up the beach and onto the coast path towards Lands End. They walked mostly in silence, each thinking about what was around the corner for them, each heartsore that the other wasn’t part of their futures.

“You know, I’d like to stay in touch” Kerry offered as they paused for a while on the path when Scout went scurrying off after spotting a rabbit.

“I’d like that too” he paused “but maybe not too much, too soon, you know. I guess we both need some space to let this be a friendship we cherish and not something that makes us sad.

“deal” she said sticking her hand out to shake on it.

“deal” he smiled back but like hers, his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

The next day, Keanu left for home. She came into the cottage to tell him the taxi was out front.

They shared a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“We’ll keep in touch yeah?” he said.

“Yeah but remember not too much, no mooning!”

He laughed

“I’ll have you know I’m a veteran mooner” and he turned away from her pretending he was going to do the other kind of mooning, making her laugh. At least that broke the tension and he picked up his canvas hold all and his carry-on bag and with that, he was gone.

@fortheloveoffanfic@ladyreapermc@paperplanesandwallflowers@toomanystoriessolittletime@omg-imagine@fics-not-tragedies@ficsnroses@keanureevesisbae

[aquarianlights]

I am in a serious financial bind. 😥 If anyone is in a position to listen & help or signal boost, pls keep reading...

This is from my apartment complex. I am in low-income housing. I called them & sent them proof I could pay on the 23rd. I told them I could (just barely) put 100 down now & they said that was too little.

They said they would file for eviction on the 16th, which adds $150 to my rent. They will cancel the court date and eviction on the 23rd when I pay.

But that doesn't cancel the $150 filing fee.

Idk where that $150 would come from. Idky they think it's fair that someone who cannot pay should be forced to pay even more??? That makes no sense. I can only just barely afford my rent every month as is.

These are from my energy company. I apparently owe them over $600. I genuinely do not know how this happened. We were on the phone for a very long time trying to figure it out & I was in tears for the latter portion of it because I swear I paid.

I usually keep record of my payments via taking a picture of my receipt since they are electronic, but my dog chewed up my phone (which I have pics of if need be for evidence) and broke it, so I had to get a replacement phone sent to me from the insurance company & nothing transferred from the old phone, so all my pics were wiped.

I found no record in my emails, either.

The meds I am taking to try to go into remission and the autoimmune disease itself both cause brain fog and issues with time warping, so it is possible maybe I skipped a month or something, but I highly doubt I would have skipped up to 600+ dollars worth of payments.

I have tons of electronic and hard copy calendars & they are all synced and constantly updated so that I know when payments are due. I also have text and email reminders sent to me, but I could find no reminders in my email for MONTHS now until they were telling me they were going to shut my power off if I didn't pay this. Idk why I was not sent reminders for months???

In the end, I agreed to set up a payment plan. Paying, like... 50-60ish on top of whatever my electric bill is every month for 12 months. It was the lowest they could go.

I can barely afford my electric bill as it is, so idk how I will be able to do this? They did give me a list of charities in my area so I will be using what little energy I have to call around & see if any of them would be willing to help me pay this. Idk how those work (they're mostly churches???), so I'm just gonna try & see what happens. 🤔

On top of all that, I *think* this is telling me my Medicaid has been cancelled but I'm not 100% sure?????

I'm going through treatment for a very serious, disabling problem that should last ~1 year and rn Medicaid is picking up what my Medicare doesn't cover and some of my doctors/specialists and treatments are medicaid only.

If I lose this, I'm basically done.

I know they'll do backpay if I get it back, but Idk if I *will* get it back. I'll be trying to get it back, but in the meantime, I guess I'll just have to pay out of pocket, idk??? Which I do not have.

I have lost almost ALL autonomy due to this autoimmune disease, which (in a very simplified form) is basically my immune cells "eating" my muscle tissue. I can barely get out of bed. Treatment should put me in remission & give me my life back. I am seeing a rheumatologist, neurologist, dermatologist, PCP, physical therapist, psychiatrist, psychologist, and going to a holistic pain treatment center that does a different kind of physical therapy to bring down pain levels (which I was put into that program by my rheum). All of these are in relation to & necessary for my disease. I am going through TONS of testing almost weekly now & trying out treatments like IVIG and chemo where I am in the hospital hooked up to an IV for 4-6+ hrs of that day and the cost of those things without Medicaid picking up what Medicare doesn't cover is astronomical. I have to sign waivers every time I get my blood drawn (which is almost weekly now), do tests, and do treatments saying I will pay if Medicaid does not pick up the extra.

I already have crippling medical debt; I don't need more. I'm scared they won't let me do any more tests or treatments if they see I am just letting it all go to collections & am not paying.

This could mean the difference between having a life worth living (to me) where I am happy & thriving & autonomous or being bed-bound & living a life of just existing from day to day & miserable & in pain & suffering & unable to do anything for myself. This is literally life and death for me because I wouldn't be able to handle continuing to live in the latter scenario. I cannot handle living like I am now. Knowing my treatments are progressing is what keeps me going. Knowing I can go into remission is what keeps me going. Knowing my future is one completely different from now is what keeps me going. But if I cannot have that and am destined to live in this current state, it's just not worth it. I don't know a person alive who would want to live like this.

Finally, my anger noodle needs to get to the vet for MULTIPLE things. Nothing is, like... life threatening or super immediate like his cancer was last year, but they're things that need to be addressed in terms of preventative care & to make sure he isn't in pain.

He needs his trachea checked, possibly x-rays for that, maybe more...

He needs some medication updates, needs a physical, needs a full groom & nail clip under anesthesia (for those who are not familiar with Echo, he has extreme fear-based aggression & usually gets this done under anesthesia; since I worked with him so much, he had his first non-anesthesia nail clip at the beginning of quarantine, but he has gotten worse during quarantine & with my muscle eating disease, I can no longer restrain him & don't have the physical strength to run a brush through his thicker fur as his winter coat is in, so I can no longer groom certain areas of him at home, so his tummy & back legs are matted & I fear he may need to be shaved... which breaks my heart since you don't shave double coat dogs unless medically necessary.), he needs a full physical, & needs to be checked over for MCT's.

He may also need a fecal test or something else, as he has been having odd bowel movements. 😥 His tummy has been upset lately.

I have been crying myself to sleep every single night & often during the day because I cannot get him to the vet. No, it isn't urgent or life threatening. But he is reverse sneezing more than normal & I worry about tracheal collapse, which is a common small dog thing & even MORE common in pomeranians specifically. Every time he has a fit, I think "Oh god, this is it. This is the time I'm gonna have to rush him to the e-vet & get slammed with a huge bill & he is not gonna be okay..."

It breaks my heart to see his legs & belly matted. He is horrible about letting me groom him coz of his aggression so he only gets a full grooms at the vet, but I do short grooming sessions at home with him nightly. Takes about 2 hours just to do the majority of one side of him (not even all of it; just most) coz he needs breaks & lots of praise every few strokes or he will tear me to shreds & hurt himself snapping on the undercoat rake. 😥

But now that my autoimmune disease has atrophied my muscles to the point holding up my phone without something to prop it up feels like I am lifting weights & tires my arms out with a lactic acid burn & pain, I can no longer groom him with the patience he needs & can only groom in 20 minute intervals at the VERY longest. By the time I have gotten one leg done during the week, his entire other side is matted. 😞 Matting on dogs---especially double coat dogs---hurts them. It's like if someone were to wrap your hair around their fingers & then pull it taut. It's a constant pulling pressure on their skin... it's painful & irritates the epidermis. I feel miserable feeling the matting on his back legs & tummy & now feeling the mats beginning to form on the rest of him. He hates me working them out, even with the detangling spray. I know it must hurt so much...

So he may need to be shaved at this point & that will destroy me. I feel sick thinking about it. But anything to get him out of pain. Maybe it is what's best for him while I go through this year of treatment & get my muscles back. But in order to do that, I need to get him to the vet.

The stress of not being able to get him to a vet is tearing me apart & literally making me physically ill.

He is my world. My everything. My #1. My heart dog. My priority in life. My entire universe revolves around him. I would do anything for him. Not a single person, animal, thing, etc, comes before him. It is KILLING me that I cannot provide proper care for him right now. I always always always make sure to sacrifice for him if need be & his things ALWAYS come first, even if it means I'm not eating or not paying bills or whatever. As long as he is taken care of & his needs & wants are met, nothing else matters to me. And right now........ I feel he is suffering because of my finances & the fact my treatment with building my muscles up is not going fast enough.

I cannot control the latter one, but the first one is something I can at least ask for help for. So that is what I am doing.

If anyone is in a place to help, these are my venmo & cashapp codes. I also have paypal.

💙 Venmo: @kqroswell

💚 Cashapp: $kqroswell

💜 Paypal: @kqroswell or thekilliancode@yahoo.com

If there is another form of payment you're thinking of, lemme know. I also have fb pay activated if you have me on FB (Killian Q Roswell).

Thank you to everyone who read through this & anyone who can help or reblog this. 💖

Sincerely,

Your v scared, struggling transman who really wants his bills/rent paid & his dog to go to the vet,

Killian 💞

[kookiebunnii]

pairing: mark(got7) x reader

genre: fluff for the birthday boy 🥳

word count: 4.3k

warnings: mature language

When Mark had been dating your roommate, you barely spared him a second glance.

Being a college undergraduate meant that you had plenty of exams and coursework to worry about without having to keep track of who Ingrid was “dating” this month. The two of you got along as well as two individuals who kept to themselves could get along. She was rarely home, and when she was, she’d spare you the awkward introduction to her new fling by quickly ushering him into her room. You always told yourself that your living situation could’ve been way worse, so you let Ingrid’s business proceed without much of a complaint.

You couldn’t even remember how long the two lasted, given the amount of fuckboys that had walked through her door. It was a wonder that you could even recall his name, to be frank. Perhaps he left some semblance of an impression because of the way he never walked around like he owned the place like most of Ingrid’s conquests. There were times you’d find an unknown shirt hanging haphazardly across the couch or one of your pudding cups gone missing from the fridge. Despite these occurrences, you disliked confrontation, so you chose to endure rather than address your grievances. While Ingrid had been with Mark, you remember being considerably more comfortable in your own residence.

If someone had told you that you’d be head over heels in love with Mark Tuan only a month after your roommate ended things with him, you’d probably have a good laugh. You were more invested in the comebacks of the boy groups you loved than some boy your roommate, of all people, had once been with. Besides, you were a commitment-seeking gal, and anyone that pursued your roommate was definitely not expecting anything long-term.

The suggestion that you would grow attracted to such a guy would have seemed ludicrous. Yet maybe this is why the saying “not everything is as it seems” exists.

The whole ordeal began relatively innocuously. You were waiting on your hazelnut latte at the university’s central coffee shop, preparing to head to the library for some much-needed studying. Midterms were around the corner, and you had spent one too many days dozing off in lectures to feel prepared. It seemed that most of the student population had the same idea as you, since the café was bustling for a Wednesday afternoon. You tried your best to stay out of everyone’s way, focusing instead on checking the time on your cell phone and planning out your schedule for the rest of the day.

When you finally have your order in your hands, you take a small sip before heading for the exit. Right when that happens, a form in your periphery suddenly rushes in and knocks the hot coffee out of your grasp. Thankfully, or as much thanks as you could offer in such a tragedy, most of the drink cascades on the tiled floor. Only a little of your latte scalds your hand and paints your white sweater with brown polka dots. The disappointment you feel about losing your drink is quickly overshadowed by embarrassment when people start staring and the painful burning blossoms across the back of your hand.

“Shit, I’m so sorry.”

Your offender rushes to grab some napkins, immediately going to work on wiping the floor. As his head is lowered, you try to think of a smart response. Just as you were about to give the rude kid a piece of your mind, he looks up and the words dry up on your tongue.

“Y/N?”

“Mark?” you finally manage, surprised he even remembered who you were.

He quickly hands you a napkin, looking even more apologetic before responding, “Here, for your hand and sweater…I’m so sorry I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“It’s fine,” you quickly reassure, doing your best to clean yourself up. The coffee will likely stain your sweater at this rate, so you decide to simply study at your apartment instead so you can change into new clothes.

This certainly puts a wrench into your plans, doesn’t it?

“Let me buy you another coffee. A new sweater too, it looks like,” he gives you a timidly awkward smile, as if he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to do so.

You offer him a quick rise of the corners of your lips, but not much else. It still felt a little shocking and disappointing to be in such a predicament, and you sure as hell didn’t want Ingrid’s ex to be owing you any favors.

“As I said, it’s fine. Really. This was an old sweater anyways,” you grab the hem as you speak, before trying to dodge around him to leave.

When he quickly blocks your attempt to escape, you realize the guy’s reflexes are quite remarkable. However, you wanted to be rid of this awkward situation as soon as possible, so his actions made you purse your lips together in discontent.

“I’m really sorry, Y/N. This really wasn’t the way I’d imagine bumping into you again. Literally I guess,” he shyly runs his hand through his hair, which is now surprisingly dyed blonde. You knew something about him was different, but now you pinpoint it as his hair. He used to wear his natural dark brown locks when he was with Ingrid, so the change catches you off guard. It suits him well though, the way it easily brightens his whole demeanor.

“Don’t worry about it, it happens,” you tuck your hand into your pocket and continue, “Look I’ve really gotta go, I have midterms to study for.”

He promises you that he’ll pay you back as you rush out the door.  

It seems that Mark is a man of his word, because the next day, you find a mysterious package addressed to you waiting outside the door. With no shipping label and your name scrawled on the top of the box, your survival instincts tell you that opening it on the living room floor was probably the last thing you should’ve done. However, that happened to be exactly what you did.

The first thing you notice was a small note laying atop a variety of items that were wrapped up with layers of navy-colored tissue paper. Reading through the note causes a bright flush to dash across your cheekbones, as you realize that the suspicious package was from Mark.

Ingrid’s Mark.

You began to slowly examine the rest of the contents with less zeal, hoping that your roommate wouldn’t pop out of a corner and accuse you of having something with her old flame. The neatly-folded white sweater you discovered inside was very similar to what you previously wore before the coffee incident. However, the material was definitely a lot nicer and you spent a good two minutes just stroking the material with your fingers. His attention to detail regarding what you had worn was crazy good, leaving you more than a little impressed.

Moving forward, you found a package of instant coffee—hazelnut-flavored to be exact. You grinned, realizing that Mark’s attention to detail really was impeccable. Perhaps anyone could’ve identified the hazelnut syrup in your drink if they spent five minutes wiping it off the floor, but he had gone out of his way to identify the same flavor for you.

It was kinda cute, actually.

As soon as the thought appears, you quickly shake it out of your head. Mark couldn’t be cute. He couldn’t be anything more than somebody you knew, someone who was paying you back for an inconvenience. He was doing these things because he owed you—even if he wasn’t exactly obligated to go through such lengths.

Before you could try to evaluate your feelings about the matter, you decide to boil some hot water for the coffee you’ve just received. It seems as if the universe is conspiring against you however, as Ingrid emerges from her room right on cue. She gives the box on the floor a quick glance before asking, “Did you order something?”

You tuck the thin pack of instant coffee in your pocket next to Mark’s note. Your fingers tighten across the slip of paper, crushing it into a condensed ball as you spoke.

“Yeah. Just some random stuff.”

“Sweater’s cute,” she remarks, grabbing your gift and running her hands through the material in the same way you had previously. You felt something twist in your heart at her ministrations, as if her touch were contaminating and wearing away what that article of clothing had meant to you.

When she finally leaves after dropping the sweater back in the box, you take the entire box to your room and dump it in a corner of your closet with a slam so you wouldn’t have to see it anymore.

It just so happens that that package from a boy with golden locks would signal the start of a series of frequent disruptions within your day-to-day lifestyle.

Fate probably thought it would be funny to let Mark Tuan slip into your life little by little, for a few seconds each day, just to tease you. You were starting to wonder if the boy was stalking you, given how often you would see him at unpredictable intervals. If you went to the library to study, he’d be there borrowing a textbook from the front desk. If you wanted to buy a coffee and a pastry for breakfast, he’d already be at the cashier paying for his own. If you were rushing to class, slightly late because you’d overslept, you’d almost crash into him in front of your building.

He’d always give you that cute smile with a little wave of his hand to accompany it.

Your life was a grade A joke at this point.

Midterms had long been over by the time you finally took him up on his offer to hang out one-on-one. You had spent a lot of time and effort into putting him off, making excuses for why not a single day of the week would work for you. When November rolled around, all Mark had to do was raise his lower lip slightly in a pout for you to forget why you were trying so hard to avoid him in the first place. You’d never seen the boy purposefully act in such a cute way to get something, but it definitely made your heart leap in your chest.

Even when he took you to a nice minimalistic café to pay for a drink and slice of strawberry cake, he couldn’t stop apologizing for bumping into you during midterms season. You had honestly forgotten about it, but the way he talked about how foolish he felt after the whole ordeal made you smile unconsciously. The consideration he had put into making it up to you stressed him out greatly. He couldn’t stop wondering whether or not you even liked the sweater. Did it fit you alright? Did you actually like hazelnut lattes, or were you just trying something new out that day?

At this point you couldn’t help but laugh. It was such a minute detail, something he really didn’t have to worry this much over, but he had worried nonetheless. It was really silly of him, but also showed that maybe he was more than just trying to play with your feelings. You’re about to tell him how you appreciate the thought he put into his apology gift when you realize he’s staring at you.

“W-What is it? Is there something on my face?”

He shakes out of his reverie and reassures, “No you’re fine. It’s just, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you laugh like that.”

You blink in confusion before playing with your napkin in embarrassment, “Oh uh…I’m not laughing at you. I promise. I just think it’s amusing that you cared so much since I never held anything against you in the first place.”

Looking back into his soft brown eyes is a mistake, because as soon as you do, your heart starts racing again. He gives you a grin of his own in response, brushing his honey-colored hair back to briefly reveal his forehead. It’s stupid how much that simple gesture makes you want to jump his bones.

“I’d say it was a worth it, considering we’re basically friends now,” he says, happily taking a sip of his iced americano.

The assertion makes you hesitate briefly as you ask yourself whether or not the two of you were “friends”. You didn’t know him all that well yet, but a part of you looked forward to doing so. If anything, the only thing holding you back was that he was Ingrid’s ex. She’d probably laugh at you if she found out about your interest in him, and it also meant that you couldn’t be sure who Mark really was. Ingrid was notorious for having her pick among fuckboys, and maybe Mark was just one of them who was really good at hiding it.

It seems that he notices your lack of agreement in his earlier sentiment, so he says, “What will it take for me to be your friend Y/N?”

Using your fork to play with the cream left from your cake slice earlier, you reply, “I don’t know.”

He doesn’t push you further, sensing that your answer probably meant something deeper than what you were able to convey. You feel thankful that he lets the matter go and goes back to giving you an excited puppy-dog look.

“Come on, there’s something I wanna show you.”

Turns out “something” means the ice cream parlor down the street. As he walks you back to your apartment, you can’t help but notice the way he goes to town on that poor cookies n’ cream ice cream cone.

“Are you trying to fatten me up with sweets today?” you muse, enjoying your second pastry of the day courtesy to Mark.

“As if. You look perfect Y/N—nothing a cheat day could do to you.”

It’s like the guy’s a professional sweet talker too, since he barely bats an eye at the compliment. Not something you’re used to, you try your best to not blush obviously at his statement.

God, everything about Mark Tuan was too much for you. He was the epitome of a honey boy.

The walk is fairly interesting, as Mark turned out to be simultaneously a good listener and a good conversation carrier. He’d ask you some questions that you were comfortable answering, listening intently as you shared some details about your studies, your childhood, the things you liked and the things you didn’t. You knew he was paying attention because he’d always laugh along with you, as you recollected some embarrassing things that had happened to you in the week prior.

By the time you reach your apartment door, you’ve forgotten exactly who Mark was supposed to be to you. In his large, tan hoodie with his hands in his pockets, he felt like a nervous boy walking you to your door at the end of a first date.

But could you really expect life to do you any favors just when things started to look up?

The door swings open just as you fumble for your keys, and out steps the last person you wanted to see. Ingrid takes one look at Mark and another at you before a smirk blooms across her bright red lips. Her makeup told you that she was heading to another one of her parties where she’d definitely bring a boy or two home.

“Long time no see,” she addresses Mark first, giving him one of those smiles that probably instigated all those hook-ups she partakes in.

You can’t help but feel overshadowed and uncomfortable. It would hurt you beyond measure to see the two flirt with each other right in front of your eyes. You had half the mind to just push past Ingrid and call it a day, but Mark’s words stop you in your thoughts.

“Sure.”

It’s curt and simple, lacking the flirtatious tone that Ingrid had injected into her words earlier. If you didn’t know any better, it honestly sounded downright bored—as if the speaker couldn’t wait to get rid of her.

Not giving her much to work with, Ingrid turns towards you instead. “Didn’t know you’d go for my sloppy seconds Y/N.”

Your throat feels dry and you refuse to let yourself expect anything different than the reaction your roommate just gave you. Of course, you expected her to make fun of you. It made sense that she would think of you and Mark being outside the apartment as you picking up a boy she left behind.

But why did it fill you with shame anyways?

“As if anyone would. I wouldn’t get involved with one of your boy toys,” the words leave you mouth with disgust, a tone you couldn’t help given the way you were trying so desperately to hide your true feelings. Liking Mark was dangerous and it would mean that Ingrid was right. You weren’t involved with him. You couldn’t be.

As soon as your statement pierces the air, you sense Mark’s form stiffen next to you. Immediately, you’re filled with regret. Did you need to word things that harshly? Even if you could never get to know him beyond being an acquaintance, he had shown you nothing but kindness. He never tried to get in your pants or act like a certified sleazeball like you were insinuating.

When Mark turns around and leaves the two of you standing in the hallway, it’s almost like you’re stuck in a wall of honey. The figurative sticky syrup prevents your limbs from making a move after the blonde-haired boy, as you’re stuck watching him go—watching him hurt over your words. Your throat tightens painfully with the way you try not to cry, fearing that you really ended up harming a boy that didn’t deserve the way you just portrayed him.

For the next 11 days according to your count, you don’t see Mark again. You were used to finding him leaning around the corner, listening to music on his airpods as he waited for a friend’s class to end so they could go play basketball. You had just started to adjust to his daily presence by entertaining the idea that you could start spending time with him. Props to your big mouth and careless words for shattering the prospect to pieces. The sense of guilt you carried was far heavier that the notebooks you lugged to class, and you were hoping—no, praying that you would see that bright smile of his to unexpectedly bump into you again.

Maybe meeting him again was the most luck you were fated to have.

As you doodle in the margins of your notebook, wearing the sweater he bought you all those weeks ago, you formulate an apology plan. If you showed him you were sorry, actually really sorry, maybe he’d forgive you. It wasn’t like you deserved it but seeing him again would sure beat the dreary days you were currently victim to.

Wracking your thoughts for comments Mark had made to you regarding things he liked, you realized he hadn’t talked much about himself beyond seemingly having an affinity of cookies n’ cream ice cream. He did mention wanting to have a puppy if his apartment landlord would allow it though. If it were possible for you to be more depressed, you realized belatedly that he had spent a good amount of time learning more about you than you did about him.

