#(to clarify by returning the books the fines were removed since they were 'we need to buy new copies' fines)

[jughead-is-canonically-aroace]

guys ilove the library. owed like 250 in overdue fines (defaulted). i come back i say sorry can i give you the books back they say yes. i immediately check out a different copy of one of the books i just returned (plus a few (7) extras i grabbed by accident on my way to the shelf it was on). it's all free baby. it's all free

[ananicoleta]

I’ll Always Be Here

Summary: Penelope makes a last second decision that she does not want to be in Space Jam 2 without Pepe, and she quickly goes home to comfort him.

Hello, everyone! I’m back with a new fic about Space Jam 2, this time focusing on Pepe and Penelope. This fic was inspired from and ask, submitted by anonymus on @thebrownssociety 's account. They said they didn't want to write it, however, so I did instead (with their permission of course).

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters. They all belong to Warner Bros.

Enjoy!

“Ms. Le Pew, filming starts in ten!” The voice of a staff member reached Penelope’s ears, muffled by the door of her changing room.

“I’ll be there in a minute!” She called back. Then, there was the sound of footsteps walking away, meaning that she was all alone again.

Penelope sighed and looked at the scrip in her hands. She had tried memorizing the lines all morning, but with no result. Her brain just couldn’t process the text, the words danced in front of her eyes and the letters all became hieroglyphs with no meaning. No matter how much she tried to concentrate, her mind always drifted away, far from the Warner Bros. lot, far from the film set and the film itself, traveling all the way back to her home, where she knew there was her husband, alone.

It was so unfair. 

Pepe didn’t deserve all the hate and backlash he had gotten. Her beloved had done nothing wrong ever! All those people that claimed Pepe was encouraging a deviant behaviour had no idea what they were talking about. They didn’t know him, so why were they speaking like that?! Her Pepe, was the kindest, most romantic and gentle soul she had ever met. He would never hurt a fly, let alone do those kind of things.

But people didn’t seem to understand. No matter how many times Pepe and the other Looney Tunes tried to clarify this misunderstanding, how many times they told people those were just cartoons and they were just actors, how many times she tried to explain she had not been assaulted, their narrow minds just couldn’t comprehend it. In the end, the descision to remove Pepe from the movie and from the future Looney Tunes productions was made and, despite all the protests, no one had been able to do anything.

Those news had terribly depressed Pepe. Every single one of them knew how much the skunk liked acting and how fond he was of cartoons, so naturally, the whole situation was like a punch in the gut. He isolated himself from the rest of the world, which deeply worried both her and the rest of their family. At least Speedy, who knew better than any of them what it felt like to go through all that, had tried to cheer him up and comfort him, and to some extent, he succeded. Everytime Speedy talked to Pepe, he always felt better afterwards and acted a bit more like his usual self.

Still, concern always seemed to pull on Penelope’s heart strings, now more than ever, considering Pepe was all by himself at home, feeling lonely and depressed that he couldn’t be with them and do what he loved. And oh, how she wanted him to be near her right now! She wanted to hold his hand, as they walked on the film set, she wanted to hear him whisper romantic things in her ear, and then scold him because “it’s nor the time nor the place!”, but both of them knowing she liked it a lot. She wanted him to make her laugh and smile and fill her stomach with butterflies. She wanted...

Suddenly, she noticed a wet spot on her page and wondered what could that be. Then she noticed another. And another. Bringing her hand towards her face she realized that her fur was wet. She was crying.

Tossing the script aside, she buried her face in her hands and cried, and cried, and cried, letting all of her frustration out.

Knock, knock

Penelope jumped. “Who is it?”

“Sorry to bother you, Ms. Le Pew, but filming is starting now.”

“Yeah, s-sure, I’ll be out immediately.” She said, trying not to sound disstressed.

She got up and checked her reflection, making sure there were no clues that she had cried, then exited her trailer and marched towards the set, desperately whishing that Pepe was by her side.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

“Ms. Le Pew, are you even listening?” 

That sentence snapped Penelope out of her thoughts. She quickly realized that no, she had not been listening. Instead, she kept galncing at the empty spot, where Pepe should have been...