After your classes, you head out to find something for him. It wasn’t like you could afford getting him a puppy, especially since he literally told you he wasn’t allowed to have one, so you searched for the next best thing. It took you a few hours of searching to find something that satisfied your expectations, and you set out to spend the rest of the day preparing it for when you would confront Mark yourself.

Standing outside of his apartment at 9 PM on a Friday night was probably one of the dumbest decisions you ever made, and you made a lot of those. He probably didn’t even know that you knew he lived here. Ingrid had made you pick her up once from a party one of his roommates hosted when she was still with him, and your trusty sense of direction never really allowed you to forget how to get from one place to another. Even if you wanted to turn around and run home straight away in fear, you forced yourself to knock on the door with three quick thumps.

Praying that it was Mark and not one of his rambunctious roommates who opened the door, your wish actually comes true and you’re greeted with the sleepy frame of the honey boy you missed so much over the last two weeks. He’s wearing a thin white tee with grey sweats, as he rubs his eyes as if he can’t believe he’s actually seeing you at his door.

“Y/N? What are you doing here?” he quickly runs a hand through his hair, as if trying to hide the fact that you probably just woke him up.

Did Mark always look this good? It’s actually unfair how pretty he is.

Clearing your throat, you gather up as much courage as you could muster before saying, “Yep it’s me. I’m here to beg for forgiveness.”

“What for?” he tilts his head slightly in question before mumbling, “Come inside, it’s cold.”

He gently rests his hand on your shoulder before urging you inside, and the way he touches you sends a shiver down your spine. Trying not to let any surprised noises escape you, you hurry on into the warmth of the apartment. You look around as you take your shoes off, noticing how surprisingly clean it is despite five boys living here. Perhaps your preconceptions need to be changed.

You shyly trail behind his large figure as he leads you into what appears to be his room. Taking note of the light-up rainbow keyboard and gamer chair with scarlet red highlights, you realize that Mark is one of those boys. You almost laughed aloud imagining him as one of those kids that whined “Mom I’m busy!” while playing Call of Duty.

He collapses on his bed unceremoniously with a groan, looking like he was ready to pass out again. Wondering who in their right mind took naps at 9 in the evening, you awkwardly stood in front of him while playing with the ribbon of the gift in your hands.

Opening one eye to look at you, he sits up and pats the corner of the bed closest to him. Wide eyed, you point to yourself before pointing to the same bed corner. He chuckles, and the deep sound sends another shudder through your body.

“Yes, I’m talking to you silly,” he grins, as if he had already forgiven you.

Hurriedly, you plop your butt down on the bedsheets and push your apology gift into his hands. He seems confused at first, messing with the sides of the wrapping paper as he examines what you just gave him.

“I got this for you because…I’m sorry for the things I said,” you relax, shrinking down in sadness before continuing, “You’re my friend.”

He looks at you through your entire confession, hanging onto each word that slips out of your lips. When you stop and slowly look back at him to gauge his response, he gives you a small smile. But it’s only when he grabs your nervous hand in his own do you finally let the small sigh hiding inside your chest escape you.

“I’m more than just someone Ingrid messed with. You know that, don’t you?”

Nodding quickly, he laughs as if admiring the great bobblehead impression you were giving. Your hand in his grasp starts to become unbearably warm, as you bite your lip to keep your dangerous thoughts at bay.

“I thought I knew everything that happened. But I don’t, and I shouldn’t hold that against you,” you admit, slightly losing your train of thought when he begins to gently rub circles into the back of your hand with his thumb.

“Don’t hold that against yourself either.”

You allow yourself to meet his gaze again, and the amount of warmth and comfort you find there almost breaks you down instantly. Perhaps he knew more than he let on regarding the inner turmoil you struggled with by only thinking of Mark as someone Ingrid once had. But from the first time he ruined your study plans to the moment he bought you various sweets until you verbally forgave him, he was slowly disproving those preconceptions. The amount of understanding he offered you made you feel even worse for referring to him the way you did all those days ago.

All along you thought that Mark was bad for you. Perhaps it was you that truly didn’t deserve him.

Momentarily pulling away from your fingers, he begins unwrapping the package you brought along with you. Suddenly nervous, you fiddle with the hem of your petticoat as he slowly pulls out the adorable puppy hat you purchased for him from the mall yesterday. Mark stares down at the hat in his hands, and it’s only when he bursts out in laughter do you finally let your cheeks warm in embarrassment.

“What are you laughing at? I-It’s cute!” You stutter, furiously crossing your arms.

When he finally stops his fit of laughter, he sets the hat on his head in triumph as if he were wearing a crown of honor. Seeing it on him makes you giggle too, knowing that it was somehow possible for the boy you liked to get even cuter than he already was.

“Here, press the paws and the ears move,” you hand him the paws that dangled from the side of the hat and experimentally press one of them to demonstrate.

Mark spends the next few minutes pressing the ears at varying intervals and laughing at his reflection in the mirror.

“You know, maybe I should get upset more often. You’re great with gifts.”

Rolling your eyes, you retort, “Sure thing, honey.”

  -----

[mopeytropey]

Author’s note: This moodboard for chapter 3 was not a shameless excuse to post Lincoln glistening and shirtless ... OR WAS IT? 

a beer buds series: chapter 3

(available below & posted on AO3 here)

Timeline: this takes place during chapter 3 of 'apu' after Clarke has gone running with Lexa but before game night at Lexa + Costia's apartment

Beer: Whirlpool NEW ENGLAND PALE ALE

Soft and citrusy, Whirlpool is Night Shift's flagship New England pale ale. Pours hazy blonde with a nose of ripe peach and grapefruit. Sips juicy, fruity, and crisp, with minimal bitterness and big clementine notes. A bright, vibrant beer that’s wonderfully drinkable and remarkably refreshing.

ABV 4.5%

Whirlpool: Night Shift (Everett, MA) Lexa slows at the base of an incline, bracing her weight with her hands on her kneecaps while catching her breath. Lincoln extends his run by a few extra strides, resting his torso against the black metal railing of an overlook that juts above the harbor. They stand just six feet apart, regulating their breathing, while pedestrians, cyclists, and young children in strollers filter past. Although the sun wanes, arching towards the water, its heat has soaked Lexa’s shirt and shorts so that the material sticks to her skin in several places.

“Bit more intense than your last run?” Lincoln asks when he circles back to stand beside her.

Lexa stands to her full height, using the bottom of her shirt to wipe sweat from her face. “What do you mean?”

“Octavia tells me you managed to coerce Clarke into running with you the other day. Somehow I can’t imagine there were any interval sprints in that particular course.”

That jolt of nerves—of which she is now regretfully quite familiar—at the mention of Clarke has Lexa shrugging off a laugh and heading for the shade of the Memorial Bridge overpass. Her mind betrays her in the worst way as visions of Clarke in running gear, jogging beside her and cracking jokes, resurface yet again. She would kill for some ice cold water.

Either to drink or dump over her head.

She walks with her hands folded atop her head, triceps stretching pleasantly as she leans against the bridge piling. The cold stone presses into her skin through the material of her shirt, and Lexa focuses on the sensation. Lincoln follows her with an expectant smile.

“Clarke can be coerced by nothing, I assure you. She was the one who asked to come with me.” Lexa kicks lightly at Lincoln’s chiseled calf muscle. “Anyway, I sort of lost my running partner when he started getting laid, didn’t I?”  

“Hey, whoa, whoa,” Lincoln laughs, defensively holding up his palms towards Lexa. “You have not lost me.”

“Well, you’re certainly not as available.”

“Guilty,” Lincoln shrugs. “But, come on, you know how it is. You remember.”

She does remember. Lovedrunk and saturated by lust and desire—that overconsumption of physical touch that leaves no room for anything or anyone else. She remembers those first few reclusive weeks with Costia, both of them cancelling plans and shutting out the world.

It feels like someone else’s memories. A fading mirage from another life.

Lexa nods, conceding with a short exhale. “Yeah, sure. Of course.”

She stands to stretch her limbs and suddenly feels like she could run another ten miles.

“Let’s grab a beer,” Lincoln suggests, and Lexa is grateful for the change in subject.

“What—now? Where would we go? I’m disgusting,” she says, plucking her shirt from where it sticks to the skin of her stomach.

Lincoln bobs his head up the sidewalk, and Lexa’s stomach clenches to see the bright white siding of Dockside. “Octavia’s working. Let’s go bother her.”

“I need to shower,” Lexa stalls.

“Nah, come on.” Lincoln strongarms her, quite literally, by wrapping his arm around her shoulders and walking farther beneath the shadowed overpass. “The girls won’t care. We’ll sit outside.”

“Linc, I—“

“Nope, no arguments. Anyway, it’s Wednesday so Clarke is probably there too. Don’t you want to see your new best friend?”

Yes. All of the time. She is both the best and worst thing in my life at the moment. It is exceedingly problematic.

Lexa admits to none of this and instead allows herself to be escorted down the short path towards Dockside’s sunny patio. She angles her head so that she can see Lincoln’s face of self-satisfaction and scowls at his ridiculous smile.

:::

“You might not want to hug me, I’m incredibly sweaty right now.”

“Like that’s gonna stop me,” Octavia says, practically jumping into Lincoln’s embrace and landing a soft kiss against his mouth.

It’s brief and chaste, but Lexa nevertheless averts her eyes and lets her gaze fall across the boats in the harbor. They’ve approached the bar from its rear side, closer to the delivery hatch, crunching through the gravel lot that separates Dockside from the bridge.

“You guys are staying for a drink, right?”

Lexa quickly wonders if she can still sneak away for a shower and meet up with Lincoln later now that he’s got Octavia in his arms. “Actually—“

“Oh, no, sorry,” Octavia smirks. “That wasn’t a question. You’re staying.”

Lexa fully surrenders after that, following Lincoln and Octavia towards the patio entrance with a short laugh. Things could be worse than having friends hellbent on spending time with her.

It is this misguided thought that precedes Lexa’s gaze landing on Clarke through the windows that line the water.

Oh no, things are actually the worst they could possibly be.

Clarke in a strapless, summery dress. Clarke with her hair twisted at the back of her head in a delicate bun so that Lexa’s vision narrows to the shape of her bare neck and shoulders. Clarke’s bright smile as she spins to collect empty glasses from a table of two college-aged girls.

Lexa’s smile drains from her face, and when Clarke looks up to see her on the patio, she feels it like a punch to her abdomen.

She had not been wearing this particularly offensive dress during Trikru’s delivery this morning, and Lexa wonders if she often goes home on her long Wednesdays to freshen up and change clothes between shifts.

Perhaps she has a favorite customer coming in later whom she wishes to impress. Perhaps Clarke has invited someone to come visit her specifically, to make the gruelling shift more bearable. Perhaps—

“Grab a seat out here.” Octavia’s direction interrupts Lexa’s inconsequential thoughts.

Perhaps Lexa should stop theorizing about Clarke and her goddamn dress and pull her life together.

“There’s this obnoxious group of guys at the bar who keep trying to flirt with Clarke about kayaking,” Octavia continues. “I have to go rescue her, but I’ll be back with drinks.”

She leaves them with a quick brush of her fingers down Lincoln’s chest, and Lexa struggles to push images from her mind of Clarke being hit on as she climbs onto a stool across from Lincoln. The patio hasn’t yet filled with a late afternoon crowd, and she and Lincoln enjoy a minute or two of relative quiet.

Lincoln hadn’t undersold the location: the views at Dockside are stunning. The harbor is aglow as boats slice its shimmering surface. Lexa allows herself to relax under a setting sun. The sound of gulls in chorus with a quiet, perpetual clanging of cars going over the bridge soothe her previously racing thoughts.

When Octavia returns, it is with glasses of ice water, two, dripping pints of beer, and Clarke at her heels.

Lexa’s relaxation vanishes in a blink.

“Night Shift. Whirlpool,” Octavia says by way of explanation of their beverages.

Greetings overlap as Octavia places coasters and pints on the table, but Clarke’s voice, most prominently, rings in Lexa’s ears. “Hey.”

“Hi.”

“I didn’t know you guys were coming by today.”

“Yeah, neither did I,” Lexa responds, avoiding Lincoln’s eye as he kicks her running shoe beneath the table.

She studiously ignores the swoop in her belly when she catches Clarke’s playful gaze instead.

“You two look properly gross and sweaty,” she comments with that unnecessarily striking smile of hers.

“Pretty sure our run was just a bit more intense than the casual little jaunt you and Lexa did the other day,” Lincoln teases.

“Hey!” Clarke reaches across Octavia for the sole purpose of pinching Lincoln’s bicep until he squirms. “I was remarkably athletic and agile, thank you very much.”

“Yes, we’re all incredibly proud of your fitness,” Octavia adds, condescendingly patting the top of Clarke’s head.

Clarke turns to Lexa. “Tell them!”

“Your endurance should be commended,” Lexa tells her entirely straight-faced.

“I hate all of you,” Clarke responds, narrowing her eyes at the three of them.

Lexa plucks at the strap of her damp tank top and represses a grin. The movement curbs Clarke’s teasing smile when she spies Lexa’s hand.

“How’s your hand?”

Lexa looks at the bandaging wrapping her right palm, almost as if she had forgotten it was there.

“Oh. It’s fine. It didn’t bother me at all during the rest of my deliveries. Stings a little now—probably from all of the gross sweat.”

Clarke rolls her eyes as Lincoln finishes a sip of beer and asks, “What happened?”

“I caught that sharp edge on the truck latch this morning.”

“Shit, I keep forgetting about having that looked at,” Lincoln says. “Did you let Indra know?”

“Yes. I had to fill out paperwork for the injury, and she said she’d have the latch replaced.”

“Why don’t you come inside and let me change the bandage.”

Having Clarke’s doting attention when it’s just the two of them is challenging. Withstanding her genuine care and concern in front of their friends is horrible.

“Oh, you don’t have to—it really doesn’t feel that bad, Clarke.”

“Hey listen, I’m not covering your deliveries tomorrow if that thing gets infected and gangrenous,” Lincoln tells her.

Lexa shoots him a look across the table for his ludicrous commentary.

“There’s no sense in you sitting there in pain just because you’re stubborn. I have all the supplies inside. Come on, it’ll just take a minute,” Clarke says and then hesitates as if she had briefly considered reaching out for Lexa’s upturned hand.

Lexa squeezes her fingers into a fist, sending a sharp, stinging pain against her injured palm. It does nothing to lessen the image of Clarke reaching out to her, but it curbs her own reckless impulses to run her fingers along the delicate curve of her shoulder just to see if—

She buries the thought and swallows hard.

“Okay,” she finally says, sliding from her stool so that she is stood beside Clarke. Eye-to-eye with Clarke’s stunning blue gaze. “Thanks.”

A tingling suspicion runs up the back of her neck as she trails behind Clarke off the patio. When they enter the cooler, darker interior of Dockside’s main room, Lexa turns to see Lincoln and Octavia huddled together and ignoring them completely.

Her paranoia—among other things—is really getting out of hand.

Clarke leads them behind the bar counter and through a swinging door into the kitchen. Lexa has never had such unfettered access to this section of Dockside, and she suddenly feels acutely aware of her damp hair and running clothes underneath the bright fluorescent lighting. Clarke grabs a plate of something from the salad line, says a quick thank you to the woman removing stems from baby spinach leaves, and they exit through another door into a dim hallway.

“My corner office with a view,” Clarke says upon approaching a heavy-looking wooden door. “Just kidding, there’s no windows in here.” She bangs open the door with her hip and steps inside, waiting for Lexa to follow her. “But, it’s where I keep the first aid kit.”

Lexa steps across the threshold with a timid smile. She’s never been inside Clarke’s office and already it feels like a line she should not have crossed. When Clarke had patched her hand that morning, they had stood in the drafty storage room with its high ceilings and spacious shelving lining the walls. It was a familiar space and vastly different atmosphere.

This room is cramped and dim. Intimate. Lexa feels out of her depth within seconds.

Clarke sets down her plate of food to fetch the box of medical supplies and is already stood too closely. Lexa thinks she can actually smell her shampoo because Clarke is just that much shorter and her head is angled to focus on removing the old bandaging from Lexa’s hand.

“You didn’t have to do this.”

“I know,” Clarke says.

Her words are felt in short puffs of breath against Lexa’s upturned wrist. Lexa’s other hand fiddles the hem of her running shorts while her breathing shallows and her heart hammers loudly in her ears.

She hopes the tremors building in her stomach don’t translate to her hands. Particularly while one of them is gently held by Clarke’s careful fingers.

“Your mom is a doctor so I can trust you know how to properly assess a wound, right?”

“God no,” Clarke laughs. “She would probably be horrified by my technique. Or lack thereof.”

“Great. I feel better already.”

Clarke looks up at her with a smile so utterly devastating, Lexa thinks she should have risked infection instead. “I’m pretty sure you’ll survive.”

She wishes she had a modicum of chill when it comes to Clarke, but truthfully, she does not.

Lexa tries to keep her eyes anywhere other than trailing down the slope of Clarke’s shoulder, which is unfairly close and appears soft and smooth under the low light. She skims over the minimal clutter of Clarke’s desk to stop herself from shamefully ogling a close friend doing her a favor.

There is an assortment of hodgepodge frames that hang on the dark wooden wall behind Clarke’s desk. She sees a picture of Clarke looking much younger with a boy around her age, arms wrapped around each other and stood in front of Dockside.

She hears herself asking, “Who’s that?” before she can silently advise herself to mind her business and get out of this room as quickly as possible.

“All set,” Clarke says, and then turns to face the wall behind her desk. “Who’s who?”

There’s finally some small distance between them, and Lexa breathes out slowly. She looks down to her hand, freshly wrapped in soft white gauze, and flexes it twice into a fist.

“Thanks.”

Clarke’s voice is as soft as she has ever heard it. “You’re welcome.”

For a beat, they hold a steady gaze. It passes quickly, but not before Lexa’s pulse accelerates and her palms begin to ache with nerves. She breaks eye contact first, as she often does. She can hear Clarke quietly exhale a second later because the room is remarkably compact, but also because Lexa has started to believe that her body is attuned to Clarke’s the more time they spend in the same place.

Or, she’s just being dramatic.

“The, uh, middle frame. The kid hugging you outside of the bar.”

“Oh! That’s Wells.” Clarke walks towards the frame and plucks it off the wall so that she can examine it more closely. “He’s one of my closest friends and the reason I get to play bar manager at this lovely establishment.”

That has Lexa’s attention instantly, and she forgets her nerves in favor of learning something new about Clarke. “Oh, really?”

Clarke often does this—unintentionally creating distractions from Lexa’s problematic internal narrative. She drops these little tidbits of information that snare Lexa’s curiosity. Each time, it becomes easier to just relax and enjoy Clarke’s company without overthinking the way the air condenses around them when they are stood too closely. Between that and her penchant for terrible jokes, it explains why Lexa has been able to maintain any semblance of friendship.

“Yeah, we became friends in high school—we were both into the arts, so total nerds—but he left for San Francisco right after graduation. His dad owned and ran this bar for ages, but when his memory got worse and he had to retire, Wells more or less inherited a business he never wanted to manage.”

“And he asked you to take it over,” Lexa supplies.

“Yeah, he sort of caught me at an opportune time when I had no idea what the hell I was doing with my life.” She replaces the picture to its nail on the wall, crosses her arms over her stomach, and exhales a humorless laugh.

Lexa raises her eyebrows and nods. “I can relate.”

“Right.” Clarke’s short laugh is the last lingering sound in the room.

The moment stretches, Clarke watching her as if trying to solve a riddle. Three rapid knocks at the open doorway interrupt the heavy silence, and Lexa is glad she isn’t forced to be the one to look away this time.

“Call for you on line one, Clarke.”

Lexa recognizes Mindy’s voice at her back and watches as Clarke smiles and nods. “Okay thanks, I’ll take it back here.”

“Okay, boss.”

Lexa can hear Mindy’s retreating footsteps a moment later and shifts on her feet to prepare her own exit.

“I should let you—”

“I’m just gonna—”

Words trip over one another until Clarke’s embarrassed smile matches her own.

“Thanks again for …” Lexa raises her right hand to show its fresh bandaging.

“Try not to be so clumsy next time, yeah?” Clarke sits at her desk with a smirk and Lexa takes one, measured step backwards.

“I’ll do my best,” she grins.

She thinks that if Clarke showed up to the delivery hatch wearing that dress next Wednesday, she may very well sever her entire hand from her body from sheer distraction.

“Okay, you should get out of here—Lincoln will think I’ve taken you hostage, and I’m very busy and important taking calls in my fancy office.”

Lexa laughs in response, backing her way towards the open doorway. If Octavia has stayed to keep Lincoln occupied at their table, there’s no way he’s even registered her prolonged absence. She mock salutes to Clarke once she is back in the hallway.

“I’m leaving, Madame President. Proceed with your executive responsibilities.”

Lexa exits the darkened hallway to the trailing sounds of Clarke’s laughter.

:::

[flowerslut]

DAY FIVE: ANGEL/DEMON Rating: T for language. Words: 3,728

A/N: Again: it’s not cheating if it’s on theme! Here’s chapter two of Edge of It All. (Read chapter one here)

EDGE OF IT ALL

Dinner that night was rough. Jasper, to his benefit, had been raised with enough manners to know not to leave the table until dismissed; he might have been defiant at times but he wasn’t into dramatic displays of brattiness. So when Wilson started to rant about how badly he’d needed Jasper to listen and how thoroughly he’d been let down today, Jasper simply sat there and took it like a man. He’d made his choices, and now he had to deal with the consequences.

And usually, the consequences began and ended at ‘a firm talking to’. 

At least now, in a harmless little town like this, the worst thing he could get into was school trouble. He had old foster parents who hadn’t expected him to make it through middle school, and there he was, months away from graduating high school. The fact that they weren’t astonished with his progress was frustrating to him on most days, but then again, they’d received Jasper in their care months after he’d already dug himself out of rock bottom.

They didn’t know how good they had it with him right now, he realized miserably as he picked at the roasted cauliflower on the plate in front of him.

Eventually the topic switched from Jasper’s shortcomings to random anecdotes from Wilson’s and Meg’s workdays. While Wilson worked at the urgent care clinic at the edge of town, Meg was a teacher at the elementary school. It had been a baffling thing at first to Jasper, who knew the woman swore like a sailor and could put away more wine than anyone he’d ever met, but it made sense when she shared stories about her day.

She actually appeared to like children.

It made Jasper wonder how disappointed the couple had been when their first placement had been a delinquent teenager as opposed to a cute little toddler.

There was a lull in conversation then, and Jasper took his chance. “You guys have my medical records right?”

The couple exchanged a look. “Of course we do,” Wilson wiped his mouth with a napkin as he spoke, still chewing a bite of food. “Why do you ask?”

Jasper half-shrugged. “None of my other foster parents let me see them. I wanted to know if I was allowed to.”