“I am sorry, Mr. Lee.” She apologised. “Please, continue.”

So, the man went on about how he wanted that specific scene acted and all that blah, blah, blah that Penelope, again, did not, could not, listen too. What was Pepe doing right then, as her and the others were filming? Was he feeling lonely or had he found something entertaining to do? At least that was what he had promised her that morning. I promise you, ma cherie, I will be fine. 

Those were his exact words. But the question was, did he mean them? Or they were just pretty lies, meant to chase away all her worries? Knowing how much Pepe loved her, she wouldn’t put it past him to hide his sadness just so she could have a good time...

Finally, Mr. Lee finished his rant and they were ready to film.

It should have excited Penelope. Ever since the first Space Jam released, she had dreamed of filming a sequel. Back then it seemed so exciting and fun to relive all that. Now, however, it was different. Suddenly, she realized that she didn't want to film at all.

“Okay, people, places!”

Just then, a thought blossomed in her mind. What if...? But no, she couldn’t do that. People were counting on her. She couldn’t possibly... Or could she? Truth was she didn’t play a big part and did not have that many lines, so it wouldn’t really be a problem if she left... would it? 

She looked around frantically. She had very little time to make a decision and she needed to make it right then!

“Ready! Actio-”

“Wait!” The word had left her mouth before she could even stop them. 

Everyone looked at her.

“Is there a problem, Ms. Le Pew?” Lee asked, confused.

“Yes, it is.” Penelope said. “I do not want to be in this movie anymore.” 

For a moment, silence engulfed the set. Then, the director’s voice rang clear, stuttering and, as Penelope had expected, trying to convince her against it.

“Ms. Le Pew, p-please, reconsider- I mean, you can’t- you can’t possibly-”

“Oh, I can. And I have.” She said confidently, ready to leave.

But Mr. Lee was not finished. Getting up, he marched right after her.

“Ms. Le Pew, why? Why do you want to leave production? Is there something wrong?”

“Yes, there is. My husband is not here and I don’t want to do this without him. Good day Mr. Lee.” And with that, she turned around and left, leaving behind a shocked director and a bunch of rather happy Looney Tunes.

“Guys, can’t you do something?” Mr. Lee said to the rest of the cast. “Convince her to come back?”

“For Warner’s sake, leave her alone, Doc.” Bugs said casually, munching on his carrot. “Even if we tried to convince her to retoin she’d refuse. Besides, we don’t wanna.” The other looneys nodded in agreement. “Now how ‘bout we get back ta filmin’?” The rabbit smiled (a bit) smugly at the director.

Mr. Lee sighed, realizing he had lost the battle, and yelled at everyone to get to their places again.

Meanwhile, Peneople was already out in the parking lot, unlocking her car, desperate to get to her beloved. As she drove back to Toon Town, not for one second did she regret her decision.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Pepe sat in his armchair, quietly reading.

It had been a long day. A long, boring day. His wife and friends had left in the morning to film Space Jam 2 and he had been alone ever since.

First, he tried taking a walk through Toon Town. Usually, a breath of fresh air, hearing the birds sing, the perfume of flowers and even the sight of other toons, going about their day, cheered Pepe up. It was so normal, so simple, yet he enjoyed it, and it reminded him to be grateful and take pleasure in the smallest things in life.

That day, however, it was different. The cent of flowers didn't smell as good as it did, the song of birds faded into obscurity, mixing with other sound and becoming insignificant, and the mere image of toons hurryig to work, filled him with depression. It reminded him he had no job anymore, no purpouse...

So he had returned home, picked his favorite romance book, Gone With The Wind, and sat down to read. But even that wasn't able to cheer him up.

He had truly lied to Penelope that morning. He was far from being fine. But, what else was he supposed to say? That he was sad and needed her there? How could he?! Penny had wanted to film that movie for so long. He couldn't take that away from her.

Just then, he heard the front door open and shot his head up in alarm. For a split second he thought someone had broken into his house (maybe some backround character thief that would be stupid enough to try to rob a house by walking through the fromt door?)