He’d turned eighteen a couple of months ago but had been allowed to remain under Meg and Wilson’s care. It was a mutually beneficial agreement, really. Wilson and Meg could still receive compensation for housing him even though he worked part-time and fully supported himself as best as he could already. And Jasper was still allowed to stay with the couple.

His social worker, a nice older guy Jasper had known for a few years now, had recommended the extension.

So far the plan was to get Jasper to graduation, through the summer, and hopefully onto school in the fall. As the months passed though, Jasper knew his chances of scoring any sort of scholarship, or even gaining acceptance into any University in or out of state (with or without taking out loans) slowly dwindled.

“How about this?” Meg proposed, lifting her red wine to her lips before continuing. “What is it? Tuesday? Make it through to Friday without skipping any classes and Wilson will get them for you this weekend.”

Jasper gritted his teeth at the proposal. He had to remind himself that Meg wasn’t withholding the information to be cruel. It was a simple request, really. But that didn’t mean Jasper enjoyed having her dangle this type of information above him in exchange for ‘good behavior’.

He wondered if he could just text Greg—his social worker—and go around his foster parents, but Jasper bit back a sigh as he knew Greg would likely agree with the motivation behind Meg’s proposition.

“Fine,” he agreed quietly, dread already pooling low in his stomach as he thought of tolerating the remainder of the school week without interruption.

That night he had trouble sleeping.

He woke up several times, expecting to see red eyes watching his every move, but instead all he did was sit up, calming himself as he caught his breath and swore outwardly into the silent room.

Truthfully the main reason he wanted his records was to see if he had any diagnoses he didn’t know about. It was fully possible that he actually was crazy and that he was simply never told. The chance that he’d hallucinated the demon girl in the woods was still there as long as he didn’t have those records.

And if they came up clean he wondered if he’d be able to somehow find and see his birth parent’s medical records. He already knew addiction ran in his blood—it’s why he avoided drugs, even one a simple as weed, like the goddamn plague—but if either of his parents had been actually psychotic, it would help Jasper to figure out if his mind was also a ticking time bomb.

The rest of the week at school was long and arduous. He held up his end of the bargain just the way he agreed. He didn’t skip one single class. Principal Shafer even commended him on his attendance by the middle of the day on Thursday, as if it were something Jasper was supposed to be happy or feel proud over.

Instead it just irritated him and he’d nearly picked a fight with one of Colson’s buddies in Spanish class. Thankfully—or perhaps it was a bit of a disappointment, really—he was more fluent than everyone else besides Mrs. Posner, so when he insulted the sandy haired fuckhead in front of the class in Spanish, she had been the only one to gasp and reprimand him.

It was worth it for the frustration that rolled off Parker for the rest of the class, irritated that out of the two people who could tell him what Jasper had said, Mrs. Posner had outright refused, simply giving Jasper an after school detention and resuming the lesson.

Maybe he should worry more about his Spanish grade, but Jasper knew that if he got anything less than an A in this class it wouldn’t be due to lack of knowledge…

After the final bell rang, Jasper sat on the stairs outside, watching as the kids who didn’t drive—usually the underclassmen and the poorer kids—piled onto one of two busses that brought kids home from Forks high. He knew he only had a couple of minutes before the driver got sick of waiting for Jasper to join him and simply left without him, but Jasper was going to push his luck today if it meant he could have a moment of peace without constant chatter going on around him.

He’d left his headphones at home that morning and had been pissed about it all day.

Jasper’s gaze wandered the parking lot then, and when his eyes met a golden pair, he found himself staring back.

It was Rosalie Hale. Standing next to her was her younger sister—or was it cousin?—Bella. 

At least Bella had the decency of looking away when Jasper’s eyes fell upon them. She wasn’t as outgoing as Emmett was, but the girl was at least polite. Rosalie on the other hand always baffled Jasper.

Back in Oakland a girl that hot would’ve been running the school. But Rosalie kept to herself, did her work perfectly, and minded her business. Occasionally she’d hurt the pride of some unsuspecting fool who didn’t believe the rumors that Rosalie Hale and Emmett Cullen were actually an item—“it’s disgusting,” Jessica Stanley had explained to him on one of his first days, “they live together. It’s like dating your sibling; so, so weird”—and Jasper had even heard a rumor that once she’d had to physically get her point across to a handsy senior a couple years back.

The story went like this: she’d broken his nose, and a couple ribs, and no one had messed with Rosalie Hale since.

Now, she stared back at him with a glare that very much resembled the one Edward had been shooting him a few days prior.

He resisted the urge to shrug and mouth an irritated ‘what?’ before she opened the door to her red beamer and disappeared inside.

One thing that had frustrated Jasper even more about this week was the eyes he felt on him at all hours of the day. And not just from his classmates who were stunned to see him actually attending class, but from the goddamn Cullens.

The more he caught them staring, the more he found himself wondering what the fuck their deal was. And the more he wondered, the more he thought back to Tuesday afternoon in the woods.

Either he was actually crazy and paranoia was beginning to seep into his subconsciousness and force him into thinking he was being watched, or Edward and Emmett knew something Jasper didn’t.

The odds of them also having seen that demon girl increased more and more every day as they appeared in his peripheral during random intervals throughout the week.

Even on the days when Jasper worked after school the Cullens had, just this week, started shopping in that very mini-mart. After almost two months of the store being open and never having seen them in it before, Jasper was beginning to get suspicious.

Or paranoid, he had to remind himself. There was a very likely reason he was being actually insane about this whole thing.

But that night, when he got home from work—thanking Ben Cheney for the ride home and tossing a couple of bills his way for gas money—he was so exhausted that he didn’t even care that he’d done it. That he’d made it though the school week without skipping. He just wanted to sleep for two days. He was so tired he didn’t even feel as if the trade—his attendance for his records—was even worth it anymore.

He was so tired that he almost didn’t notice the red-eyed demon girl sitting on his bed until he’d already tossed his backpack across the room, his keys onto his desk, and his shoes into the corner.

When he looked up and met her eyes, he startled slightly, shuffling back before freezing under her gaze.

“Don’t scream.” She whispered so quietly he almost didn’t hear her speak. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“How the fuck did you get in here?” He asked, his voice shaking as he blindly pawed at the wall behind him for the light switch. A part of him hoped and prayed that this was his mind playing tricks on him and that once the light flicked on she’d vanish. But when his hands found the switch, turning the light attached to his ceiling fan on and illuminating the room, he felt his stomach jump up into his throat.

She was still there. And her eyes that appeared to be glowing before in the dark were still as bright as ever.

Her hands were folded in her lap as she sat on the edge of his bed. She was so short that her feet didn’t even reach the ground. She was still barefoot, but at least her clothes were dry this time. The same clothes she’d been wearing earlier that week.

“The window,” she provided simply, her bell-like voice soft. “I’m serious when I say I’m not going to hurt you.” There was a pause as Jasper’s fear went haywire and his heart rate skyrocketed. “Oh,” she covered her ears then, squeezing her eyes shut, “please don’t do that. It’s hard enough to be around you as it is.”

“Why the fuck are you in here? How did—”

“Shh,” Jasper didn’t even see as she moved, she just suddenly did. And before he could react she was standing directly in front of him, her tiny hand pressed against his mouth to keep him from speaking. “They’re going to hear you.”

Jasper’s mind went to Meg and Wilson, who were watching a movie downstairs; it was what they did every night before bed. If the same thing happened and they followed the sound of his noises only to find him terrified of an empty room, they might come to a different conclusion than the Cullen boys did. Instead of advising him against tempting bears they might have him put in some sort of psych ward.

And Jasper did not want to go to the looney bin, even if he was crazy.

Slowly, the girl removed her ice-cold hand from Jasper’s mouth and in the blink of an eye she was back on his bed. The bed creaked and groaned, the mattress bouncing the girl slightly from where she’d too-quickly-for-his-eyes-to-catch launched herself back onto it.

“This is a lot harder than I thought it would be.”

“You’re real,” Jasper couldn’t shake the feeling of her firm, cold hand against his face, and now, even though he was still frozen, he could feel his fear slowly ebbing. “You’re actually a real person.”

The demon girl made an exasperated noise. “Of course I am! What did you think I was? Imaginary!” She almost sounded amused by the idea. Then, she paused, her eyes staring at some point behind him for a few seconds. Long enough for Jasper to notice and for his fear to begin to resurface once more. “We should probably be a little quieter,” she commented again, her voice just barely above a whisper.

Not wanting to take his eyes off the girl, Jasper reached behind him and flicked another switch, turning the ceiling fan on and providing them with some small amount of white-noise. Not enough to cover up too much, but his foster parents certainly wouldn’t hear a soft-spoken conversation over it.

Alice’s eyes lost focus and then quickly refocused as she turned to smile up at him. “Thank you.”

Jasper was stunned at her smile, suddenly feeling very conflicted over the fact that this terrifying weird red-eyed girl was so strangely gorgeous. “Who are you?”

Alice’s smile fell immediately. “Oh.” Then, her eyes fell to her hands, still clasped primly in her lap. “So you don’t know…”

“Of course not!” He blurted out before remembering he needed to be quiet, and lowering his voice, “We’ve never met before.” He took one uneasy step further into his bedroom. “I mean, besides the other day.”

“I just,” she sighed. “I thought you might know. But I suppose it wouldn’t make any sense now, would it?”

“You know my name,” he accused, taking another step into the room. For some reason he felt far more confident when she wasn’t looking at him with those red, haunting eyes. She was a tiny thing, after all. Likely barely five feet tall, and she looked like she barely weighed 100 pounds, if even that. “Who are you?”

“I’m Alice,” she spoke her name quietly. “I’ve been looking for you for a little while now.”

Jasper swallowed a nervous lump in his throat. “How long is a while?”

“About four moons now.”

That caused Jasper to stop. “What?”

Alice looked up at him again, confusion etched carefully onto her doll-like features. “Sorry. I’m learning people track time differently, but I’m not sure how.” Then, she gestured upward, toward the sky. “You know, the moon?”

There was a brief pause before he forced himself to reply. “I know what the moon is.”

“It’s been big four times now.”

Jasper felt his brain skid to a stop before stuttering back into motion, attempting to decipher what on Earth she was talking about. Four full moons? Is that what she was counting? Is that how she kept time? “Big? As in, a full circle?” He gestured vaguely with his hand as he spoke. Alice nodded. “So… four months?”

“A month,” Alice spoke the word delicately, as if testing it on her tongue, and smiled. “Yes. A month. It’s been more than four of them.”

“Since… you started looking for me?”

“Yes!” She whispered excitedly, as if remembering to keep her voice down. “And since I woke up!”

“I…” she’d lost him again. “Woke up?”

She nodded, her happiness beginning to display itself in other, more physical ways. She was now kicking her feet out slightly, letting the backs of her heels knock against the base of his bed. It was a soundless movement, but still, it unnerved him somehow. The kicks were too even, too perfect…

“Yes! And then I saw you and knew I had to find you as soon as I could. Of course, I should’ve reached out to Dr. Cullen first. He’ll be quite upset with me when he learns what I’ve done.”

“Dr. Cullen?” That was certainly a development. “You mean, Carlisle Cullen?”

Alice nodded rapidly. “Oh, I’m so excited to meet him! I’m hoping he’ll let me stay if I promise to be good.”

“Alice, nothing that you’re saying is making any sense.” If this was a hallucination than Jasper knew nothing he could do would help him at this point. Instead, he walked over to his desk and pulled out his chair, sitting himself down in it roughly before letting his face fall into his hands. “I have no idea what’s going on,” he muttered into his palms as he shook his head. “So you know the Cullens?”

“Yes! I’m afraid they don’t know me yet,” she seemed regrettable to inform him of that detail, but quickly she spoke up, “but they’re going to love me. They’ll be our new family and—” she cut herself off then. “It’s probably too soon to tell you that.”

“It isn’t fucking stopping you from doing it now, is it?” Lifting his head back up he leaned back into the chair and swiveled it toward her. “Are you deranged?”

“Deranged?”

“Crazy, insane, unstable, disturbed…” he listed the words off irritably, folding his arms over his chest as he stared back at her. “Are you a maniac?”

“I don’t know,” she seemed stressed at the admission, and it forced a strange guilt to catch his next words in his throat. But he wasn’t being irrational, he had to remind himself. She was the one that had broken into his room. 

“What do you know then?”

“That I’m supposed to find you.”

“Why?”

“I’m not sure if telling you right now is a good idea,” she whispered the words so quietly Jasper almost didn’t hear. “I don’t want you to reject me.”

Once more stunned into silence by her strange insecurity, Jasper stared at her. He wasn’t scared anymore. Instead, confusion overpowered all other reason. He just wanted to know who and what she was, and why the fuck she’d sought him out.

Alice pouted as her eyes lost focus once more. “Oh,” she gasped as her head turned toward the window, “Oh, I am in so much trouble.” Instantly, she was on her feet.

“What are you?” She looked human, but she moved so fast sometimes he couldn’t even keep up with his eyes.

“I’ll see you later, okay?” Her words were spoken in a rush, and quickly she was standing in front of him again. She was so slight that even though he was sitting and she was standing she was just barely taller than he was. Before he knew it his hands were in hers. “Please, please believe me when I say I’m not going to hurt you, okay? And that I’m only here because I know it’s supposed to be this way. And—” she paused, hesitating—“if they want to know anything, just tell them the truth, alright? Edward will see it anyways.”

“What are you talking about? Who—Alice—”

But before he could ask another question she was gone in another blink of an eye.

It was a handful of seconds later when his gaze shot up—something had flashed across the window, startling him into his feet. Finally able to react properly, he reached in his back pocket and grabbed his pocket knife, flicking it open as he steadily approached the window. He had a very firm suspicion that it wasn’t Alice.

Something was out there, and Jasper wasn’t about to take anymore of this fucking insanity sitting down.

With his hand outstretched, knife pointing toward the window, he shuffled his feet forward. His window faced out toward the backyard, a series of trees decorating the edge of it, separating his foster parents’ yard from their neighbors’.

Jasper stood at the edge of his bedroom, almost not daring to get too close to the window as he struggled to see what was out there. Eyes catching on one of the trees Jasper watched as the tree shook and a few birds flew out of it.

He almost didn’t see the person standing by the edge of the neighbor’s house. It was too dark to make out who—or what—it was, but there was no way that it was Mrs. Connelly; the woman who lived in the house directly behind theirs.

Jasper continued to stare down at it, and when he saw another black shadow step around the first, larger silhouette, he nearly jumped.

“What the fuck is going on,” he felt himself say out loud, and in seconds, both forms disappeared from the yard, gone without a trace.

If he were more of a fool he would go after them. Sneak back down the stairs and into the backyard and demand whatever leftover demons there were in hiding to come out and explain to him what the fuck was happening, but Jasper had no idea what he was getting himself into anyways.

Even now, Alice’s words unsettled him. “If they want to know anything just tell them the truth.”

Tell who the truth?

As he closed his curtains and quickly changed out of his work clothes, Jasper found himself keeping the knife close, even placing it next to his pillow beside him after he eventually forced himself to climb into his bed.

There was still a chance that he actually was crazy. Just, next-level crazy, in which not only were his hallucinations visual and auditory, but physical somehow, as well.

He hoped Wilson would get those medical records this weekend as promised, because Jasper had a hell of a lot of questions, and so far, no answers.

[epic-potato-crisp]

Courtship - Part 2 (AjinWeek2020/7)

Notes:

Part 2 is here after...a year?

Originally, this was supposed to be posted for Ajin Week 2020 Day 7: Anything goes. The whole story was just supposed to be two chapters, however I want to expand it a little and now we're at looking at 3-4. Stay tuned for further updates! (I'm considering whether Twilight is the right choice for their movie night. It's very temping. There are five (5) movies and so very little of Kei's patience.)

———————————————-

“I’m sorry, what?” Tosaki says.

Yeah, Kei probably shouldn’t have agreed to this. On the other hand, the look of pure bewilderment on his team leader’s face replaces about a month of entertainment for him. At the very least. It’s a fair deal.

“We’re dating.” Kou explains sheepishly, for the second time, scratching at his neck.

“Since when?” Hirasawa asks, appearing just as invested as he is amused.

Izumi hasn’t said anything yet, instead observing them in silence.

“Since like right now.” Kou says, laughing awkwardly, “It was pretty spontaneous. Right, Kei?”

“Don’t drag me into this.” Kei responds briskly.

“Hey, you just said yes!” Kou argues, his brows furrowing.

“And I’m regretting it more and more.” Kei snipes back.

“Oof, boys, 20 minutes in and trouble in paradise already. It’s not looking good, huh?” Ogura comments.

“It’s just a…trial.” Kei says, anxiety still spiking up in him months later at the thought of the any kind of experiment, “For a week. More for research purposes than anything.”

“Research purposes, now we’re talking.” Ogura chimes in, “What’s your hypothesis? Are you going to need help evaluating the data?”

“Can you even evaluate a relationship that way?” Hirasawa argues, “In numbers? That sounds strange to me.”

“Well, plenty of psychological studies say yes, so.” Ogura shrugs, “So Nagai, what’s your deal?”

“The hypothesis is that seven days of close interaction will not lead to me murdering him.” Kei glares in Kou’s direction, “And that he will shut up about my dating life.”

Kou coughts out something that suspiciously sounds like “what life”, for which Kei elbows him in the ribs, hard.

“Yeah, what he said.” Kou wheezes, returning the glare in kind.

“And we’re not really going to write a report about it. We’re just letting it run simultaneously. Would that be with you?” Kei asks.

Tosaki stares at them for a full minute and then leaves the room without another word.

“I’ll just be-“ Izumi says, apologetically, hurriedly following after him.

“You boys have my blessing.” Hirasawa says, winking at them and toasting in their direction with his barley tea.

“Mine too, with a little extra sprinkle of blessing on top if you do take a few notes about it.” Ogura says, “From a sociological perspective, it’s pretty hilarious. Completely anonymous, of course.”

“Fine, I can do that.” Kei says, “I’m bored as it is.”

They take their leave.

“Well, you’re not going to be bored for long with me around.” Kou says, once they’re out of earshot, grinning at him brightly.

Kei grimaces. “Yeah, we’ll see about that.”

Kei hadn’t believed that dating Kou would be difficult- to be truthful, he hadn’t considered the situation at all, but here they were. But reality is a whole different obstacle.

First, there’s the hand-holding. It’s been a good while since Kei had held hands with anyone, frankly, when he was in elementary school and crossing the street with Eriko, and that had been more of a safety precaution than anything. It’s an unnecessary amount of touch in his opinion, the sweaty entanglement of fingers grossing him out in theory. In practice…it’s not really that bad.

Kou slips his hand into Kei’s, that evening as they’re taking a walk around the forest. It comes as a surprise to him. They had just been strolling around aimlessly for a while, trying to clear their head from a day of training and the awkward conversation earlier. Lost in his own thoughts, Kei startles a little at the sudden physical contact.

“The cicadas are really fucking loud, aren’t they?” Kou says, almost nonchalantly. Kei notices that his grip, although confident at first, loosens a little in hesitation, giving Kei the opportunity to pull away. He considers it. However, instead of sticky and oppressive, the touch is comforting somehow. Which is weird, considering there is no purpose to it. But then, there is no purpose to this entire trial run, Kei concludes, which makes up his mind. He hums noncommittally and squeezes back. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see how the other’s face lights up in surprise. “Maybe they just have a lot to talk about.” Kou stumbles to add. “Maybe they’re just as chatty as you.” Kei replies sarcastically. Kou laughs. “Yeah, probably.” he agrees, grinning. They continue walking until dusk approaches, coloring the sky in shades of purple and blue.

Izumi’s waiting for them when they get back with two glasses of chilled water. They say their thanks, Kou gulping down his water in a flash and wiping his mouth with his arm.

“Ah man, thought I was going to die of thirst.” he says, sighing blissfully as he goes in for a refill.

“Literally impossible in that short of a time span.” Kei corrects him, but he too can’t help a small sigh of relief. August brings about a heat wave that makes him even more grateful for the air conditioning at the hideout. He regrets to think that he “voluntarily” signed up for a training camp during this very time of the year when he could have instead spent his days in his room doing practice questions. Pure insanity. He’ll definitely get Sato back for this.

“By the way, Tosaki-san is okay with you… dating.” Izumi explains, “He was just a bit overwhelmed at the situation.”

Not only him, Kei thinks grimly.

“Well, it’s just for a week!” Kou interjects, with an embarrassed laugh, “We’re not sure about anything yet, you know?” Kei side-eyes him hard. His attempts at preserving his chances with Izumi-san are obvious enough that it’s almost pitiable. “Well, I am. I’m pretty sure I don’t want to spend the rest of my life dating someone like you.” he scoffs, which should serve Nakano’s agenda well, ignoring the slight constriction ins his chest. The walk must have tired out his muscle more than he realized.

“So he is okay with it?”

“Well.” Izumi bites her lip, “He said that by your mere existence, you’ve ruled out his two biggest concerns, so after that he doesn’t really care what happens. Unless it jeopardizes your training, of course.”

Yes, that does sound indeed like Tosaki.“And those concerns are?” Kei asks, genuinely curious.

“You can’t get pregnant and you can’t die.” she says, matter-of-fact. Kou chokes on his water.

“In that particular order, in case you were wondering.” she adds, rolling her eyes.

“Wow.”says Kei, any other words temporarily not coming to mind.

That’s one obstacle removed.

For some strange reason, having a boyfriend doesn’t magically remove Kei’s above average exhaustion after what the others refer to as one instance of basic interval training.

“I can carry you the rest of the way.” Kou grins, kneeling beside Kei who is currently wheezing into the ground, fingers digging into the earth. Thirty situps, followed by half an hour of jogging? Give him a break. He’s been through 15 and already wishes he were six feet under.

Permanently, that is.

“Are you dumb?” Kei coughs out, “How on earth would I benefit from that exercise?”

“Well, you could rest- you seriously sound like you’re gonna pass out any second.” Kou pointed out, “And I could get some strength training in. Win-win. I know I’m strong enough to carry you.” He has the audacity to wink at Kei.

“Hirasawa-san!” Kou yells and runs over to where the older man is standing and timing them. With Kou gesturing broadly while explaining, and Hirasawa nodding eventually, Kei knows his fate is sealed.

“Pick me up.” He says, lethargically stretching his limbs skywards once Kou comes back for him.

“Just get on my back like a normal person.” Kou laughs at his purposeful display of weakness, “Unless you really want the bridal carry?”

“Hell no.”

“Your choice, Nagai.”

Remarkably enough, riding on Kou’s shoulders is not as bad as an experience as Kei had imagined it to be. He gets a ride across their training grounds, coupled with brilliant view of the clear blue sky and puffy clouds that drift by without a care in the world, and his only physical exertion is reserved for clinging to his teammate just enough so that he doesn’t fall off.

Which is to say minimal. For all his bragging, Nakano really does have profound upper body strength.

“See? Told you I could easily carry you!” Kou teases.

Easily.

Kei doesn’t know what does it, the confidence emblazoning his tone, the mere fact that Nakano was right or the reality of the situation where he picked him up and carried him around like it was nothing.

Kei’s heart starts to beat a little faster.

“I’m not sharing a bed with you.” Kei declares, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“What’s the big deal? Couples do it all the time.” Kou says.

It’s close to midnight and he’s standing at Kei’s door, armed with his phone and a pillow.

“Yes, but we’re not a couple.

“We are for this week.” Kou points out and damn, he is right. He pouts at Kei.

“So we only have a week. Please, Nagai?”

“You know how I feel about physical contact.” Kei glances back at his bed, which looks perfectly designed to host one person, and one person only. As it should.

“Well, I mean we don’t have to cuddle. Unless that’s…something you want?” Kou throws him an inquisitive gaze, the tips of his ears reddening.

“Of course it’s not, you moron!” Kei snaps back, a blush rising to his cheeks.

“Well then what the hell is your issue?” Kou says, slightly frustrated.

“I don’t want to share a bed with you, that’s it. Good night.”

Kei slams the door close in his face.

He hears his teammate/boyfriend-for-the-week groan and the head of to God knows where.

Kei fortifies his resolve – he doesn’t even need to give a reason, and yet he gave perfectly acceptable to deny his overnight stay.

Perhaps that’s his only issue.

Perhaps he also doesn’t want Kou to be able to listen to his steadily accelerating heartbeat whether they’re in close proximity.

But that’s something Kou is better of not knowing about.

Little by little, the hand-holding is integrated in their daily routine. Not when anyone can see them. And only if there’s nothing immediate that needs to be done. A brush of fingers as they pass each other in the hallway. Kou’s hand naturally slipping into Kei’s as they’re watching a video on his phone. Kou’s fingers grasping for Kei’s in the middle of a team meeting, right under the table, and Kei holding on for just a second too long, a scene that he will replay in embarrassment in his memories later.

Sometimes Kei wishes it wouldn’t feel as comfortable as it does, because this too is something that he will have to erase once their week comes to an end.

“Oh yeah, can we use the room later?” Kou asks, three days into their trial, barely swallowing down his food in time to ask the question. Which is directed at Tosaki, an unspoken agreement that comes with trying to sort out most hideout-related issues. Because the man really is the only person that would find a problem with that, Kei thinks grimly, and isn’t disappointed.

“For what?” Tosaki asks, suspicion setting into his features. Or perhaps that’s just his default look these days.

“Like, for a movie night?” Kou says, “The screen in here is really big.”

There is dead silence. Kei picks at his soba and tries to stave off his oncoming headache.

“Why?”

“Dunno, cause we want to have one?” Kou tilts his head curiously, “If you guys aren’t gonna use it, we can have it, right?”

Ogura tries to turn his laugh into a cough, failing miserably.

“Yeah, Yuu, don’t be such a spoilsport. Let them have it.”

“What are you calling me?”

“I already said I’m cool with Ikuya, you’d just have to stop being so uptight about it.” Ogura shrugs, gesturing at him with his chopsticks.

“This room is reserved in the evenings.” Tosaki grits out between his teeth, ignoring Ogura’s third consecutive attempt that day to get under his skin, if Kei is keeping count correctly.

“Damn it. “ Kou sighs, “You can’t make an exception?”

Tosaki’s eyebrow twitches.

“Wouldn’t a couch be more comfortable than chairs?” Hirasawa interjects, right before Kou can continue in what Kei knows is a losing battle, “There’s one in the storage room. It’s a little battered, but it will do the job.”

“Yeah, I actually think there’s a projector in their too.” Manabe says, “You won’t need a screen. We’ll just get the laptop hooked up. Kind of like a home cinema.” He smiles nostalgically at the prospect: “Haven’t been to one in ages.”

Tosaki sighs.

“Hell yeah.” Nakano says, pumping his fist. He grins at Kei: “What do you say, Nagai?”

“Whatever.” Kei says, despite feeling strangely excited at the idea, taking another bite to avoid further conversation.

Izumi appears thoughtful. “I might be subscribed to a streaming service, if I remember correctly.” she says, “So make use of that if you will.”

“It will be better than risking a computer virus.” she adds, awkwardly, as Tosaki shoots a glare in her direction.

“Izumi-san, Hirasawa-san, Manabe-san, you’re the best!” Kou proclaims loudly, his body positively vibrating with excitement, “This will be the most amazing movie night ever!”

Hirasawa chuckles. “You’re welcome. We’ll help you set it up right after dinner.”

“And I’ll check the wifi and my login details.” Izumi says, pointedly avoiding eye contact with her boss.

“I’m glad everyone has their priorities for the evening sorted.” Tosaki says icily.

Kou gives Kei a winning grin, which seems to say: “I promised you a movie night, and I made it happen.”

For all intents and purposes, Kei is the slightest bit impressed. Which is yet another tidbit of information Nakano doesn’t need to possess.

“You better not make me sit through one of your dumb action movies.” he mutters, instead.

This is going to be a long night.

[sinner-as-saint]

Next To You (Mob! Seb AU)

Part 1: Back For You

Part 2: Want You Back

Part 3: Kill For You

Part 4: Run To You

MASTER LIST.

 Run-through: Following your friend’s instructions, and the direction to Seb’s place which she left you; you manage to be free from the clutches of your murderous uncle. But how long are you able to stay out of danger? Would Seb be able to keep his promise and keep you safe . . . from everything?

Themes: mob! Seb, language, smut, slight gore elements, dark! Seb

  You mentally yelled at yourself to keep yourself awake and focus on the road, since it was around 1:30 a.m. your eyes started to immediately close at intervals of every few seconds. Seriously, driving at that time is next to impossible.

In your sleepy state, driving rather faster than usual, you couldn’t help but think about what must be happening back at Connor’s place.

What would Liana do?

Was she even safe?

If Sebastian sent his men, why didn’t he come to get you himself?

 You had no idea what was going on. Yet, you hoped that Sebastian would explain everything to you soon.

 As you drove, lack of sleep burning your eyes, you felt a weird discomfort in your stomach; felt like mild period cramps. Except, you weren’t supposed to have your period for the next 2 weeks – so you thought it was just your mind messing with you.

The pain eventually subsided, and your thoughts were infiltrated by a certain blue-eyed, devilishly handsome mob boss.

And right as you thought of him, Liana’s phone rang in your lap.

 Your eyes burned as you looked at the bright screen, but they soon widened in surprise and relief.

Sebastian was calling.

 You slowed down the car, unable to stop because Liana told you not to at any cost; and you answered the call.

 “Hel-,”

 “Baby? Y/n, are you okay? I am so, so sorry, babe I swear I- fuck! Where are you? Please tell me you’re okay. Are you hurt? Did anyone touch y-,”

 He started getting hyper, and loud, so you cut him off.

 “Seb! Calm down, I’m fine. I’m okay, and I’m on my way to you. Liana left me an address I believe to your place, I’m coming over. Don’t worry, I’m okay,” you explained the situation to him and he sighed loudly; signaling that his worries lessened a little bit.

 “Okay, but- wait, are you alone right now? Did Liana let you leave alone? Baby, where are you?” he asked again, and you sensed the hint of anger in his voice.

 “I’m driving Seb! Yes, I’m alone. And yes I checked, no one’s following me, okay? I’m fine, just-“you got cut off by a whooping cough. It was rather violent, and it caught you off guard.

 “Babe? You okay?” Sebastian’s worried voice came through the phone again as you lowered it, in order not to cough right into the phone.

 You couldn’t reply as a warm liquid filled your mouth; it had a metallic taste which you hated.

On the verge of gagging, you quickly rolled down the window and spit it out; it felt as though your mouth was salivating more than usual. You quickly wiped your mouth and got back to Sebastian.

 “Yes, I’m fine. I’m okay, Seb. I’m coming over, my GPS says I’m only 40 minutes away. I’ll see you then, okay?” and without waiting for a reply from his end, you ended the call and took a deep breath – completely ignoring the fact that you just coughed up blood.

You found a seal water bottle and quickly rinsed your mouth, after which you finished the entire thing. The cool water going down your throat help in eradicating the taste of blood from your taste buds. God, why did blood taste so awful?

  You drove, following Liana’s direction and the instructions led you to a yet another lavish mansion. Given that it was 2:30 and 3 a.m., the lights weren’t all lit – just a couple on the front porch and on the sides which gave off a rather warm, yet mystical vibe.

You sighed in relief as you parked outside the gates and grabbed your phone again, to call Seb and have him open the gates to let you in.

 You tapped on his contact, but he didn’t answer; instead the gates opened slowly and once they widened enough that you could get through, you drove right in.

 Tired, sleep deprived, yet relieved; your body leaned back into the seat once you realized that you were safe now.

You didn’t get out of the car, you just looked up at Sebastian’s home. You faintly smiled as you took in its architecture. It reflected his personality; alluring, dark and fascinating. Like the houses which belonged to heroes of gothic romances; the ones you loved so much.

 Carefully, you got out of the car and walked up to the front door, and before you even knocked; it flew opened, causing your body to shake at the sudden movement.

On the other side of the door frame stood Sebastian, and he was a sight for sore eyes. You smiled faintly at him. Dressed in sweat pants and a tight, white t-shirt instead of his usual flawless suits – you thought he looked rather adorable.

He wasted no time in grabbing your hand and pulling you inside his home, and into him for a hug. His arms circled around you and his body heat surrounded you – and it was in that moment that you came up with the conclusion that nowhere would feel as safe as in his arms.

He tightened his grip on you and nuzzled his face into your neck, breathing in and out rapidly.

 “I got you, baby,” he whispered and you smiled, placing your chin on his muscular shoulder; sighing in solace.

“I know,” you whispered back and pulled away to get a good look at his gorgeous face. Once you did so, you noticed the men who stood behind him – around 4 of them; and your body tensed.

You didn’t realize there were people watching you and Sebastian being cozy.

 “Don’t mind them, they’re my guys. It’s late baby, you should get some sleep,” Sebastian grabbed your hand and started walking across the front area, through the spacious living room and up the stairs.

You briefly took in the interior as you followed him; mainly dark decors, with regular contrasts of white. The house looked well maintained, and you were sure that multiple people must be hired in order to do so.

 As you walked up the stairs, countless questions erupted in your mind.

 “Sebastian, I don’t understand what’s going on. What happened tonight?” you asked once you finally ascended all the stairs.

 Sebastian halted and turned to face you yet again, the bags under his eyes were very visible and worried was written all over his face.

He sure was hiding something, and not knowing what was going on around you was frustrating.

 “Can we talk about this in the morning? You need to sleep, babe, it’s late. Now, come on, our bedroom is this way,” he spoke and started walking again.

Our bedroom . . .

 Just repeating those words mentally was crazy enough to invite the butterflies back in your stomach.

Our bedroom . . .

 He said it so casually, while you began overthinking. Within the next few seconds, you had already imagined what it would be like to live with him, wake up to him every morning, and cuddling to him every night.

The thought was quite far-fetched but you liked it very much.

  Sebastian walked the two of you through massive wooden doors and closed it behind you.

“Get some sleep baby, I’ll be here when you wake up,” he whispered, kissing the side of your head and pointing to the king sized bed.

 “And where are you going?” you asked, seeing that he seemed like he had something very urgent to attend to.

 “I, well, I have some things that I need to sort out. We’re dealing with real threats here, babe and I’ve got to make sure no one hurts my girl again, yeah? Go on, I love you,” he kissed your cheek and sent you off to bed.

 As you walked to his bed, you heard the door opening and closing once again behind you, signaling that Sebastian was gone.

You sighed as you threw yourself onto his comfy bed. His satin sheets were soothing and cold against your tired body. Soon, you found yourself beneath the covers and his scent once again filled your senses.

 You felt so comfortable and safe in his bed, that you don’t even remember when you fell asleep. All you know is that you coughed a few more times during the night.

  --

  The next morning, the urgent need to pee woke you up. Groaning, you lazily dragged your body out of bed and made your way to the bathroom.

You finished your business and rummaged through the multiple drawers and cupboards found in the well-furnished bathroom; in the search for a toothbrush.

As you did so, you noticed that the faint taste of metal was still in your mouth. Finding a brand new toothbrush, you made your way to the sink and immediately stuck your tongue out to figure out what was going on with you.

As you started at yourself in the mirror, you noticed patches of dried up blood on your pale tongue. And the sight of it worried you for a second.

Were you sick?

 But you quickly shrugged it off; thinking it might be nothing at all, and proceeded to brush your teeth. Once done, you were about to go snuggle back in Sebastian’s comfy bed, but the shower looked extremely inviting, so you decided to have a nice, long, hot shower.

 You didn’t think twice before slipping out of your clothes; you didn’t even bother checking if you had locked the door.

   ^^^

  Sebastian walked into his bedroom, pumped to see you in his bed but when he got there; you were out of bed already.

He had asked his chef to make you breakfast while he came up to wake you up but you beat him to it; you were already up.

Just as he was about to call out your name, he heard the shower turn on. And he smiled at how quickly you had gotten comfortable with sharing his living space.

His innocent smile rapidly turned into a sly one as scandalous thoughts of your bare body under the running water filled his mind.

 He still couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have you, to be able to call you his. He tried his best to let you shower in peace, but the little guy in his pants was shamelessly excited; so Sebastian slowly made his way through the bathroom door.

 The glass concealing your body from his hungry eyes was foggy; and part of him was mad at that. You had your back facing him, yet, the rays of the morning sun caused your skin to glow more than usual.

He smirked again as he slowly got rid of his own clothing; easily discarding his sweat pants and his shirt. The water was rather loud so you didn’t acknowledge his presence until his torso pressed against your bare back.

  ^^^

  You savored the warm water running down your body with a smile on your face. Somehow, hot showers in the morning made everything much more bearable. The temperature of the water was so perfect and you focused so much on it that your senses didn’t pick up on the arrival of the mob boss.

You sighed in relaxation as the warm water fell right on the top of your head, making you tingly all over. Soon, you felt something pressing onto your back, and a pair of hands wrapped themselves around you and soft lips left feathery kisses on your shoulder.

Your body tensed for just a second, but right as your heard his voice; you went back to relishing his touch again.

 “Hi baby, morning,” Sebastian said, and resumed kissing your skin; his well-kept beard tickling your skin.  

You chuckled as he hugged you from behind; you leaned your head back and laid it comfortably against his shoulder. Knowing perfectly well that this allowed him a perfect view of your breasts, you smirked when you felt something hard poke your back side.

 “Morning, nice of you to join me,” you spoke and he bit your skin playfully; earning an involuntary moan out of you.

 The water falling in the two of you felt like pure bliss; if you could freeze time and live in one single moment for all eternity, it would be right here – with him.

 “You feel better babe? You need anything?” he asked and you turned around, still wrapped in his arms.

His face showed how much he needed to rest, the bags under his eyes were slightly darker than last night and his eyes a little more tired than usual.

You almost laughed at the twist in yours and Sebastian’s saga; how weeks ago you were running away from him, scared of him and his bad reputation. But now, weeks later; you were with him, in his home, in his bathroom – in his arms and pointing out how tired he looked.

You partially blamed yourself for his state. Yet, you didn’t know why you cared so much about a notorious mob boss. Was it love yet?

During the time you considered Connor your father, he once told you that love was something which developed gradually; he said that it took time for one person to realize that one loves someone.

Yet here you were, falling hard and fast for the blue-eyed man in your arms, defying all the rules.

 “Yeah, I need to know what’s going on. Where’s Connor, and Liana? Why am I here, Seb, what’s happening?” you asked, the confusion and frustration very, very evident on your voice.

Yet, Sebastian ignored all of your queries with his seductive fuckery. He rubbed your sides slowly with his rough hands and kissed your forehead.

And you didn’t complain, because you needed him just as much as he needed you.

  “Can we, just, focus on each other for a while? The troubles, the problems, it’ll all be here, and I don’t wanna waste my time on them when my baby girl is in my arms, yeah?” he suggested and you smiled, burring your face into the crook of his neck.

 Slowly, his hand made its way in between the two if you and settled right on top of your core. His other hand massaged your breasts and occasionally pinched your erected nipples. Unmoving, he just pressed his two fingers on top of your folds and you weren’t sure if it was the shower or just your desire; but you felt wetness around that sensitive area.

 “Seb . . .,” you moaned into his neck and your noticed the goose bumps which erupted down his back. You sneakily smirked, guess you had the same effect on him which he had on you.

 “I’m here babe, right here,” he whispered, and the sound of the shower could barely veil the lust, the need and the hunger in his voice. All for you.

 He slipped his fingers through your wet folds with ease and toyed with your clit with expertise. Your body shuddered as you held onto him tightly for support.

 “Will you let me take you right here, in the shower? You’re gonna let me fuck you raw and rough and show you just how much you mean to me? Tell me baby, you’re gonna let me bury myself in you so deep that you forget your own name, huh?” his fingers quickened their sweet assault on your dripping core as he whispered his wild and vulgar thoughts in your ear.

You could only moan in response as his fingers slowly slipped into your entrance and his thumb settled upon your sensitive little bud; his hand moved in a circular motion and soon – he was all you could focus on. All your worries and all your burning questions could wait as you solely concentrated on his intimate touch.

His touch which made you feel like a toy in his hands, for him to play with as he wishes. And not one single protest left your lips.

 Seeing that you weren’t replying, he slightly pushed you off him and against the shower wall instead. Your back side made contact with the cold marble and you whimpered – closing your eyes immediately; both at the contrasting temperature and at how Sebastian growled in your ear.

 “Answer me when I talk to you, babygirl. Look at me,” he spoke again, one hand at your waist pressing you into the wall, while the other gripped your jaw and tilted your face upwards. So, you had no other choice but to look up at him.

 Your core throbbed as you opened your eyes; only to find his blue orbs staring down at you. Your chest pressed against his and your hardened nipples brushed against his skin – almost as if unintentionally teasing you. The water droplets fell from his hair and down his face, making him look tempting, alluring and angelic at the same time.

He was beautiful; electric – majestic. Everything you would describe him as when you first laid eyes on him.

 “I’m yours, Seb. You can do whatever you want,” you whispered as your hands snaked behind his neck and you pulled him down for a kiss.

Your words awakened the animal in him.

You nibbled on his bottom lip and he moaned into your mouth; tongue rubbing against yours sinfully and his hands roaming your body as if exploring it for the first time. The feeling of his soft skin against yours, with the warm water falling down on you; was unmatchable.

 Soon, you felt his hard member press against your upper thigh and you smirked, anticipating what was coming.

 “Tell me how much you want me, baby, and how bad you want my cock to pound into that tight little hole of yours. Tell me you’re mine, Y/n,” somehow, the sound of your name leaving his lips while he was in a haze; driven by lust and passion, was the most perfect sound you had ever heard.

 “Fuck! Seb . . . just, please fuck me. I need you,” you whined and it was all he needed to hear. All he needed was the desperate pleas coming from your swollen lips to show you just how much he wanted you.

 The hunger was rather clear in his eyes as he quickly placed his lips on yours, claiming them through the deep kiss as he rubbed his tip up and down your folds. You whimpered into his mouth as he quickly grabbed the back of your thighs and pulled you up further into him; causing you to wrap your legs around him and leaning against the wall for support as he held you tightly in his arms.

Steadily, his length slipped into your tight entrance as his one hand supported you while the other wrapped around your throat – tilting your head back.

 “You’re mine,” he whispered out of habit. His voice deep and gravelly with sexual tension. And you smiled, eyes rolling back and wrist wrapping around his arm; signaling that you liked having his hand around your throat.

 His thick member stretched you to your maximum and once you nodded at him in reassurance; he started thrusting in and out of you slowly, gradually increasing his speed.

He moaned out loud at the feel of your walls stretching to accommodate his cock. And you let out whimpers each time the base of his cock rubbed against your clit – driving you on the edge each time it did so.

Sebastian’s mouth hovered over your ear as he kept whispering comforting words at you as well as his vulgar words.

In that moment, nothing else mattered in the world. It was the two of you, present and consuming each other – and that was enough.

He licked a thick stripe from the base of your neck, up to your jaw and gently nibbled on your soft skin; making sure to leave behind dark marks which would remind you and everyone else that you belonged to him, and him only.

 “Seb . . . fuck!” you whined as his hand left your throat. Both of his hands wrapped under your thighs, supporting your shaking body firmly against the marble wall as he rocked in and out of you relentlessly; the new angle giving him access to sensitive spot you didn’t know you had.

His touch was pure bliss.

He increased his speed each time his name immorally escaped your bruised lips and soon, you were a moaning mess; body moving rhythmically along with his and with each thrust – your back hit the cold wall behind you.

He sloppily kissed the side of your mouth and groaned as a sinful moan left your lips.

 “Fuck! You feel so good baby, all mine,” he spoke in a haze as his eyes rolled back in pleasure.

You felt his cock twitch inside of you, as he sped up into you; earning more and more moans out of you.

 Sebastian nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck and he moaned out loud and a series of profanities left his mouth.

Your felt the familiar pressure form at your core yet again and the sweet pain in between your hips got unbearable. So, you let go in his embrace.

 You came with a cry of his name and your chest moved up and down rapidly as the waves of euphoria washed over you again and again.

Sebastian came right after; his cum shooting at your pulsating walls, whispering your name under his breath as he did. His chest pressed against yours, and you could feel his crazy heartbeat along with yours.

You both panted as you came down from your high, riding the waves of pleasure together. Sebastian kissed and bit the skin along your throat as he carefully placed you back onto your shaking feet. He didn’t let go of your figure just yet, knowing perfectly well that you wouldn’t be able to keep yourself up for long.

Your hands wrapped around his shoulders held onto him tighter than before and he chuckled in your ear.

The sound of it sent tingled down your spine, as did his warm load which trickled out of you slowly.

Once calm, you looked up at him and placed your hand on his cheek, your thumb instinctively caressing the soft skin below his eyes.

 “I love you,” you whispered, unsure if he heard you over the sound of the water falling from the shower head.

As a reply, his lips found yours in yet another possessive kiss; as if branding you as his, he tugged onto your bottom lip and you sighed in the comfort of his arms.

 “I love you even more. Now, come here, let me clean you up,” he said and reached out for the shower gel.

  That morning, you had a rather playful shower with mob boss. And he was so gentle and caring that for a moment you forgot who he really was. Sebastian Stan wasn’t regular person, he wasn’t just another handsome man who managed to steal your heart – he was still the most feared mob boss in the country.

  After you shower, as you wrapped your body in a fluffy, lilac towel; the questions you had resurfaced again in your mind.

 “Seb?” you called out to the man behind you, who was busy securing a white towel around his waist.

You turned around, following his voice, and took in his appearance; tan skin in contrast to the white towel, perfectly muscular arms, toned chest and a God-crafted Adonis belt. He was literally way out of your league, but you were glad you had him.

Mindlessly, you bit your lip as you studied his perfect body shamelessly.

 “Keep staring at me like that and I might just take you again, babe,” Sebastian teased and your face flushed as he caught you staring.

 “Sorry, I just wanted to know about Liana and Co-,”

 “Nope! Not right now, come on,” he cut you off and grabbed you hand and dragged you out of the bathroom you had just spent the last hour in; fucking and desperately trying to shower, before going back to fucking each other a few more times.

 He walked you to the bed and sat you down on the edge of it.