But, all his fears were cast aside and replaced with confusion when he saw his beautiful wife standing in front of him.

"Penny? What are you doing here?"

"I quit the movie." She said in an unaffected tone.

Pepe jumped on his feet. "Tu as fait quoi?!”

"I already told you. I don't want to film Space Jam 2 anymore." Her voice was, again, emotionless, showing absolutely no regret.

Walking towards her, he cupped her face in his hands. "But why?"

Pepe wasn't stupid. He had a hunch why she would do it. Yet, still he wanted to make doubly sure.

"Because I don't want to be in it, if you are not in it."

There it was.

Pepe sighed and caressed her face. "Ma cherie, don't let me spoil your fun-"

"But you're not! You never spoiled anything for me! Those bastards did when they kicked you out!"

"But you were so excited, Penny. You wanted this, so don't let me get in the way. Please, go back."

"But I don't want to!" Her voice now was hoarse and her eyes were filling with tears. "True, I was excited in the begining, but that changed when you were out. I don't want to do it without you, so don't ever feel guilty or say you are getting in the way. You are never getting in the way. It was my choice to leave, and I regret nothing, got it?" She was basically clinging to him now, gazing into his hazel orbs.

Looking into those beautiful eyes of hers and, seeing her passion, love and sincierity, filled Pepe with a strong emotion. Lifting her chin up a bit, he kissed his wife deeply. Penelope reciprocated this gesture, warping her arms tightly around his neck.

They stayed like that for a while, completely lost in their bliss. When they finally broke apart a few inches, Pepe had tears rolling down on his cheeks.

"Thank you for being here, my angel. Je t'aime beaucoup."

Penelope smiled. "I’ll alway be here, love. Et je t'aime aussi."

THE END

Translations: Ma cheire = my dear 

Tu as fait quoi?! = You did what?!

Je t'aime = I love you

Beaucoup = very much

Et = and

Aussi = as well

Thank you everyone for reading!

[theoriginalladya]

Dinosaur Brain

I have the most amazing friends, I swear!

The following ficlet evolved out of conversations about Rhys Shepard and Grunt and dinosaurs ... and then it had to have some commissioned ART, too!  Fabulous art by @thepixelagora​ who somehow managed to take my incoherent ramblings about this and turn it into the absolutely most perfect picture of events!!!!  Thank you so much for lending me your talents!!  

There is more to this story, but it wasn’t quite working how I wanted, so the rest will come later.  In the meantime, have the madness that started it all!!!