 “Seb! Cutting me off each time won’t help, I need to . . . oh fuck!” you involuntarily cussed as he rapidly pushed you back down on his bed, lifted the towel to reveal your still sensitive core to him as he started leaving soft kissed along your inner thighs.

He was on his knees by the side of the bed, hands wrapped around your thighs and mouth kissing his way up till he reached your glistening core.

The scent of his spicy body wash coming off your body was surprisingly enticing and inviting. To him, having his scent enveloping you, proved that you were truly his.

 “Guess I’ve found a great way to keep you from asking more questions, huh baby?” he teased and slowly licked a thick, warm stripe from your entrance to your clit.

You shivered as his warm mouth worked on your wet core. His tongue teasing your tight entrance as his eyes looked up at you shamelessly. He pressed his mouth further into you as your eyes rolled back and your hands flew downwards to caress his face.

 You already were quite sore from earlier and now his mouth just felt like it was all a little too much, but you weren’t complaining.

Sebastian ate you out feverishly, like he had an insatiable hunger which only seemed to grow with each passing moment.

 “Seb . . . I- fuck!” you were out of control as your body squirmed under him again. His mouth on you was all you could focus on.

  Within the next few minutes, and with a few strokes of his tongue, his steady fingers slipping in and out of your entrance; Sebastian had you coming around his fingers and mouth again – draining you of all the energy you had left.

As you panted, trying hard to catch your breath and calm your heartbeat, Sebastian threw himself on the bed right beside you.

You turned on your side to look at him; his face flushed and lips glistening with your slick. He was everything you didn’t know you needed.

 “Silencing me each time won’t help, Sebastian. I need to know what’s going on,” you spoke softly, too tired to move closer to him to hold him properly. But he got the memo that you wanted to be closer to him so he pulled you into his side.

You laid your head on his damp chest and sighed. His hands wrapped around you as he cradled your head, placing a kiss on top of it.

 “After you left, along with Liana, I gave it all a thought. And I was frustrated because I couldn’t figure out how to send him an indirect message that I was aware of all that’s going on. So, I called Liana and told her about a plan I had in mind. She was reluctant, but agreed soon enough. So, I sent my men and . . .,” he trailed off, obviously not wanting to tell you the complete story.

He was being so vague that it was driving you crazy.

 “What plan? Seb, what did you do?” you asked, sitting up on the bed, securing the towel around your chest.

Sebastian sighed and sat up as well.

 “I had my people take Dylan, Connor’s son. And long story short, he’s in my basement right now. And I know Connor did something, but that son of a bitch refuses to talk. I was with him last night, and I did everything, but he still hasn’t uttered a word. Unfortunately, I can’t kill him . . . yet,” he spoke nonchalantly.

 “Seb! Why? And Connor found out?” you asked, shocked at his revelations.

 “Yes. When Liana came to drop you at the loft, he had someone follow you. And he saw you and I together, so he knew something was up and that you were involved. When my people took his son, he was pissed naturally, and he finally put two and two together. Liana found him when he was on his way to you, and she . . .  well, you know the rest,” Sebastian spoke, hanging his head low.

 “Oh God, and what do you think Connor did?” you asked, probably more to yourself than to him.

He shrugged and looked at you helplessly.

 “I don’t know, and I hate that I don’t know. He didn’t send anyone after you, he didn’t send anyone here. He’s not even trying to get his son back. I just- I hate it. I can’t lose you. I don’t want you to get hurt, but I can’t keep you safe if I don’t know what his next move is. I-,”

 “Hey, I’m fine. I’m okay, I’m right here,” you whispered as you inched closer to him and laid your head on his shoulder. He sighed as he wrapped his strong arms around you and pressed you to his side.

“Connor can’t get to me here, Seb. I know you’ll keep me safe,” you smiled up at him and he had trouble believing that the angel in his arms was all his.

 His heart filled with a sense of pride when he heard that you counted on him to keep you safe.

“I love you, babygirl. Come on, breakfast is ready downs-,”

 The buzzing of his phone cut him off.

It caught your attention as well.

 Sebastian sighed and walked over to where the phone was, on the other side of the room and picked up the call without even checking the caller.

 “Hello? Liana, what-,”

 You watched how all the color from his face drained. He wasn’t scared, but he looked extremely worried. As though someone told him that his worst nightmare had become a reality.

“What do you mean, Liana? I trusted you with that!” he barked through the phone, closing his eyes for a brief moment.

 There was a pause, a rather long one. You were slightly worried as well, but hearing that Liana was alright made you feel a little better about everything that was going on.

 “No, she’s with me, she’s safe. No, he won’t talk. Yes, do you think I’m fucking stupid? Okay, fine. Yeah, I’ll call him. And take care, you fucking idiot!” with that, he ended the call and had to refrain from smashing his phone to the ground.

 You waited for a few seconds before speaking up.

 “Is everything okay? How is Liana? Is she-,”

 “She’s fine, babe. She’s on her way over right now. Don’t worry, everything’s . . . fine. Get dressed, Y/n, you need to eat something. I’m just gonna make a call, I’ll be right back,” he pointed to your luggage and started making his way out of the room when you called out to him.

 “Seb, wait! You’re hiding something from me, what else happened?” you asked and he sighed, looking down at the ground.

 “When Connor’s men found him bleeding and unconscious, they took him to the hospital. And Liana went to see him, but . . . he’s gone. He disappeared and no one knows where he is. We lost him, he could be anywhere, he could hurt you and I wouldn’t even be able t-,”

 “Sebastian, calm down,” you whispered as you approached him.

His breathing got irregular and he avoided eye contact at any cost and you noticed the slight change in his tone; he was scared.

 You wrapped your hands around his bare torso and placed a chaste kiss on his collar bone.

 “Liana told me he’s after my dad’s money. If we just give him the money once it’s transferred to my name, won’t that solve everything? If it’s just money he’s after-,”

 “It’s not the money babe, it’s you. He wants you, and the thought of not being able to keep you safe from him scares me. I always thought nothing could scare me, but the thought of losing you scares me a lot,” he spoke, closing his eyes and placing his forehead against yours.

 His breath fanned your face and you smiled faintly.

 “I trust you, Seb. And I know nothing will hurt me when I’m right next to you,” you whispered and connected your lips to his.

His soft lips moved along with yours, his tongue occasionally brushing against yours and making you feel all warm and tingly all over again.

Through the kiss, you could feel his worry and his concern. Yet, surprisingly, you had complete faith in him. You felt safe with him around.

You were sure that the broody mob boss, who you were undoubtedly falling for, would keep you away from any harm.

 Right?

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woah that’s a lot of people to disappoint. 

[syms-things-5]

Clear The Area

Warning: Not explicit (yet); some mild language. This has been quite cathartic in a way.

Summary: 29-year-old nurse Sarah Bernette has worked hard to get where she is. Moving to Boston from a nowhere dump of a town, she’s studied hard and is grateful her stress is finally paying off. Despite being fostered repeatedly throughout her childhood, she’s since found some comfort in the form of her adopted parents, Jocelyn and Noah, and a pseudo-adoptive family of sorts in form of the Evans clan who have treated her as one of her own ever since she moved in with best friend, Shanna. Valuing them above all else, she appreciates their support even more when her long lost birth mother decides to reappear in her life after so many years, and is surprised to find out just how supportive Chris is in particular. As she struggles to maintain a firm grip on both her professional and private lives, she finds an ill-advised solace in her growing mutual attraction with him but how long before everything unravels and threatens to pull the rug out from underneath her?

Note: I have two chapters written and will post ‘Chapter Two’ at some point this weekend to get things moving. I apologise for my spelling/grammar errors. Let me know if there is something wildly incorrect here and I’ll change it. Still figuring out a few things and I expect this will be a slow burn but it’s exciting to finally get off my arse and…sit down and write. 

CHAPTER ONE

Today was probably a 4 out of 10.

4.5 if she was feeling generous.

Sarah thought about the decisions she had made in the past decade that lead her right to this moment, this moment being cleaning neon-coloured vomit off her scrubs for the second time in the past hour.

“You would think people would have learned downing shots of Absinthe was not a great idea by the time they’d left their teens,” snickered Audrey before shooting her a sympathetic look and handing over another wipe. “I can’t believe how green it was. It looks like you got punked by the Marshmallow Man!”

“Thanks for that.” Sarah was scrubbing as hard as she could while internally questioning her decision to pursue Nursing all those years ago. Her History teacher once told her she could have “a decent stab” at becoming a Middle School teacher if she applied herself right. Right now, she could be knee-deep in teaching half-interested kids about the 27 Amendments without an ounce of sick in sight. Instead, she was baffled. “Fuck. It’s practically luminous…”

This must have been payback for pushing herself as a teenager. Being fostered in and out of care homes during your formative years could turn you one way or the other, and Sarah chose “the other”. She was sure the universe was telling her she should have stayed put and been happy with her lot in life, in her too-small town with no feasible job prospects, where everyone knew you and held that against you, instead of moving halfway across the country with next to no money to study at a University she couldn’t afford and would most likely be in debt to for the next twenty years. Now, however, she got to convince local drunks that climbing on to roofs was, in fact, not a great idea despite the bet they had made with their “friends”. On a good day, she got to help children pick out the colours for their plaster casts. 

Or take today. Today, she got to lecture a group of young people about the trials and tribulations of playing “run the bus” with 60% proof. Every day was just a little bit different so as to keep things interesting. That, she reminded herself, was something she had to remain glad about.

She sighed and threw the last wipe in the bin. Taking a last look in the mirror, she turned to her friend for reassurance that she looked at least passable. She caught her frown before Audrey realised Sarah could see her and quickly gave her a thumbs up. She did love her Audrey which is why she decided to repay her kindness by forcing a hug on her as a thank you.

“Silver lining, though,” Audrey said, shoving her away, laughing in protest. “You’re lucky you didn’t get any in your hair.”

“Yeh bastards had a good aim at least.” Sarah dusted down her arms one last time to check for anything she might have missed and the two of them left the locker room. The place was now eerily quiet, thank god. Just run out the clock and they’d be home and dry in no time, figuratively speaking in Sarah’s case.

Audrey placed a comforting arm around her pal. “You want me to find some spare scrubs? I’m sure they’ll have some upstairs. It’ll only take a minute.”

“Nah it’s OK. I’ll be done in 20. Just gotta sign Mr. Richardson out from cubicle 5 then I’ll run home and shower.”

“OK, well, if you have to hang around, avoid triage because you-know-who is there and I don’t want you ruining your chances again.” Audrey pinched Sarah on her hip and headed back to her work.

You-know-who was Greg Anderson, an attractive 30-something medic from a hospital on the other side of town. He was up-and-coming in Paediatrics apparently and had been shadowing a Consultant for the past few weeks. He was 6ft plus with dark hair and brown eyes and his father was something big in Economics in MIT. He drove a Porsche and wore Louboutin’s on his rounds which had Audrey practically foaming at the mouth. Indeed, he hadn’t bypassed the attentions of the majority of females in the ER, as well as a few men and even a couple of patients but as always, Sarah was solely focussed on the job at hand to pay him any heed. Audrey thought she caught him staring at her the other week, though, and made it her mission to set them up. She took great pride in playing matchmaker for her friend given that she herself got locked down nine years earlier and “it’s a damn shame to let these skills go to waste.’ She had somehow also managed to get Shan and Lisa onside, too, however that had happened.

Greg was handsome, she’d agree with that, and definitely her type in the right light but something was a little too Republican for her liking. Plus, he was a Rangers’ fan and Sarah swore blind early on in her life that she couldn’t bring children up in that kind of hostile environment. Sarah briefly contemplated walking past triage with the lingering scent now clinging to her clothes but as Audrey kindly repeated to her at regular intervals during the days, Greg was her only realistic prospect right now and figured it was perhaps better to keep her options open, at least for the time being.

Mr. Richardson was gone pretty soon afterwards and, accepting defeat for another day, Sarah grabbed her bag and headed home.

*

There was definitely beer left in the fridge, she was sure of it. She’d bought a six-pack at the weekend and could only remember drinking two during the Bruins’ game, so…

“Oh yeh, you’re out of beer.” 

Sarah turned around from the fridge to face a sheepish looking Chris holding the last frosted bottle in his hand, his ball cap low over his face attempting to hide the faint black circles under both his eyes. There was a 5 o’clock shadow forming now he wasn’t required to shave. As drained as she was, she briefly contemplated wrestling him to the ground for that last swig. He looked just as tired. She figured she could take him. At least he had the decency to look guilty about it.

“I’ll run out and get you some if you…Jesus! Why do you smell like a brewery?!” He practically recoiled holding his free hand to his nose.

Sarah rolled her eyes and grabbed a glass for some cold water instead. “Are you here to just annoy me or steal my beer as well?”

“Both now you ask but seriously, what have you been doing all day? You don’t usually smell this bad.” He joked.

“Oh, some kids took it in turns to throw up on me and I didn’t have any clean scrubs to change into.” She downed the water and went to fill the glass up again. God, she didn’t realise she was this dehydrated. Chris shot her a look of confusion. “It’s a long story. Is Shan around?” She shed herself of her scrub top and headed into her bedroom down the hallway, Chris casually following behind.

She had to pop out for something so I’m just handing here ‘til she gets back. You coming for dinner at Ma’s? She’s doing her famous lamb roast. Might wanna shower first, though.” He joked, playfully sticking his tongue out at her.

“God, I forgot how hilarious you are.” she overtly rolled her eyes at him. “No, I’m good. Just gonna head for an early night, I think.”

“OK, well, if you change your mind, we’re leaving in half an hour. You know she’ll make me drive back to get you otherwise.”

That was true. For as long as she’d known and lived with Shanna, Lisa had treated her like any other member of her family and Sarah had never fully grasped how much she had appreciated it, coming from where she did. Lisa knew Sarah’s folks weren’t as close by any more and compensated for this by inviting to every dinner night she held, every games night, school events, theatre events, and more besides. She spent Christmases with them, visited Disney with them, and had New Years with them on occasions she wasn’t working. Lisa even organised a surprise birthday get-together for her as well despite Shan’s protests that she wasn’t a birthday kind of person. Sarah had learned to stop feeling awkward or out of place soon after.

Once Shan told Lisa Sarah had wanted to start learning to play piano as a new year’s resolution, Lisa had insisted she could teach her whenever she had some spare time. There soon after followed afternoons of tea and gossip and not much playing of the piano but it felt comfortable and nice for the first time in a long time. Shan would make excuses so Sarah didn’t feel obligated to attend everything but in truth, she didn’t mind so much. It was nice to feel wanted.

Chris was lounging on her armchair with one leg over the armrest, messing on his phone. Sarah could count the number of times on one hand the nights he had spent in his own place since returning to Boston a fortnight ago. As true as it was that he rarely spoke about filming in any great detail, she could nevertheless tell he’d been left particularly drained by this particular experience and wasn’t looking forward to the reshoots scheduled for next month. There had been a rumour he’d started sleeping with his married co-star and she guessed Lisa had been mithering him about it hence him turning up on their doorstep last week. Other than one night back in his own bed, he had remained on their sofa ever since, clearly relishing in the familiar company.

“So what made those kids throw up?” Chris called out, still engrossed in his phone. A quick glance over his shoulder told her he’d been ignoring someone’s text messages.

By now Sarah was in her old yet comfy sweatpants and a Boston hoodie Shan had bought her as an anniversary present of her 5th year living there. “Um, Absinthe. The nasty kind.” She was gathering her washing together.

Chris whistled low through his teeth, a kind of “been there, done that”.

“Rookie mistake.“ he laughed to himself. He frowned at his phone before chucking it onto her bed and turned around in her chair to plant both feet on the carpet, leaning forward to rest his arms on his knees. He looked like he wanted to get something off his chest but was struggling to find the words. He was reluctant to drag Sarah into anything given how exhausted she looked. Despite their differences in careers, sometimes it felt like she was the only person he knew who could understand how long and tiresome the days could get. Then he would inevitably feel embarrassed he was out there only pretending to save lives when she was out there day after day actually living it for real in all of its bloody glory. And for a tiny fraction of his pay. He tried not to water than thought too much.

“I take it you know,” he asked quietly, still not looking up from her bedroom floor.

“Know what?”

“About Jenny?”

“Oh,” she paused for a brief second. He’d know straight away she was lying if she tried to play dumb. “I mean your mom might have mentioned something in passing,” she shrugged unconvincingly. He scoffed knowing she would have talk about nothing else since the rumours started gathering pace online. He knew he hadn’t done himself any favours by avoiding the conversation either but he simply couldn’t stand another lecture of disapproving look. Dinner tonight was to be his mea culpa.

Sarah was thankful when she heard the front door go and then the sound of Shan dropping her bags in the kitchen and heading towards Sarah’s room.

“I signed for this for you this morning while you were out.” she handed Sarah a brown envelope before turning to Chris with a hand on her hip, looking like she was scolding her 7-year old nephew. “Mom’s been trying to get hold of you all day. She wasn’t sure if she needed to lay an extra seat for you this evening. Sarah, she wanted me to make sure I couldn’t persuade you to come as well?” Sarah shook her head and held up her stained clothes and enjoyed Shan’s visible flinch.

“I’m not even going to ask.” She held her hands up and walked out. Chris rolled his eyes in mock imitation of Shan and Sarah smiled sympathetically, mouthing a “good luck” to him as he left trailing behind her.

Sarah was left looking down at the envelope in her hands. It looked very official; the kind you would receive if you’d been summoned to a court hearing or Jury Duty. She didn’t recognise the address or the stamp but recognised her home town almost straight away. It had been years since she’d been there. Why the hell were they dragging her back now?

*

[pain-somnia]

A Tale of Two Carps

Characters: Uchiha Obito, Uchiha Sasuke, Uchiha Fam, mentions of KakaRin, and a little SasuSaku (they babey) Rating: K+ Disclaimer Day’s Notes: Happy Bday to our fave boy! I originally plotted this out as a backup fic for @a-year-of-naruto a seasons themed general Naruto zine. I just really wanted to write some Modern AU Uchiha family fluff, so here’s some 17 year old Obito doting on his baby cousin, 3 year old Sasuke around the time of Kodomo no Hi (Children’s Day) I hope you enjoy the fic and make sure to check out my spotlight and all of the other contributors.

A Tale of Two Carps

The classroom’s curtain fluttered when the breeze rolled through the window. The students were supposed to be using their break time to prepare for their test but the coming holiday was on their mind.

“Obito,” Kakashi pulled his manga away from his face to look at his friend properly, “not that I care, but what are you doing?”

“Shit!” Distracted, Obito pricked his finger with his needle. He sucked on his index finger and then wiped it on his pants before getting back to the blue fabric on his lap.

Ignoring Kakashi, Obito returned to his work of embroidering on the fabric on his lap. The days were closing on him and he had to finish his project before the fifth of May. School really cut into the time he could have been using. Instead he had to deal with the bombardment of exams they were being given before their holiday break.

“It’s a windsock!” Their class representative and best friend, Nohara Rin, supplied after examining the nylon material. “Are you making a koinobori?”

Obito nodded his head enthusiastically, grateful that the carp was obvious in the design. He continued stitching the pattern of the scales, glad that his first attempt was coming along so well.

“Aren’t you a little old to hang a windsock?” Kakashi asked before hiding his face behind his manga again.

“It’s not for me,” Obito rolled his eyes, “it’s for my cousin! I noticed his windsock was looking a little beat up so why not make a new one?”

“This is a lot of fabric, Obito.” Rin lifted one end of the nylon attempted to stretch it out. “And you’re hand sewing all of this? How big is it?”

“About as tall as Sasuke-kun.” Obito hummed and went back to sewing sequins to the scale pattern. He hoped the sequins would catch the sunlight and shimmer as the windsock waved with the breeze.

“Oh, the younger brother, right?” Rin pulled a seat closer to him and assisted him in attaching the sequins.

“Of course,” Obito scoffed. “Why would I make one for Itachi?”

Kakashi curled himself inward, attempting to block out the lecture Rin was giving Obito about how he favored his youngest cousin too much. Sasuke had been born when they were in their third year of middle school and even now that they were high school seniors, Obito continued to spoil his baby cousin.

“I mean, how can you say no to that face,” Obito cooed every time he got called out for it. It wasn’t as if Sasuke asked for anything, but it didn’t stop Obito from showering the toddler with affection.

Most of the students were excited for Golden Week to take a break from school. Obito was looking forward for the holiday break because he could spend as much time as possible at his Uncle Fugaku’s house which meant more time around his favorite relative.

.

.

.

“Sasuke!” Obito squatted down so that he was at eye level with Sasuke and opened his arms wide to intercept a hug that wasn’t coming.

“Why is Obito-nii here?” Sasuke pouted, gripping tightly to the straps of his backpack. “Where’s kaa-san?”

Obito hung his head in defeat. It was always the same reaction from him whenever Obito showed up.

“I even ran all the way here,” Obito muttered at the ground.

“He’s leaving without you.” Kakashi kicked his rear to get him moving. Obito yelped and rubbed his rump. Rin giggled into her hand before coughing and turning to scold Kakashi.

“Wait, what?”

Ignoring his best friends interaction, Obito spun around to find his baby cousin walking ahead with a blonde woman and her rose gold haired child.

“Wow. He even got a little girlfriend before you,” Kakashi drawled.

“Shut up!”

Obito watched as the little girl rambled enthusiastically and waved her hand around talking to both her mother and to Sasuke. Sasuke wouldn’t speak but would nod or shake his head at certain intervals. Obito’s eyes traveled down to the joined hands of Sasuke’s friend and her mother.

I should be doing that too. Obito stood up and dusted off his pants, strengthening his resolve.

“Well, we’re off to our date. Good luck with the cousin, Obito.” Rin patted him on the shoulder reassuringly. Kakashi put his hand on Obito’s shoulder and stared at him for a moment before shaking his head.

“You could be more supportive, Kakashi,” Obito grumbled. He adjusted the strap of his messenger bag for school and the strap for tote bag he used to carry his windsock materials on his shoulder and sped up to catch up to Sasuke.

“We hold hands when walking near the street, Sasuke-kun.” Obito waved his hand cheerily in front of Sasuke, urging him to grab it.

Sasuke narrowed his eyes at his older cousin and then shook his head. Instead he reached for his friend’s hand and held onto it.

“Don’t be weird, Obito-nii.”

Obito hung his head in defeat again. He loved his little cousin, but gods was he a little shit.

“I’m sorry,” the little girl called out to Obito, misunderstanding the situation. “I only have two hands.

“You can ignore him, Sakura.”

One could only hope that Sasuke got better as he grew up.

.

.

.

After Obito and Sasuke split ways from Sakura and her mother who lived on a different street with more modern houses, he was finally able to take hold of Sasuke’s hand for the rest of their walk to Sasuke’s house. Obito took out his copy of the house key and unlocked the door.

“You can go now, Obito-nii.” Sasuke waved him off as he sat down at the genkan and removed his shoes.

“Oi. I’m here to babysit.”

“I’m not a baby!”

Obito sighed and slipped out of his sneakers and into the spare slippers he used whenever he visited. He could only hope that Itachi came straight home from his elementary school and helped with Sasuke. With his luck it was more likely that Itachi and Shisui would stop by the park on their way home.

“Let’s get you washed up and changed into some house clothes and I’ll make you something to eat.”

“Onigiri?” Sasuke asked hopefully, unpacking his bento box from his backpack to hand to Obito.

“Yeah, I guess that can be a snack.” Obito set the timer on the rice cooker so that the rice would be ready after Sasuke was washed up and changed into his sleepwear.

It was a struggle to get the toddler to settle down for a shower and then bath. By the time Obito was able to get Sasuke cleaned up for a bath he was completely soaked as well. He set his clothes to wash and dry in the connected laundry room and bathed as well.

“I want Roar-chan.”

“Roar-chan isn’t waterproof, Sasuke-kun.” Obito reached into the bucket of bath toys by the bath and handed Sasuke a toy tugboat.

“Where were Kaka-nii and Rin-neechan going?” Sasuke asked, dragging the toy across the surface of the water.

“Kakashi promised he would take Rin to a café last week and she’s cashing in on that today.” Obito leaned back, sinking his body further into the water.

“They were holding hands.” Sasuke dropped the toy and formed a water gun with his hand and squirt water at Obito. “I do that sometimes too.”

“Oh, yeah? With who? Sakura-chan?”

“Maybe.” Sasuke shrugged but averted his gaze. Obito laughed at the redness of his ears and Sasuke splashed water at him.

“Okay,” Obito coughed through the waves of water, “time to get out. Don’t want you to overheat.”

Obito changed into some of his uncle’s sweats and left Sasuke on his own to change into his pajamas. He insisted he was fine on his own without Obito’s help so that left Obito with making something for him to eat. He had just finished forming all of the rice balls when the front door opened.

“I’m home.”

“Itachi-niichan!”

“Hey Itachi, go wash your hands and━what the hell happened to you!?”

The eight year old stood in the gekan covered in dirt. Shisui stood right next to him, covered in even more dirt, if possible.

“Take off your shoes and socks and head straight to the bathroom,” Obito instructed them, snatching their backpacks before they could take them into the house and ruin Auntie Mikoto’s floors. “Shisui, don’t you have your own house?”

“Don’t you?”

“I’m babysitting!” Obito snapped, dusting the backpacks in the doorway.

“I’m not a baby!”

This is going to be a long afternoon, Obito groaned inwardly, picking up the discarded dirty socks and shoes.

.

.

.

Once Itachi and Shisui were soaking in the bathtub, Obito was able to sit Sasuke down to eat his onigiri. Sasuke wasn’t as quiet a kid as Itachi but when he sat down to eat he focused on the task in silence. Even with how quiet it was, Obito preferred it over his own home. He had been adopted by his great-uncle after his mother passed away during his first year in middle school but he was almost never home. Uncle Madara was far too busy with work and was only around for important holidays.

“I’m finished,” Sasuke announced setting his cup of barley tea down. He helped Obito clear the chabudai and then moved to the living room with a box of building blocks.

“Can we watch TV?” Shisui entered the living room, dressed in a pair of Itachi’s pajamas. Despite the two year gap between the two boys, Itachi’s clothing fit him well enough.

“Don’t you have homework?” Obito questioned him from where he was doing his own homework, a few feet away from where Sasuke was building a skyscraper.

“You’re never this strict with Sasuke,” Shisui complained.

“Sasuke-kun is three. He doesn’t get homework yet.”

“Yeah, I’m three.” Sasuke smiled smugly at Shisui.

“Only for two more months,” Shisui grumbled before turning to grab his backpack from the genkan. “Your cuteness will run out one day, twerp.” 

Obito got up and set down a plate of onigiri for him and Itachi when the two of them took out their workbooks.

The scratching of pencils on paper and the sound of Sasuke babbling as he played caused a tingle to run from the back of Obito’s down his neck. It was a soothing feeling, pleasant as he flipped through his math workbook.

He could do this, just this, everyday for the rest of his life.

“I’m still hungry.”

“You have two hands don’t you, Shisui?” Obito rolled his eyes but got up anyway to see what else he could scrounge up from the contents of the fridge.

“Thank you, Obito-nii!” Shisui sang out.

“Yeah, yeah.”

.

.

.

“Thank you so much Obi-kun.”

“It’s no problem, Auntie.” Obito sandwiched his cell phone between his ear and shoulder as he opened up his umbrella. “As long as Haruno-san calls the daycare it should be fine. I’ll see you when you get back from work.”

Obito ended the call and slipped the phone into the pocket of his hoodie. It was unusually cold but that’s how it got when it rained sometimes.

“What was that about?” Kakashi asked, shaking out his own umbrella. With Rin busy with library duties the two of them were left to head home on their own.

“My aunt’s friend had an emergency at the shop she owns with her husband, so she can’t pick up her daughter from daycare. I don’t mind babysitting her, she’s a cutie.”

“What’s up with you and toddlers?” Kakashi questioned as they made their way to the daycare. “First it was old people, now it’s babies?”

“Pre-schoolers are much better than the elderly. I might wanna be a daycare teacher.”

Kakashi walked with him until they reached the daycare and then he split ways, heading home in a different direction.

Oh my gods! Too cute.

Sasuke and Sakura were both wearing raincoats and boots. Sasuke’s coat was dinosaur themed and the green hood had blue spikes while Sakura’s was yellow and covered with ladybugs. She even had a matching umbrella that looked like a giant ladybug.

Little kids got all of the best stuff.

“Where’s my umbrella?” Sasuke demanded.

“Ah, shit.”

Sakura gasped at the curse and Obito slapped his hand over his mouth. Uncle Fugaku was always getting on his case for watching what he said in front of Sasuke during his impressionable years.

“I didn’t have time to pick it up, Sasuke-kun,” Obito explained quickly, hoping that the more words he said would cover his slip up. “We’re just going to have to share.”

Sasuke’s face scrunched up and he said, “No thanks,” before he opened up Sakura’s umbrella and held it up over their heads as best as he could.

“Little shit,” Obito muttered under his breath in disbelief. Just once it would be nice for Sasuke to be a little kinder to him.

He followed right behind them making sure they stayed a good distance away from the curb. They reached the road they needed to turn onto when the little kids continued walking straight ahead.

“Guys, we turn right left here.”

The two of them stopped and looked up at Obito. It was starting to get unsettling how Sasuke looked up at him impassively.

“We’re going to the conbini,” Sasuke explained as if it was obvious.

“Now why would we do that?” As far Obito knew Sasuke didn’t carry money on him because his aunt and uncle kept his allowance in a coin bank.

“You’re going to buy us ice cream.”

“Say what?” Obito looked from the firm stare Sasuke gave him to Sakura’s beaming smile. He turned back to Sasuke and reminded him that he didn’t even like ice cream.

“I like lemon-honey popsicles.”

“Your mom makes those,” Obito reminded him. “And she doesn’t like it when you eat junk food.”

“My mom also doesn’t like it when you use bad words.”

Was he really getting shaken down by two toddlers? Where the hell had he even learned about blackmail from? Obito stared long and hard at his baby cousin.

“Fine.”

“Sakura likes Häagen-Dazs.”

“I’ll hug you.”

“A fruit popsicle is fine.”

“It better be.” Obito opened the door to let them inside the convenience store. “I didn’t even know you knew how to pronounce Häagen-Dazs.”

.

.

.

Obito made sure that Sasuke and Sakura took a bath when they got to his uncle’s house and changed them both into warm pajamas. The last thing he needed was one of them getting sick on his watch.

He was sure after their snack at the conbini that their appetite was ruined and didn’t bother making anything to eat. He was sure that they wouldn’t be hungry before Itachi decided to show up.

With the two of them playing in the corner of the living room, Obito sat on the floor and leaned back against the couch. He tugged his tote bag closer to him and took out the koinobori he had been working on. It was almost finished and he could give it it’s last few touches before his aunt and uncle came home.

Sasuke was a brat, but Obito considered him his brat. He was still a child himself when Itachi was born and Itachi was odd from the start. He didn’t spend much time his younger cousin, not until Sasuke was born.

Sasuke was a difficult pregnancy for Auntie Mikoto and born prematurely. She was weak after the birth and Obito had nothing to do, not wanting to go to an empty house. When Auntie Mikoto returned home from the hospital with Sasuke, Obito made sure to visit every day after school and on weekends to help around the house.

So Sasuke was a brat and could try being a little nicer to people that weren’t his older brother or Sakura, but he was a big part of what made Obito feel at home somewhere.

“What’s that?” Sakura had shuffled over from where she and Sasuke had been playing and started gently poking at the shiny sequins on the windsock. Curious as well, Sasuke had wandered over and picked up one of the windsock and examined it.

“It’s a koinobori!” Obito spread it out on the floor to show off it’s carp shape. “I’m making it for Sasuke ‘cause his old one got damaged last year and looks a little beat.”

“But I already have a koinobori.”

“You can’t use that one, silly.” Obito ruffled Sasuke’s messy spikes. “It won’t hold up against the wind.”

“No, I have a new one. Tou-san bought it the other day. It has lightning patterns on the scales.”

“He...he did?”

Obito looked down at the finished koinobori and frowned. He was so excited about making the windsock that he hadn't considered that his uncle would replace the old one.

“You can have it anyway. Not like I need one.”

Obito sighed, resting his chin on his fist as he watched the two kids run off with his koinobori. It might not be serving its original purpose of celebrating Sasuke on Children’s Day but at least Sasuke was using it for something.

.

.

.

Uncle Madara was busy yet again even though it was Golden Week.

Obito used the days off from school to camp out at Kakashi’s place. During the day he split his time between hanging out with his Aunt Mikoto and Sasuke and helping restore the community garden. Apparently Shisui, Itachi, and Shisui’s friend Iruka had attempted to dig a tunnel system of sorts but none of the adults had caught them. Obito only knew because he found a necklace that could only have belonged to Itachi in the wreckage.

Now that it was the fifth of May, Obito had to meet up with his family at his Uncle Fugaku’s house to help his aunt make the sticky rice cakes with red bean jam and sticky sweet rice treats used to celebrate the holiday. He was sure that he would probably end up eating double portions of them again because Sasuke always gave them to him. It seemed that Sasuke was going to be one of those kids that didn’t like sweet foods.

“Huh?’

Entering the gate to their house, Obito noticed something sparkling from the corner of his eye.

“Just in time,” his Uncle Fugaku grunted. “Come help me with these.”

Uncle Fugaku held up the windsocks he had taken out to hang off of the side of the house. In his hand was one black carp, one pink carp, one red carp, and one sparkly, sequined blue carp.

“That’s the carp I made.”

“Yeah. We sent the one we bought to the daycare center.” Uncle Fugaku handed him a rope and together they knotted the kites.

They set up the pulley and yanked on the rope until the wind caught the flying carps. Just as Obito had hoped, Sasuke’s carp shimmered as it fluttered in the wind.

“Sasuke insisted we hang up this one up.” Fugaku clapped Obito on the shoulder and nodded towards the house, inviting him in. “He said that it was special. Didn’t matter that I got a carp with lightning like he asked me to.”

Sasuke was a brat, but he was a lovable one. Obito would gladly eat all of his sticky rice cakes for him. Maybe he’d make him some onigiri instead.

[stevemoffett]

Pandemics Don’t Get a Cute Pun

Being Afraid

It’s been twenty-one days since I’ve spoken to another person in the flesh. Before that, I had gone for seventeen days. And before that, a week.

The first week of no contact began when I said goodbye-for-now to my co-workers. I decided to wait to go to the grocery store until that first wave of people had passed before I tried going. On my last grocery trip, I had decided to “stock up” in case I had to isolate for a little while, and so, having no idea how disruptive the situation would become, I bought a whopping three boxes of spaghetti and one big jar of sauce.

My all-spaghetti diet ran out by Monday, March 23rd, and I had nothing else edible in the apartment. So, even though it wasn’t cold, I put on my jacket (to limit my skin-to-air exposure), a baseball cap (to stop myself from scratching my head, a nervous habit), and my glasses (I stopped wearing contacts to avoid touching my eyes). By March 23rd, the CDC and WHO had not yet recommended wearing gloves or masks in public. But I already had gloves at home (you never know when you’ll need nitrile gloves), and I had two masks that I had to wear when I was around someone who was immunocompromised earlier this year, so I put one of the masks and a pair of gloves on. Then I drove to the store.

The local store was letting about twenty people in at a time. There was already a line forming, just five minutes past opening. I walked to the end and we all stood waiting about six or so feet apart from one another.

Nobody made conversation. In people-watching moments like these, I associate whatever behavior I see with the general attitude of wherever I am, even if there is no such stereotype: Ah yes, that reserved Texas stoicism I’ve heard so much about.

When I got into the store I pulled out a cart and walked stiffly. The night before, I had gone on the store’s website and written a list of the items I needed, grouping them by what aisle they were in. I was going to snake my way through the store one time, get in line, and leave.

A complicating factor of doing it live was that there were lots of people to avoid. During an ordinary cold season, I usually watch out for people near me who might be sick. If they look like they may possibly be sniffling or flushed, I take a breath, hold it, and let it out through my nose slowly as I pass them. Here in the grocery store, I did this every time I walked past people in the aisles, and for extra protection, I scrunched my eyes shut.

There were signs posted limiting the amount of each product you could buy. No more than four boxes of pasta at once, for example. The pasta shelf was totally cleared out except for whole wheat pasta, so I took four boxes of that. I bought three eight-pound bags of dried pinto beans, a couple of bags of rice (I’d heard that beans and rice together make some kind of magical combination where you can avoid protein deficiencies even if you don’t have any meat), a big bottle of canola oil, butter, four big jars of spaghetti sauce, a bunch of hot sauce, ketchup, tofu, and frozen vegetables. The meat aisle was almost completely picked over—I managed to get two pounds of ground turkey from there, though. I didn’t get any eggs because I enjoy them too much; I knew that it would be better to make a clean break from them until after things got back to normal than to agonize over eating the last of them.

In line, I had an extremely full cart. By contrast, an old man in shorts behind me had about four things in his, and he wasn’t wearing gloves or a mask.

I heard him say, in a very low voice, “Stupid motherfucker.” Maybe he said, “Stupid motherfuckers,” plural, but I felt like it had to be at least be partially directed at me.

The teenager who rang me up seemed relaxed. I felt demographically exposed. Now that I am middle-aged, I am very aware of my interactions with teenagers. If movies are any lesson, there are about six million ways that I can make an encounter with one of them a) awkward, b) creepy, or c) both.

“Have you seen many other insane people dressed like me?” I asked, cringing behind the mask since I had already failed point a).

“Not many,” she replied.

“Well, thanks for being here,” I said. “Thanks for your help.”

“No problem! I’m getting paid a lot to be here!” She said.

When I got home, I decided to take everything up to my place in multiple trips. Climbing up and down the stairs for each trip, though, I started to sweat. When I came in with the last of the bags, I set them on the floor and took my gloves off. I could feel a bead of sweat dripping down my forehead. If it got past my eyebrow and went into my eye, then maybe some of the virus that had landed on me from contaminated grocery store air would be carried into my eye, and that would be Game Over.

I hurried to the sink, tossing the gloves into the trash and ripping a paper towel off the roll. I crumpled it and pressed the part of the wadded-up towel that hadn’t touched either hand over my closed eye.

As the sweat was wicked away from my eyebrow, I felt my fingers moisten and I thought, Could any germs from my hand travel back through this sweat bridge and into my eye? It was true that I had been wearing gloves, but maybe I hadn’t taken them off carefully enough and I’d touched my wrist, or the outside of one of the gloves, and not noticed. I had also grasped the side of the roll to rip the paper towel off. Had I contaminated the edges of a bunch of sheets farther into the roll, too? Could I even be sure I’d properly bunched the paper towel I was holding to my eye without having touched the eye-facing part?

I decided to text all of this uncertainty in a big run-on paragraph to my brother. He responded, “I think you’re fine.”

After blotting the sweat, I got the bright idea to sanitize the frozen vegetable bags I’d bought before putting them in the freezer by spraying them with bleach. I brought them out to my balcony so that I could spray everything down indiscriminately. I sprayed all the bags, waited a couple of minutes, then started wiping them off with a fresh paper towel.

As I wiped the bags, I noticed that they were not airtight; there was a series of little pinholes all over the bags in what seemed like regular intervals. I assume that this was a design feature of the bags. But I could see that the bleach spray was disappearing into the holes, which meant the cauliflower and broccoli inside were absorbing it.

I realized then that I had inadvertently poisoned all of my vegetables. I tossed them in the garbage and thought again of what the old man behind me in line had said.

Now I had no source of vitamin C. I’d thought that there might be vitamin C in meat, but there is not. You get it mostly from leafy greens, a few fortified foods, and citrus fruits. I checked online and found that if I got zero vitamin C, I had at least four weeks until I got scurvy. This meant that I couldn’t go longer than four weeks before my next grocery trip. It was a relief to know that I had a date where re-stocking was mandatory, because if there wasn’t one, I might have felt overly cautious, enough to start rationing my food so that it lasted as long as humanly possible, and I’d lose an unhealthy amount of weight by cutting my calorie intake down to the minimum 1200 a day.

But without a vitamin C source, that wasn’t necessary. I certainly had enough food to last me for four weeks, as long as I was strict. I wouldn’t be able to have any cheat nights, but I also wouldn’t go hungry.

I sprayed the bleach on the faucet handle and the soap dispenser, and left the non-perishable food—Sriracha sauce, ketchup bottles, mustard, oatmeal, spaghetti sauce, and boxes of spaghetti, all standing upright—out on the floor between my refrigerator and the front door. I’d wait another 72 hours before handling them, and even after that, I would wash them with soap before use (except for the cardboard spaghetti package).

Those first few days were extra paranoid because I knew that it was possible I had already been infected. A few nights, I woke up around 3 to use the bathroom, and as I passed my upward-pointing non-perishables there on the floor, they looked less like food items and more like a bed of nails, or like stalagmites deep in a cave: hostile, and waiting for me to trip.

If I cleared my throat several times within a couple of minutes during the day, I got worried. If I sneezed or felt congestion when I woke up, the anxiety would percolate in the background until the symptom went away. I began sniffing my toothpaste to make sure I could still detect mint, since the news had come that smell loss was a common symptom.

But all of this was a distraction from the real sources of my dread: my parents and sister. My parents are old and my younger sister is frail. Each of them has at least one comorbidity waiting to gang up on them if they were infected. They all live together, and my sister requires enough close monitoring that if one of them gets it, they will all get it.

My father has had a particularly distressing habit that he likes to trot out from time to time over the last decade, but since his stroke, he’s doubled his efforts. What he does is personify the small voice in my mind that prevents me from getting back to sleep at 3 AM.

He called me the other day, just to talk. And mostly, the conversation went as normal: I tore my hair out at his and my mother’s relative (to me) disregard for proper exposure limiting, and he gave me his latest movie or TV show recommendations.

After I tut-tutted over another unnecessary trip somewhere both he and my mother had taken recently, he responded, “Yeah, that’s true, it is a risk. Well, you know, if one of us gets this, then all of us will. And we might all die.”

He let the words hang there until I responded, with as little emotion as possible to show him that he wasn’t winding me up, “Sounds like it’s a good idea to be even more careful, then.”

As I said, he’s made a habit of nihilistic portending for the last ten years. The problem is that I am always trying to banish those thoughts when they’re still merely thoughts, but then he just blurts them out, which makes them real. Does he not understand after almost forty years that no matter how irrational, uninformed, or biased a father’s words can be, they are still taken to heart by the son?

And he says these things, but then he doesn’t change his actions in kind. If he believed that the situation were that serious, wouldn’t he be battening down the hatches instead of making flimsy excuses to go to the grocery store? Does he really need to get that steak because he has a coupon? Does he really have to go there for Kandy Kakes because they’re buy two, get one free? Is it really worth rolling the dice each time?

I did ask him this directly, and he replied, “Well, we have to live.”

He meant “live” figuratively—I knew that they had enough bland food there to last them a long time. I asked him, “So the difference between ‘living’ and ‘not living’ is going to the grocery store?”

The frustrating contradiction is that for a generation so insistent on austerity being the “tough love” that the world requires, my parents sure don’t want to be austere. When I had trouble getting a job just out of undergrad, I was told to “pound the pavement,” carrying my resume with a suit on and applying to places in person, because it would be “more impressive” than applying online. The most frequent criticism of theirs was that people my age are lazy softies who can’t do anything for themselves. My dad, who had been a mechanic in his adolescence, liked to repeat a joke about my and my brother’s lack of mechanical knowledge: “If Steve had a nut, and [my brother] had a bolt, the two of ‘em wouldn’t be able to figure out how to get them together.”

Yet, if anything ever has been, this is the time for austerity: you shouldn’t make any unnecessary trips for indulgent foods. Instead, stick with the bland, nutritious diet that will last a long time, and stay away from public places. You can truly turn the risk almost down to zero that way, by being austere.

I think that my parents (I can’t speak for their entire generation, just them) have two aversions to properly responding to the virus. The first is that hiding inside one’s house is not what courage looks like. Courage is going out and showing the virus that they won’t be cowed so easily! Staying in, by contrast, is living in fear and surrendering. But it’s not true. The virus can’t be “shown” anything because it is a cell-invading machine. It isn’t trying to cow them, or “try” anything at all, for that matter. It is only spreading. It’s also confusing because the other great fear of our time is terrorism, and in cases of terrorism, that is the right attitude to react with.

To explain their second aversion to responding prudently to the virus, I believe that at a certain age, you just feel entitled. If you’ve had a life like most people’s then you’ve had your share of happy times, but you’ve also had your share of awful ones. And at this point, almost seventy years in, you probably think, the painful parts ought to be mostly over. You don’t deserve to be cooped up in the house right when retirement, really the only good part of senior citizenship, is beginning. Therefore, you deserve to be able to go out and do things. Unlike the timid young, you simply don’t have the time to waste inside.

While I can understand both aversions (as well as a younger person is able to, that is), I can still disagree with them. And I can still get extremely angry when my parents show this behavior.

For that reason, I am not without my own nastiness. I’m sure my mother didn’t appreciate the time I said to her on the phone, “I want you to remember you said that when they’re hooking you up to a ventilator,” after she told me she’d gone to the Starbucks drive-thru that morning. I mean, yes, what I said was truly ghoulish, but I said it out of love. And, desperation.

Because the 3 AM nightmare that I have lately is the one where I send my usual text to my mom asking how they’re all doing, and she texts me back, “Well, [my younger sister] woke up with a little fever, but she’s fine, she’s fine…”

*

I hear the horror stories. Funerals that have to be attended via the Zoom app. Final goodbyes said over Skype or FaceTime. People dying at the hospital, all alone. I know that it is naive to hope for this, but I still want to be one of those families that just dodges it entirely, you know? Just completely lucks out.

Even though I know those horror stories I keep reading are a textbook case of selection bias (you don’t hear about the vast majority of cases, where a person gets kind of sick but then recovers and is fine), if I want to do some simple panic math, here are the numbers.

-A reasonable infection rate over the whole US population, based on the R0 value: 50%.