The story can also be found on AO3 here.

~~~

Rhys drops into an empty seat and starts eating immediately, his focus less on the food and more on the datapad in his hand. Across from him, a chair squeaks and shadows flicker in his peripheral vision.  Still, he pays little heed to the disruption until…

“You going all dinosaur brain?”

He would prefer to flat out ignore the question, but there are times that’s worse than responding to it.  Rhys doesn’t bother to look up from the pad.  “Not this again.”

Kaidan’s chuckle of amusement drifts across the table. “What?”

“You know what.”

Kaidan leans over and stabs a piece of Rhys’ meal, retreating quickly.  He chews with a thoughtful look in his eye, then swallows.  “Tell me honestly, when have you never been thinking about them?”

“What’s a dinosaur?”

The table wobbles as Grunt slams his tray down and sits next to Rhys.  This time, it’s Kaidan who is taken aback and Rhys whose interest perks up.  “You want to know what dinosaurs are?”

“Here we go,” Kaidan mutters, rolling his eyes and reaching for his coffee.

Rhys ignores him and turns to face Grunt. “O’Keer never imprinted them on you?”

Grunt shakes his massive head back and forth. “What are they?”

Rhys peeks over at Kaidan, his blue eyes sparkling with delight.  “Translated from the Latin, the word means ‘terrible lizard,’” he explains.  “They are creatures that lived millions of years ago on Earth.”  He grabs his datapad, pointedly ignoring the sputter of choked laughter from Kaidan, and scrolls to the end of the device before passing it over to Grunt.  “This is a Triceratops.  About eight meters long and three meters tall.  They are known for having three horns on their head; one long one above each eye and a smaller one over its nose, as well as a large frill made out of bone.”

Grunt examines the picture on the datapad then glances back over at Rhys.  “Looks like a mighty warrior,” he concludes with a sage nod.

Rhys grins.  “Actually, they weren’t the fighters.  Not unless they were attacked, of course.” He takes back the datapad and sets it aside.  “The real fighters were the Velociraptors and Tyrannosaurus Rex.”

“You know,” Kaidan muses as he sits back in his seat, “I’m going to tell Wrex you’re calling him a tyrant again.”

“Oh, shut up!” Rhys hisses over at him.  He spends the next several minutes explaining about the two different dinosaurs to Grunt before he reaches into his pocket and nabs the Deinonychus claw he always carries with him.  “This is from a much smaller dinosaur, similar to the Velociraptor, called Deinonychus.  I found this on our family’s ranch when I was a kid.”  

Grunt takes the claw and squints at it, holding it up to the light and tilting his head.  “Doesn’t look very dangerous.”

Rhys chuckles.  Pushing his chair back, he stands and lifts a hand to about chest level, just above his elbow.  “They were only this tall when adults,” he explains.  “A smaller version of the Velociraptor, if you will, but older.  They were also very bird-like.”

“You know, Shepard,” Garrus comments from down the table, “if you keep making references like that, I’m going to start taking it personally.”

Kaidan almost spits out his coffee.  Rhys just grins as he retakes his seat.  

Grunt, however, stares at the datapad.  “So, what did you do with them?”

Kaidan starts to laugh uncontrollably.  Rhys kicks his leg beneath the table.  “We didn’t do anything to them.  They died out over time, long before humans were around.  We’ve spent centuries searching for their bones, fossilized in the earth.”  

The krogan sets the datapad down.  “Too bad.  I would have liked to go up against one of them.”

 ~

 A week later, while on duty in the CIC with his attention focused on planets, minerals, and potential prothean ruins, Grunt comes thundering his way through. “Shepard!”

Caught in the middle of running a scan, Rhys cannot give the krogan his full attention, and calls back over his shoulder, “Yes?”

Grunt makes some sort of disgruntled sound. “Shepard, what’s a ‘shark?’”

With his fingers flying over the haptic keyboard, Rhys’ reply comes automatically.  “Water dinosaur.”  A heartbeat passes, and he thinks about what he said before turning around to find the krogan standing there, a piece of paper in his hand.  It is an image of a Great White shark.

Kaidan is just exiting the cockpit and happens by during the conversation.  Giving Rhys a bemused look, he replies, “Really?”

Rhys shrugs back at him, but Grunt grins, a spark of delight in his eyes, and turns back toward the lift, chuckling in his usual, deep, rumbly manner.  It’s quite adorable, even if it does leave both men scratching their heads.

 ~

 Late in the Collector mission

Stops at the Citadel are opportunities Rhys never ignores.  This time around, however, he isn’t tracking down prothean specialists at the university or the archives, but shopping.  He returns to the Normandy a few hours before required, not surprised to find the CIC nearly empty as he walks through, bags in hand.  What does surprise him, however, is when the lift doors open and Kaidan steps out.  The other man sizes up the current situation and his hand shoots back out to hold the doors open for Rhys.  “What are those?” he asks, nodding at the bags Rhys carries.