-The chances that if one of the three vulnerable people in my family gets it, all three will end up infected: nearly 100%.

-The chances of them dying, given their ages/comorbidities (I’ll be more optimistic with this statistic): 15%, for each person.

Here are the likelihoods for the optimistic scenarios:

-None of them get it. That’s 50% x 50% x 50%, which equals 12.5%.

-They all get it, but they all survive: ~87.5% x 85% x 85% x 85%, which equals about 53%.

That doesn’t represent complete coverage of the probability space, since there are minor variations in what could happen, like each of them could theoretically be infected from an outside source and then give it to only one of the others. But as an estimation, it covers the most major scenarios decently.

So then, to get the probability of the “bad scenarios,” in which at least one person dies, you take the complementary percentage: 100% - (53% + 12.5%) = 34.5%.

Am I really looking at about a one in three chance that one of my immediate family members will die, to say nothing of my grandmother, sister, brother, sister-in-law, niece, and nephew? Hopefully not. The more time that goes by with them not getting infected, the more information healthcare workers and scientists can get about proper treatment courses and possible new medications. And if we go long enough (over a year) without getting infected, we might be able to be vaccinated.

In addition to the nasty pictures I paint for them over the phone if they don’t properly isolate themselves, I have also tried to exploit the older generation’s defensiveness. With a relish that was all part of the act, I told them that there was an alternate name for the disease floating around online, “The Boomer Remover.”

The other term I’d heard, The Boomer Doomer, I refrained from telling them about. My reasoning was this: while The Boomer Doomer is flippant and insensitive, the word “doom” is still scary. So, the phrase “Boomer Doomer” admits some of the disease’s weight and suggests a small amount of seriousness in the mentality of millennial-and-younger generations. That wasn’t good enough.

No, The Boomer Remover was the one I told them about because in addition to being disrespectful, it is downright adversarial. “The Boomer Remover” sounds like a cleaning product. It casts the virus as part of the young’s artillery in the culture war. And it casts the boomer generation as vermin. The name brings to mind fears that older generations must all share since the beginning of time: you will soon be gone, and your absence will be celebrated. Maybe, I thought, their defensive attitudes could be redirected to something more constructive, like making the effort to keep themselves healthy.

It seemed to do the trick. They were more conscious of avoiding exposure to infection after I said it. I don’t know if they really were persuaded by The Boomer Remover—it’s possible that they just got more information from the news around the same time—but they did cut out more unnecessary trips, which relieved me. Not down to zero, but fewer than before. I still don’t accept the unnecessary trips they take, though, and I spare no opportunity to remind them of that.

Coping, Sub-Optimally

I am lucky in my personal situation. To some extent, I can work from home. I have joined the legions of Zoom users. Keeping rigidly to a telework schedule, I have made sure that my sleep schedule hasn’t changed by more than a half hour, and I still look forward to the weekend, even though I don’t go anywhere Saturday or Sunday. The library is closed, and most of my attendees don’t have the Internet, so I can’t run my book club. I can exercise, but after hearing my downstairs neighbors furiously pound on their ceiling during one of my workouts, I’ve had to figure out how to do silent cardio so I don’t have to run through the neighborhood every other day.

One thing that I’m experiencing seems to be something that a lot of others are, too: an unfortunate confrontation with my previous excuse-making. If I had an hour extra in the day, I used to say, I would cultivate a new skill and get really good at it.

After a reliable isolation routine had been set here in my apartment, I found that I did have an extra hour each day, since I didn’t have to commute. I could wake up a half hour later because I didn’t have to drive to work, and when I stopped working for the day, all I had to do was sign out. I could still exercise, still make dinner, and still unwind before bed, so my post-work day was similar, but I gained one more hour I could use as I pleased. What have I done with it?

I am not a gamer. After about six years of not playing any games at all, I bought myself a Nintendo Switch and the newest Zelda game when I graduated in 2018 as a self-gift. I played Zelda over eighteen months. It’s a long game, but the average time you’d have to spend per day to finish the game with only moderate quest completion over that many months is low.

Playing Zelda was like a being able to eat a filling meal whenever I happened to crave it. In-game, I found the environment to be so pleasant that when people in real life asked me if I’d done any hiking lately, I’d almost respond, “Well, no, but I have done a fair bit of hiking and mountain climbing in Zelda.” If I went a couple of weeks without playing, it would take only a minute or two to remember what I’d been doing when I turned it on again. Overall, it might be the best game I have ever played. And it seems like it would be the perfect game for these times, if I were playing it anew.

But lately, the game-playing I’ve been doing over the past few weeks shows a much different mindset—one I haven’t really experienced since I was an undergrad student.

When I was in college, the adjustment to living away from home took a long time, and as a result, freshman year was sort of a wash. I didn’t do well in my classes, my suitemates were all upperclassmen I couldn’t really relate to, and it was hard to make friends in the huge introductory lectures with no assigned seating. I spent nearly the whole year playing video games in my room every evening, ordering pizza after pizza after pizza.

The game I remember playing most was a first-person shooter called Quake 2. I had tried the original Quake when it came out in 1996, but at that time it was too graphics-intensive for the family computer to run. Now, though, Quake 2 was the cooler-looking game, and my new laptop could have run either one easily, so I got Quake 2.

If I could sum up the highlight of freshman year, 2003, it would be: It is 10 PM. It is Friday night. There is a pizza on my desk, only two slices eaten so far. There is me, twenty-five pounds heavier than I am now. I am listening to Zwan, the short-lived Smashing Pumpkins-led supergroup. Quake 2 is blasting on my laptop. Somewhere far away, my future wife shivers for seemingly no reason.

After freshman year, I made a bunch of friends, and some of them became my closest friends, and from that happy vantage point, freshman year looked even more bleak. I resolved that I wouldn’t play Quake 2 ever again. In fact, I decided that from then on, I would think of the intense urge to game, especially first-person shooter games, as a kind of emotional canary in the coal mine.

But now in 2020, stuck in the relative comfort of my nice apartment and isolated from my family, and with the extra time that isolation was granting me, I started looking online for a new game to play.

My computer is fine but is also nothing impressive, processor-wise, so I can’t run a modern game on it. I felt too intimidated to play one anyway, having been out of the loop for so long. So, I searched for “retro FPS games,” and found a game called Dusk. Dusk, the game’s description said, was made in 2018, but was “meant to look like a shooter from 1996.”

I bought it and did nothing else outside of work except eat, squeeze in workouts, and play the game. It only took four evenings, but I finished it. And after that, the gaming urge from freshman year was fully back.

Similar circumstances, similar results. If I didn’t dig up Quake 2, it was only out of a pitiful sense of pride; re-downloading it would mean that symbolically, I hadn’t changed at all since freshman year. So instead, I bought Quake 1, and I’ve been playing that ever since I finished Dusk.

It turns out that since 1996, there has been an online Quake 1 fan community that regularly cranks out game modifications, so there are literally thousands of user-made levels to play in addition to the original game. And the mod levels are all free, as long as you’ve paid for the original game, which costs only five dollars. As a result, nearly every night after work, exercise, and dinner, I turn on a 24-year-old video game (with a fan-made mod that sleekens those chunky graphics up a little bit) and play it until bedtime.

First, I played through the game at normal difficulty, saving after every tough set of enemies (this practice is called “save scumming,” and is frowned upon in the Quake community). Not wanting to be bogus, after I finished it that way, I immediately started replaying the game, this time on Hard difficulty and only saving one time per level. I haven’t made it through the entire game again this way yet, but I’ve also played a bunch of fan-made levels to see what the tinkerers have come up with in the last couple of decades.

Have you ever been so completely uninterested while listening to someone explain their hobby to you that you felt a little bit guilty, but you also felt bad for the person, for being so lame? That’s how I feel right now, re-reading what I’ve just written. Don’t get me wrong, this isn’t one of those I-am-quitting-my-addiction-through-the-healing-power-of-writing entries—in fact, I stopped writing this several times to play Quake, even looking up strategy videos on YouTube when I got stuck—but I acknowledge that this is not a good use of my time.

Right now, I could finally be getting those guitar skill fundamentals I’ve always wanted. I could be (getting closer to) finishing all songs I’ve written, or writing new ones. I could be working on an actual short story, or a novel, or something, to point to as a positive thing that came out of this whole crisis, and yet, all of those roads end up in the same place: worry town.

In another way, my laser-focus on playing a game like Quake makes perfect sense. It is similar to a game I already know how to play—it’s not one of the new shooters my computer couldn’t run and I probably couldn’t understand. And it lacks any need for deep thinking. Your goal in Quake is to get to the other end of the level, and if you could try to kill everything you see on your way there, that would be cool too.

If I were playing Zelda, I’d be all the way inside my head thinking about my family as my character’s horse galloped past waterfalls, sunsets, and windblown grassy fields. But in Quake, I don’t have to keep track of my inventory, my life meter, my resources, experience points, magic spells, stamina, side-quests—anything. If I’m still shooting and moving, I can still win. There’s no time for my mind to wander because there are monsters around every corner. And at the end of the level, nothing needs to be committed to memory.

Is it weird that I can’t remember anything about the actual game Quake 2, which I spent months playing as a freshman, except for how it felt to play it? Well, that, and the sparse game dialogue: some enemies would call you “trespasser” or “intruder” just before they tried to stab or shoot you, and there’s a level about midway into the game where you make your way through an elaborate torture factory and you see your comrades all being sawed to pieces, but the only thing they cry out is “It hurts,” “Let me out,” “Make it stop,” or “Kill me now.”

The time I spent playing Quake 2 and the time I’m now spending playing Quake 1 almost seem like one of those cheesy explanations of wormholes you see in science fiction movies. What’s the shortest way between these two points on this piece of paper? someone asks. A straight line, someone answers, and the person who asked the question shakes their head and folds the paper so the two points meet.

*

Life at thirty-five still feels young—I don’t have that fear of replacement yet. But I do have a new awareness of how dangerous it is to get stuck in a rut. Talking with my family over the phone in the past few weeks, I said that I was afraid that I had become “complacent enough that I could wake up one day and realize that I’m forty-five, with nothing new to show for it.” There are plenty of things I know I’m now too old for, ways of acting, ways of dressing. And my life so far is starting to have a true feeling of accumulation to it. Thinking back on it is like looking down a mountain hiking trail, with confusing turns, switchbacks, and even blind offshoots. Some of it is obscured by the trees, lost from memory. It all seems impressively far. Looking forward again, the mountaintop is still in the distance, but now it looms.

In between the previous paragraph and the one before it, I found out that my high school film teacher, Mr. Truitt, passed away. I had mentioned him in my entry about starting a book club, and in it I’d said that I’d modeled my method of discussion on the one from his film class. I now seriously regret that after all of this time since high school, I never used the very small amount of time it would have taken to tell him how much his class and influence meant to me. And, it is an embarrassing kind of regret—an obnoxious feeling, having taken him so much for granted. I’d always meant to contact him some day, but ordinary life took the foreground, and if I spent twenty minutes thinking of what I would write in a letter to him, I’d forget about it twenty minutes after that.

Just as indecent is my poring over his obituary with the obvious question on my mind that anyone has about any death in the past two months.

If something can be drawn from this entry, I hope it would be this: don’t forget to let people know how much you appreciate them. Life is long, but it never feels long enough. And the absoluteness of death is one of the scariest things about it.

[aralisj]

dimya + 47

47. “Why are you whispering?”

Cut scene from Holding Tight / Split timeline where the author really leans in on the fake dating trope.

It was late afternoon on a quiet day, there were only a couple sat near a corner and the two regulars that practically lived in the bar. Dmitry cleaned the wooden surface, rearranged the glasses, and checked his phone for the umpteenth time; he had to silence a groan when he realized there were still thirty minutes left on his shift. 

It was a particularly bad day to be idle. He had struggled all morning with their step sequence and now his feet seemed to have a life of their own, tapping and swaying from one side to the other, giving him a slow motion replay of his misteps from that morning. Anya had patiently skated with him, even as he asked to repeat the same sequence over and over… Bless her. It was like that for him with most things, he didn’t have many innate talents but his stubbornness and competitive nature led him to master most things he put his mind to. “Time and practice,” Vlad would tell him when he grew impatient about something; it helped sometimes, mostly it just irritated him.

Dmitry turned his attention from the now immaculate bar to the couple near the corner. They were young, almost too young to drink, and were probably on their first date, judging by the awkward distance they kept between them as they flirted. “Oh, to be young and in love”, Dmitry thought sardonically. He had had his share of awful first dates and, at the moment, didn’t look forward to the prospect of getting back in the game. He didn’t have the headspace to even consider it anyway, what with his days consumed by training at the rink and pretending to date Anya.

In front of him, the boy made a move to kiss the girl and… They turned to the same side and bumped heads. Dmitry had to turn away to hide a grimace of second hand embarrassment. When he looked back again, they had gotten the hang of it, the placement of hands only slightly awkward, the kiss itself quite sweet. With a chill, Dmitry realized that, since he and Anya were only a couple when in public, they wouldn’t have the luxury to fuck up their first kiss (and if he was completely honest, most first kisses weren’t exactly cinematic). He started to worry; they had been “together” for weeks now. The image they were projecting wasn’t like one of those weirdly detached couples that kept their distance and barely shook hands in public; they were very tactile, hugs and piggyback rides were a common occurrence. Dmitry had said that would sell the romance better but now he realized a bad kiss could ruin their lie in a moment. As he walked home, he thought of contingency plans if they were ever put on the spot and forced to kiss. This was going to be an awkward conversation, he was sure.

He took his muddy boots off and left them at the door, realized his hands were shaking (why were they shaking?).

“Dmitry! Here’s your jacket! I borrowed it yesterday and I know you hate that I leave it smelling all flowery but it was sort of an emergency…” Anya was all sunshine as she walked towards him.

“Is Vlad here? Sophie?” he asked, his voice low.

“No,” Anya cocked her head, still holding his jacket. “Why are you whispering?”

“I don’t know! I’m freaking out!” his voice still sounded strangled but not as quiet.

“Is this about the step sequence? You are being too hard on yourself!” Anya reached out to touch his elbow and Dmitry felt shiver go through him.

“No, it’s not about the step sequence!” he shook his head and decided to just go for it. “I need to do something quickly, please don’t freak out,” and with that he took a step towards her, cupped her face, and planted a soft kiss on her lips, short as a sigh, little more than a peck, and then he let her go. They stood in awkward silence for a moment; Anya seemed to have kept her eyes open during the kiss because they were wide as saucers when he looked at her.

“Thank you- I think,” she said softly, scrunching her face, handing him his jacket, and walking to the kitchen. “Do you want some tea? Sophie gave me some leftover chamomile from the café,” Anya started setting mugs and boiling water, her initial instinct to not even acknowledge what had happened.

“Anya, let me explain!” 

“Please do,” she said, her voice high-pitched, “because living with you is strange enough without all this,” she gestured vaguely in his direction.

“I saw this couple at the bar, yeah? They were so awkward with each other and their first kiss was a disaster and I didn’t know how to talk about it with you because I realized we would have to kiss eventually if we keep pretending to date…” he said in one breath. “I panicked, okay?” It wasn’t an apology but she nodded in acceptance. “Was it bad? Weird?” he asked frantically. She would never admit it but seeing cocky, self-assured Dmitry nervous about kissing her was more than a little endearing.

“A bit weird,” she replied after a pause. There was no bite to her words and she was playing with the strings of the tea bags as she talked. Anya had thought about kissing him, once or twice, she had dreamed of kissing him once. She would, of course, never say that to Dmitry, his ego was big enough as it was. “I wasn’t expecting it, that’s all,” she said. It was only half a lie, she wasn’t expecting it but she definitely wanted it to last longer.

“So… Are we okay?” Dmitry took her hand, warm from the mug of tea, in his cold grasp.

“Of course,” Anya replied as she bit her lip. She was racking her brains to find an excuse to kiss him again. Now that they had entered the realm of stupid decisions, she didn’t want to leave. “And, you know, if us kissing is something that worries you- we could- uh-”

“What?”

“You know how we said that we were a couple in public and just skating partners at home,” Dmitry nodded, confusion furrowing his brow. “Well maybe we could do a- an interval… Say, thirty minutes, and we can practice and say what we like, what we don’t like, that kind of thing,” Anya tried to seem indifferent at the prospect but her knuckles were white as she squeezed the hem of her sweatshirt.

“Practice,” Dmitry’s voice came a bit broken so he cleared his throat, “practice kissing?”

“I mean, if you want,” Anya shrugged. “If it worries you that much…”

“Yeah, no, for sure,” Dmitry replied nonsensically, making Anya chuckle under her breath. Seeing her light up like that, he knew this was an undeniably bad idea, and yet, who was he to resist? He took out his phone and set an alarm for half an hour later. “Okay, thirty minutes start… Now!”

He walked towards her with caution, like she was a scared white hare about to disappear into the snow. 

“So… How do we do this?” Anya stared straight ahead, to Dmitry’s sternum, losing her courage all of a sudden now that it was actually happening. 

“Let’s start slow, no tongues,” he replied and Anya had to contain a nervous giggle when Dmitry tilted her chin up with his finger. It was timid and contained, with both of them keeping their hands at their sides. His lips were soft, just a little bit dry from the cold, and careful as he pressed them against hers. He would often loose his patience when they were on the ice, rolling his eyes when she took too long to learn a move but now… His lips were mouthing the words to the world’s gentlest ballad, so slow and tender she quickly forgot her panic about what to do with her teeth and whether she was doing things right. It was like the first time they had skated together, with Dmitry waiting for her to catch up and then taking her hand and keeping pace with her. This time round, Anya did close her eyes and it made her feel giddy and unstable, like she was falling backwards, only that Dmitry was there to catch her too. Without her noticing, he had taken his hands out of his pockets and placed them on her waist, they hadn’t moved any closer but it was a nice feeling anyway. She took that as a sign to move her hands towards his neck, her right index traced the contour of his jaw, moving with a will of its own.

“Is that okay?” Anya asked, her voice was embarrassingly breathy.

Dmitry nodded and gulped. “You can play with my hair, I like that.”

“Okay,” she replied. “You can pull me closer, if you want.”

He nodded and dragged her towards him, she silently hoped he couldn’t feel the thump of her heart on his skin. She, in turn, reached out to run her fingers through his hair, giving special care to those loose strands that always fell on his eyes. Dmitry bent over to kiss her again, it was not so tender now, less controlled. She stood on the tips of her toes and carded her fingers through the soft hair on the back of his neck. He held her tight and sighed, making a shiver run down her spine. Admittedly, Anya had laughed at the notion of french kissing Dmitry, however, intertwined like they were it felt not only natural but necessary. When the tip of his tongue brushed over her lip, she was a little too eager to reciprocate.

“Woah, there!” Dmitry laughed, backing away a fraction and wiping his top lip with the back of his hand. “Slow, remember?”

“God! Sorry!” Dmitry still held her waist  very tight so she couldn’t run away like she wanted to in that moment. Her cheeks were burning with shame.

He laughed again and shook his head. “It’s fine,” he fixed a strand of hair behind her ear and looked into her eyes. “It is! Come on, now you kiss me, I’m doing all the hard work here,” at that Anya finally smiled and relaxed in his arms again.

“I’m going to need something, though. Wait here,” she pressed a quick peck on his lips and disappeared in the bedroom. She appeared moments later with a cardboard box Dmitry kept at the foot of the bed. She carefully aligned it with Dmitry’s feet, stepped on it and, now that their heights were level, cupped his face and kissed him hard. She could feel Dmitry’s amusement mixed with something else, something different. He sank his fingertips into her skin, one hand playfully lifting the hem of her sweatshirt, the other resting on her hip. Anya wasn’t idle, she tried to replicate the delicate way Dmitry had brushed his tongue over her lip.

“Slow. Less. Good,” he guided her, their foreheads still touching and their lips brushing when he spoke. “More.”

In a weird turn of their heads, Dmitry bit her lower lip and Anya let out a moan.

“Shit! Are you okay?” he brushed his thumb over her lip, worried. Anya looked down and bit the inside of her cheek. “What is it?”

“I- I liked it,” she confessed with a lopsided smile.

Dmitry laughed and pressed a peck on her now swollen lip. “Kinky,” he mocked, brushing his nose against hers. Anya tugged at his hair in retaliation and smiled a devilish grin when a low groan sounded from the back of his throat.

Anya played with the zipper of his leather jacket as they made out. How were they suppossed to go back to skating partners/roommates/unlikely friends after the thirty minutes were through? How was she suppossed to go back when she knew the feeling of Dmitry’s hand on her bare back and the way he tasted? She really hadn’t thought this through.

“Can I lift you?” Dmitry asked, taking her out of her thoughts. She nodded and held on to his shoulders, marveling at the lines of muscle there like she had never felt them before. He set her on the kitchen sink, her legs framing his waist. “Is this okay?” he asked.

“Yeah.” Technically, they weren’t any closer than seconds ago, and still Anya felt the roof of her mouth dry up; when Dmitry rested his hands over her thighs she knew why. His touch was so close to where she need it and yet…

The alarm on Dmitry’s phone sounded as he closed the distance between their lips one last time. They parted and the awkward silence that followed was asphyxiating.

“I should- uh- I’m taking a shower,” Dmitry announced, “I still smell like cigarrettes from the bar,” was his excuse.

Anya, that had spent the past half hour treacherously close to his skin, could say that he, in fact, didn’t smell like cigarrettes. She ran her fingers over her lips. 

Inside the bathroom, staring at the mirror, Dmitry came to terms with the fact that maybe he wasn’t as cool and detached as he thought. Winter was the worst time for a cold shower, he thought with a wince.

[iceeckos12]

multitask au: pay attention

The first time Izuku hears it, he is six years old.

He is sitting in the back of the classroom, right next to the window. It’s been almost a year since his world crashed down around his ears—that is, almost a year since he was declared quirkless. Or, more or less quirkless. An invisible quirk is as good as no quirk at all.

He is looking out the window with distant eyes, tracing shapes in the cloud layers. He’s also paying attention to what the teacher is saying, though it’s math that he already knows because he reads ahead when he gets bored. He’s also writing down notes about the hero fight he watched that morning in his notebook.

All the sudden, the teacher pauses in the middle of her lecture. Confused at the sudden silence, he turns his gaze to the front, trying to discern what’s wrong.

To his surprise, the teacher is staring right at him, her eyes cold and her frown dark and stormy.

“Midoriya-kun.” She says, falsely sweet. Bakugo and his cronies, gathered at the front of the room like vultures waiting for an animal to die, start sniggering. “If you would pay attention in class…”

Izuku blinks at her, confused. “I was paying attention.”

The teacher’s expression goes from stormy to downright smug. “Oh?” She asks. “Then what was the last thing that I said?”

Izuku looks around the classroom, suddenly hyper aware of the other students’ gazes boring into him. He leans back in his seat a little, and hesitantly, obediently parrots, “You were talking about addition...the last one you said was 2+3? The next one is 2+4?”

In the front, Bakugo and his friends suddenly go quiet.

Judging by the surprise on her face, she really wasn’t expecting his answer to be correct. She splutters a little, her cheeks tinging a faint pink, looking as though she’s just about swallowed her tongue.

Then she finds her voice. “Eyes up front during class!”

Izuku can only nod, a tad annoyed at the unnecessary interruption.

-0-

He doesn’t know how much he’ll come to hate the phrase ‘pay attention’. Because he is. Every single damn time, he is paying attention.

-0-

Izuku looks at the first question on the test. He blinks, separates his thoughts, and begins writing an answer with his right hand. Then he goes down at the second question, reads it, and separates his thoughts again so he can answer with his left hand. He used to be terrible at writing with his left hand, but with practice he’s gotten quite good at it.

He finishes the rest of the test like this, scrawling away with both hands at twice the speed of his peers. As a result, he finishes after only fifteen minutes.

Izuku turns the test over, deletes the two new tracks he created, and lays his head on top of his arms so he can nap.

Almost half an hour later, he turns in his test with the other students. He doesn’t see how the teacher is eyeing him suspiciously.

A day later, he receives the test back with a big red 0 on it. Written beneath it is, for cheating.

Confused and a little hurt by the accusation, Izuku approaches the teacher after class. There is nothing friendly about the way the man is sitting, nor the twisted smirk on his face.

“What do you mean for cheating?” He turns his test around to show his teacher, because there must be some mistake. He would never cheat.

“Did you think I wouldn’t notice?” The man says, and something tells Izuku that he’s been holding this in for a long time. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice that you never pay attention in class, but somehow still get perfect grades? Did you think I wouldn’t notice the way that you always seem distracted by something?”

Izuku is startled at the vitriol in the man’s voice. He stares open-mouthed at his teacher, unable to even attempt to defend himself, because—

His mother told him that teachers were there to help him, would be there if he ever needed them. And sure, they’ve never lifted a finger to stop Bakugo from cornering him on the playground, but this—this baseless accusation—doesn’t feel real.

Seeming to take his silence as admission, the teacher steamrolls forward, triumphant. He’s carried away, Izuku can see that, the glee in the man’s eyes a little terrifying. “If you don’t shape up, who knows what will happen to you. But then again, you’re quirkless. Your future wasn’t too bright in the first place, was it?”

Izuku feels like he’s been slapped.

He staggers away from the teacher’s desk, tears burning hot in the back of his throat—

But runs out the door before they can fall.

He won’t give the man the satisfaction.

-0-

There are a couple more incidents before Inko catches wind. She walks into the school in her soft, knitted sweater and long skirt, small and unassuming. She walks out, and a teacher has been fired. The principal is practically begging for forgiveness, or at least for her not to pursue the lawsuit that she threatened.

But even still, the words linger.

‘Pay attention’, Izuku thinks, and he frowns. The words taste like betrayal in his mind. But I am.

-0-

“Hey, nerd!”

Izuku stiffens at the voice coming from behind him. He considers his options for a moment, before sticking his other earbud into his ear and turning the volume up. Normally he likes to have one ear tuned into the radio and one ear tuned into the real world, but for Bakugo he’ll make an exception.

The shouting behind him increases in volume, and in response Izuku turns up his headphones, hoping that a lack of reaction will make him lose interest. It’s a vain hope.

Bakugo rips out one of his earbuds, and the wire scuttles down his chest. The other boy’s face is twisted with anger, and tiny explosions begin going off in his hands.

“Pay attention when I’m talking to you!” Bakugo snarls, his cronies parroting their agreement behind him.

Izuku knows that Bakugo can’t know how utterly annoying that phrase is to him—pay attention. The words that have been thrown at him again and again, arrows finding their marks with unerring accuracy. But even so, he finds himself snarling, “What do you want, Kacchan?” with unusual temper.

Bakugo looks taken aback by the sudden show of teeth. He recovers his bravado just in time for Izuku to shrink into himself, realizing who he just yelled at.

The bruises and burns that Izuku comes home with that day are especially vicious. But what aches even more is the memory of Kacchan saying, pay attention.

-0-

Izuku learns. Slowly but surely, Izuku learns. When people say ‘pay attention’, they mean that they want his eyes on them at all times. They want him to appear unerringly interested in whatever they have to say, even if there is something far more engaging on another track.

If he does not do this, the school tells his mother that he has a rather extreme case of ADHD. If he does not do this, he is taken to therapists and doctors who poke and prod at him, and recommend pills that he doesn’t need. If he does not act normal then he is treated as though there is something fundamentally wrong with him. Well, more than the whole ‘quirkless’ thing.

(And of course, if one is told something over and over again for the majority of their life, they will come to believe it. Izuku has been told that he is worth less than nothing for his functional status as quirkless. He has also been told that there is something wrong with him because he apparently cannot pay attention. These two things become truths to him.

Unavoidable, undeniable truths.)

-0-

Until.

Izuku is on the beach with All Might. It has been two weeks since the pro told Izuku that he could become a hero. Two weeks since All Might said that he would give Izuku his quirk.

Izuku can hardly believe it. It feels like a dream.

The pro is giving him a lecture on the benefits of including interval training in his running plan. Izuku is giving him as much of his attention as he ever gives anyone—both eyes and one ear, while the other ear is tuned into a radio station that’s currently talking about a hero fight that happened that morning.

He doesn’t want to mess this up. He feels like he’s buzzing out of his own skin, crawling with the intensity of his focus, but he will not give All Might a reason to say, “Pay attention.”

Then, the radio begins talking about a new pro hero. They announce the name, the quirk, and—

Izuku digs his notebook out of his backpack, not taking his gaze from All Might as he rummages around. Even despite his apparent continuing attention, however, All Might’s words slow down a little, become uncertain.

“No, please continue.” Izuku says, flipping open his notebook to a fresh page and beginning to scrawl notes about the new hero. He still hasn’t looked away from All Might. “I’m just writing some stuff down, don’t mind me.”

All Might seems to accept that, because he launches back into his spiel.

Things continue like this for the next couple of weeks. Izuku pays utmost attention to All Might, only occasionally breaking out his notebook to take notes on hero fights that catch his interest on his other track. All Might seems off-put at first, but he quickly gets used to his young charge suddenly removing his notebook from his bag at odd times.

Then comes the day when, before Izuku leaves for a run, All Might says, “Mind if I take a look at your notebook while you’re gone?”

It’s such an innocuous question, Izuku thinks almost nothing of saying, “Go ahead.”

When he gets back, All Might is flipping slowly through the pages, a thoughtful look on his face. He looks up when he hears Izuku approach.

“These are hero fights.” All Might says without prompting.

Izuku wipes his face with his towel, feeling like he’s suddenly stumbled into a trap, but not knowing how or why. “Yeah...that’s where I record information about quirks.”

All Might closes the book with a sharp snap. “You’ve been recording hero fights while I’ve been talking.”

Suddenly wary, Izuku nods slowly. “Um...yes.”

His mentor rubs his chin, before turning his oddly piercing blue gaze to look at Izuku. “At first I was angry, because I thought that you weren’t paying attention when I was talking.”

Izuku feels old anger rise in his chest. “I’m not—”

“I wasn’t finished.” All Might stops him. “Then I realized. Even when you were taking notes you were still responding to me concisely and clearly. There was no evidence that your attention had wavered. And yet these notes,” He taps them, “Are impeccable. So. Tell me, young Midoriya, how is this possible?”

Izuku’s mind goes blank for a second.

Then he says, “H-Huh?”

“Multitasking is impossible.” All Might tells him simply. “And yet you seem to be doing it.”

He says it so casually, like it’s not the bomb it is. Like he didn’t just flip Izuku’s world upside down with a single word. Multitasking is impossible.

Multitasking is impossible.

Except. They live in a world where the impossible is possible. They live in a world where people can defy gravity to fly, where humans can turn into animals and animals can turn into people. This is a world which defies impossible.

What if.

He’s known that he has an invisible quirk all his life. But what if it was the kind of invisible quirk that could easily be explained as an attention deficit disorder? What if it was the kind of quirk that could be written off as not a quirk at all?

What if it was the kind of quirk that made people say pay attention, because it was technically impossible?

“You can’t focus on two things at one time, can you?” Izuku asks suddenly. It’s such a ridiculous question; of course All Might is going to say yes. It’s a skill Izuku’s had all his life, there’s no way it could possibly be a--

All Might is staring blankly at him. “Huh?”

A new track forms, already pulling old memories from his mind and compiling them as evidence. Old moments, innocuous moments, which he never thought meant anything.  “Can you—can you listen to a radio and carry on a conversation with someone without losing focus?”

“Of course not. Multitasking has long been proven impossible.” All Might says again, though not dismissively. He pauses. “And...you can?”

Izuku feels breathlessly excited. He’d never heard that word before—mutitasking—but something about it feels right.

“Listen, All Might. I think...I think there’s something I need to tell you.”

[droneseco]

The Biqu B1 Is an Incredible 3D Printer for Under $300: What Are You Waiting for?

Biqu B1

9.50 / 10

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The Biqu B1 isn't just great for the price; it's great, period. It prints reliably, and it's easy to operate. Although it needs some construction, the build guide is comprehensive and everything is well labeled, so any skill level should have no issues putting it together.  

Specifications

Brand: Big Tree Tech

Build Volume: 9.25x9.25x10.62 inches (235x235x270 mm)

Connectivity: Micro-SD and USB

Heated Build Plate: Yes, with removable spring steel sheet

Feed Type: Bowden tube

Dimensions: 16.2x19.4x15.8 inches (412x492x402 mm)

Weight: 17.6lbs (8kg)

Pros

Great instructions and labeled part bags

Superb adhesion and double-sided print bed for extended lifespan

RGB lighting in the print head and control dial

Very reliable printing

Easily upgradeable

Cons

Noisy fans, even when idling

Buy This Product

Biqu B1 amazon

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It's not often that a printer comes along which only unique selling point seems to be that it's available in pink and has some RGB lights, but at first glance, that's exactly what the Biqu B1 is. But if you can look past that, you'll find a remarkably well built and reliable printer at an affordable price point. I wasn't expecting much, but the Biqu B1 taken the spot as my daily printer of choice; it's just that good. And it's also available in black.

Note: if you purchase from Amazon, we have an exclusive coupon for the black version of this printer. Enter code 6SB64EP7 at checkout for $30 off, taking the price to $250! (Valid until the end of February 2021). And be sure to enter the competition to win a Biqu B1 at the end of this review. 

Biqu B1 Design and Specifications

In terms of core design, there's nothing remarkable or innovative about the Biqu B1 at all. It's an Ender 3 clone, and arrives half-built, with the bottom half (which includes the power supply and motherboard) already made. Parts are all machined and anodized (in a gorgeous pink, no less), and fixed onto a standard t-slot frame.

After unpacking the printer, I admit I panicked a little. I had glossed over the small print about this printer being a kit build, and the sheer number of bits and screws was quite overwhelming. I've tried to build a 3D printer from a full kit before, and it went horribly wrong and is still sitting in my loft to this day, mocking me relentlessly every time I venture up there.

Thankfully, every small bag of screws is labeled with the precise contents, and which step it relates to. It's this sort of attention to detail that makes the Biqu B1 stand above the competition.

A full color illustrated 20-step build pamphlet is included, and I'm confident that you won't have any problems putting this together even if you have zero experience. A bag of all the tools you need is also included.

Bed Leveling

Although a BLTouch auto-leveling upgrade is available as an optional purchase (and a bracket included in the core set), I wouldn't bother. The manual leveling process is easy enough.

After homing all of the axes, enter the manual leveling interface screen, and place a piece of A4 paper underneath the nozzle. At each of the five points, in turn, raise or lower the print bed using the dials underneath such that you can move the paper around with the slightest of friction. The last of the five points is in the center, with no dial underneath, but if the other four points are correct, that should confirm it. You will need to repeat the process a few times, as leveling one side will invariably affect the others.

Once completed, you're ready to start printing. There are some small test small files included on the SD card, but they're not particularly impressive, so I'd recommend slicing your own right away.

Slicing

The Biqu B1 is natively supported by a range of slicing software. I used Cura on Mac OS, and found a ready-made profile included in the download. Print quality ranges from 0.12mm layer height to 0.28mm.

Export your sliced Gcode files to the included micro-SD card, or a USB drive, then insert that into the side of the control panel on the printer.

Printer Interface

The 3.5" touchscreen interface on the Biqu B1 is one of the cleanest, intuitive, and comprehensive I've seen yet. Menu items are obvious, and you can even delve into the terminal to directly talk to the printer in Gcode if you wish. Uniquely, a retro Marlin interface can also be used, thanks to a unique dual-operation mode. I'd recommend sticking with the default Biqu Touch mode, however.

Live Z-adjustment is possible during prints (curiously named "BabyStep"), but leveling was so easy and accurate that I never actually needed to use this feature.

If the filament sensor detects a run-out, the print head is moved off safely to the side and the print paused. You can then retract the remainder through the Bowden tube (I'd suggest using a little piece of card to divert it and ensure it doesn't get stuck in the filament sensor on the way back), and insert a new one. Unlike some models I've used which restricted retraction and feeding to 10mm intervals, the interface on the Biqu BH1 goes up to 200mm at a time. Filament changes don't take more than a few minutes to complete.

Heated Bed and Spring Steel Sheet

A heated bed and removable steel print surface is certainly not unique on this type of printer, but dig deeper and a few things stand out here.

Firstly, I want to point out that I have yet to experience any curling around the edges or other adhesion issues, and the first layers were superb with every model I printed, in both PLA and PETG. I didn't use any glue, tape, or hairspray; just a simple wipe-down wipe 99% alcohol between prints. In my experience, this is quite remarkable.

This also indicates that the heat distribution to the heated bed is even across the whole surface, and there's no inherent warping in the bed. Though initial small prints on the center of a bed can often go well, it's only while trying to print much larger objects that fill the whole print bed where you'll start to see the effects of uneven heating and a warped surface.

As an aside, the surface of the steel sheet produces a pleasing stippled effect on the bottom layer.

The thin spring steel sheet is designed to be removed when a print is finished, such that you can remove stubborn prints by bending the sheet and snapping the print off. In reality, I haven't needed to do this yet. Without fail, once cooled, every print has naturally detached itself from the surface.

Lastly, the steel sheet is double-sided, so if one side has worn down over time, simply use the reverse side to double the life span.

Repairability

After a week of printing with the Biqu B1, my initial impressions are outstanding, but of course, I don't yet know how it'll perform in the long term.

Though I wouldn't normally attempt any kind of repair on a 3D printer, the experience of at least half-building this one makes me believe I could, should the need arise. Having a printed instruction manual on how to put it together again is also comforting. But there are other factors that make the Biqu B1 a good candidate for repairs and upgrades.

Inside the base, the SKR1.4 motherboard has removable TMC2088 stepper drivers. These could be replaced or upgraded easily.

The hot-end assembly is connected with only two screws, a custom USB-C cable, and a Bowden tube. Replacing the entire hot-end, or swapping out for a CNC or laser module, should be trivial. In fact, Biqu has a direct drive print head (ie, one which the filament feeds directly into rather than via a Bowden tube) available now as an optional upgrade.

The spring steel is double-sided to extend the life-span, but this implies it will eventually need to be replaced. Thankfully, it's quite a lightweight component, and you can purchase another from a number of outlets for less than $30.

Should You Buy a Biqu B1 Printer?

The Biqu B1 isn't just great for the price; it's great, period. I've been reviewing 3D printers for around a decade, and models that cost over $1000 haven't printed this reliably. The Biqu B1 will take pride of place in my workshop as my daily printer.

The only downside is the noise—not from the stepper motors (which are virtually silent), but from the fan in the base. This is running whether the machine is actively printing or not, so you'll probably want to shut it down completely when idle. It's noisy enough that I wouldn't want it in the office with me. But this is a minor flaw in an otherwise superb printer, and perhaps something you could upgrade if it really bothered you.

(Stackable planter from Thingiverse)

If you're worried about the fact it's only half built when it arrives: don't be. The instructions are comprehensive, illustrated at every step, and the component bags are fully labeled. All the tools you need are provided.

At less than $300, the Biqu B1 is a steal.

  The Biqu B1 Is an Incredible 3D Printer for Under $300: What Are You Waiting for? published first on http://droneseco.tumblr.com/

[privatebartenderhire-blog]

Things To Do In Self-Isolation Covid-19 Times | Mobile Bar Hire

Things to do in self isolating ? With the current climate as it stands, we ask ourselves- As a Mobile Bar Hire company read what things can you do to at home.

Things to do in self-isolation

Things to do in self isolating ? With the current climate as it stands, we ask ourselves- As a Mobile Bar Hire company what things can you do to keep yourself occupied during this self-isolation period? Due to the seriousness & severity of this pandemic , it has been with a heavy heart and much thought, that we have decided to stop all of our activities. We are now currently working from home and will have a live video tutorial up soon, to show our followers how to make delicious cocktails.  With the schools across the UK currently closed, in order to contain the spread of COVID-19.

I'm sure parents and carers, will no doubt be at a loss of what to do. Trying to keep your children entertained, whilst keeping yourself sane- is no easy task! New routines for both parents & children will soon become very apparent. We've put down a list of things that you can do at home, whilst you self isolate. For many, self-isolation can be a disorientating experience. The adjustment to suddenly being confined indoors, may prove difficult for many- especially for those of us who are use to spending 80% of our time outside of the house! It's important to try turn this period of uncertainty, into something positive and try to channel our energy into some productive activities. After all, our mental health is especially important in times like these.

Do it yourself (DIY) self - isolating

How many of us have often looked around the home and thought 'That needs doing' or 'I'll get to that at some point' but we never do? This is now the perfect opportunity, to get those things done- no excuses! Take a look around the house and see what chores need doing. Or what needs fixing. As your time at home increases, the more you will come to realise how much work there is to be done! Perhaps there's a wall that needs a new lick of paint, or the shower head in the bathroom needs a good clean out. This new found time on your hands, will have your house looking spotless!

Get Green in Self-isolating times

The garden, can sometimes give us that dreaded feeling of 'Once you start, you have to finish it' The bushes and grass have long grown and you've been meaning to tackle the job- but you just haven't had the time. If the weather allows, this is the ideal time to get your garden gloves on! This is a great activity, to get the children involved in. Let them get their hands dirty, by getting them to plant some vegetables, or pull out some weeds! The fresh air will do them good, especially if you're restricted to life inside the home. It's a safe place to be, without the fear of contact from people outside. Keeping yourself safe.

Learn about cocktails during this covid-19 times

Learning about cocktails during this COVID-19 time, can also ignite and inspire new ideas on how to make your favourite all time cocktails.  From the classic cocktails such as Cosmopolitan, Margarita or Tequila Sunrise to the most fashionable and popular Mojito or Espresso Martini, experiment with new ingredients to give these classics a new twist! This  is a great way to learn some history as well as educating yourselves. You never know, once the coronavirus situation has passed, you may become the new bartender in your town!

Cleaning in self isolating

It's the dreaded task, no one wants to do. A chore, for most.  For the last few weeks or maybe even months, I've been saying to myself that the oven needs a good clean. Today, 24th of March 2020 in this unfortunate circumstance where we have to self-isolate- I decided to give the oven a good scrub! I took a very powerful cleaning product, sprayed the oven and let the chemical sit  for about 15-20 minutes. I proceeded with a  hard sponge and scrubbed continuously the inside, outside, trays and the metal grills. It took me almost 3hrs to get it nice and clean. I highly recommend to do this, as the oven can become ladened with all sorts, due to daily usage! If you haven't done so by now, get your marigolds on!

Family time in isolation

This is one of my favourite things to do. For me, family time is the most important thing- especially now after my partner gave birth to our little princess Baby Aria, a month ago. Our daily lives, can sometimes get ahead of us. Many lose sight of the things that are important. Taking a positive out of this Self-isolation period, means you get to spend all of your time with your loved ones. I feel very fortunate and  blessed to be spending time with my family, during this uncertain Covid-19 time. If I have learnt something from these past few weeks, its life is truly precious and we take it for granted. So I ask the question, what is important to you?

Take some online courses - Cocktail making classes

If you need something to keep your brain stimulated, there are an abundance of online courses you could look into. We will be doing a live demonstration on how to make cocktails at home - stay tuned ! Once the situation with Covid-19 settles a little, we are eager to get our mobile cocktail masterclasses up and running, for both our new and regular clients.

Get your bake on - BANANA CAKE

Self-isolating means that unfortunately you can’t dine at your favourite restaurant. With talk of a lockdown, you might not be able to get food delivered to you either. This is the perfect time to broaden your culinary skills, by practising some recipes! You’ll have plenty of time to perfect your signature dish. Stuck for inspiration? Be sure to check online- BBC Good Food has thousands of great recipes. My favourite is a very simple Banana Loaf Cake. It uses very minimal ingredients, that you can often find lurking in your cupboards. A delicious moist sponge, teamed with a nice cup of tea!

Meditate in self isolating

It’s important to be mindful of your surroundings as well as your well-being whilst in quarantine. Meditation can help you relax your mind and find some inner peace, especially in times of uncertainty. Find a quiet space, light some candles and clear your mind with some therapeutic meditation music or relax with a meditation colouring book.

Practice an instrument

As we prepare to spend a significant amount of time at home, it’s important that we focus on doing things that will enhance our skills and improve productivity. Practising an instrument can be good fun, and it’s also an inventive way to keep yourself entertained, especially when there are slim pickings when it comes to entertainment.

Movie marathon

It’s finally time to start watching Harry Potter from start to finish,- just like you said you would. If you’re in the mood to watch something more action-packed, sit back and relax, whilst watching the many variations of agent 007 – that’ll give you something to do for a day or two.

Time to get active - no gym no problem

We often find excuses, when it comes to keeping active. Time, being the most commonly heard. Grab some comfy footwear and go out for a brisk walk. The fresh air will do you good, as well as the physical benefits. It's a proven fact that excercising, releases those good endorphins that stimulate the 'feel good' factor in the brain. Set yourself a challenge  with goals, which will keep you motivated! For times, when weather is not on your side- look online. There are numerous Fitness apps out there, along with live demonstration work outs. Joe Wicks is currently doing one online every morning, to help keep the nation fit during this stay at home period. Keeping active and fit is a great way to promote a healthy mindset- especially if you have little ones around! They love getting involved too!

And last but not least…

Staying at home for a prolonged period of time may prove difficult, but that’s even more of a reason to rise to the challenge. There are plenty of things to do to remain productive, just remember to wash your hands at regular intervals and use anti-bacterial wipes for things that you touch or use often. Take hygiene seriously, ensuring all surfaces and areas are clean! It is a key factor in making sure this virus doesn't spread! Testing times will no doubt be ahead of us, make sure you look after yourselves and stay safe!

For future house parties or events

With existing planned events currently on hold, it can only spell one thing. Having to cancel or rearrange in this specific climate, means that many will reschedule for further down the line. However, this uncertain time, will begin to slowly pass and we will no doubt want something positive to look forward to. Begin to think now about future dates and events you have coming. As the Covid-19 situation starts to settle, think about booking that Cocktail Masterclass or even hosting a party with all of your friends. So, if you're thinking of planning  your next party or event, get in touch with us today to see how we can help! For more details please visit our website.