Hopping inside, Rhys shrugs.  “Books.”  

Kaidan chuckles.  “Obviously.”  He reaches into a bag and tugs one free.

Sighing and rolling his eyes, Rhys clarifies.  “On dinosaurs.”

The switch from amusement to… well, whatever the look in his eyes is now – half bemusement, half irritation? – is instantaneous.  Kaidan drops the book back into the bag without looking at it and slams his hand on the buttons.  “You need a fucking lab, I swear.”

Rhys chuckles.  “I tried, but Mordin won’t share.”  He’s the first one through the doors when the lift stops outside of Kaidan’s cabin.  The new arrangement works out better than expected, at least until this topic comes up in discussion.  “Besides, these aren’t for me.”

“No?”  Kaidan swipes his hand over the door’s interface.  “Who?”

“Grunt.”

Almost as if he’s listening in to their conversation, a soft, “Hehehehehe,” whispers through the walls of the ship as they enter the room.  

 ~

 2186, Citadel, during the Reaper War

While Kaidan heads off to do Spectre things, Rhys makes his way to Huerta Memorial Hospital.  After the incident on Mars and his time spent there, the desire to visit isn’t exactly thrumming inside of him, but Grunt is now a patient there, and it’s more important to check on how the krogan is doing.  Wrex’s assurances that Grunt is fine aside, Rhys decides to check in on him anyway, just to be sure.  Kaidan promises to meet up with him as soon as his responsibilities are taken care of, hopefully in time to visit the krogan as well.  

Entering the critical care ward, Rhys notices not much has changed in the weeks since his departure.  In many ways, it reminds him of the rest of the Presidium at the moment; hiding the true nature of what is happening in the Galaxy outside of the Serpent Nebula behind common, everyday things like Blasto movies, home redecoration conventions, and the latest varren races.  Nothing like sticking their collective heads in the sand.

Rhys enters to find Grunt sitting up in bed.  There are makings of a few scars – two across his face, another on his upper left arm, and one more across the broad expanse of his chest – but he appears greatly improved since receiving his injuries on Utukku.  As Rhys enters, Grunt slowly turns his bandaged head in his direction.  His voice is on the weak side, but there is an urgency to it that confuses Rhys at first.  “Shepard.”

Rhys takes that as permission to enter, removing his cowboy hat in the process.  “Hey, Grunt. How’re you doing?”

Grunt ignores the question.  “Shepard, what’s a kakliosaur?”

Startled, it takes Rhys a minute to digest the full question.  In the space between, he pulls over a chair and takes a seat.  “It’s… a krogan dinosaur, I guess,” he replies after a time. “Remember the Triceratops? Akin to that, I guess you could say.”

An added spark of life brightens the krogan’s blue eyes.  “Krogan had dinosaurs?”

Rhys chuckles but nods.  “I would point out that krogan are dinosaurs, but yeah. They had creatures very similar to Earth’s dinosaurs.”

Lying back, Grunt’s eyes close, but he manages a small laugh as he drifts back off to sleep.  “Hehehehehe.”  Rhys takes his leave a few minutes later.

After catching up with one another, Rhys and Kaidan reboard the Normandy.  Halfway through the CIC, Rhys announces, “We have a mission.”

They’re just passing Traynor’s station and she hands Kaidan several datapads.  Absently, he replies, “I know.”

Rhys sighs.  “A new one, I mean.”

That, apparently, is enough to catch the man’s attention, and he glances up.  “What?”

Using his chin to point to the galaxy map, Rhys continues, “We need to go to the Phoenix System.  It’s… important.”

Kaidan frowns.  “What the hell are you talking about?”

A grin slips across Rhys’ face.  He can’t help it.  “We are going dinosaur hunting.  Krogan dinosaur hunting, to be specific.”

The blank look in Kaidan’s eyes as he blinks owlishly at him makes it clear he has no idea what Rhys is talking about.  Either that or he thinks Rhys has lost his mind. Maybe both.  “Check your messages.”

There is a hint of apprehension in his steps as Kaidan walks over to his terminal and retrieves them.  “Shit!”

Rhys tips his hat just a bit and turns toward the elevator.  “See? Told you.  Anyway, let me know when we get there.  I know the director of the museum.”

He’s just stepped onto the lift and pressed the button for the cabin when Kaidan calls over, “Have I mentioned you’re a menace?”

Rhys’ grin widens and he winks at him.  “Not this week…”

[xlehukax]

What Becomes Of The Brokenhearted?

Foreword: This is for @head-over-heart​‘s 100 Follower Writing thing!! It took me forever but hey, I did it. urm you asked for angst and... it’s angst-

Ships: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 5036

Warnings: ANGST SO MUCH ANGST ALL THE FLUFF IS ANGST IN SHEEPS CLOTHING, Language, Cursing, Verbal Abuse, Lying, Manipulative Loki, Unsympathetic Loki, Past Relationships, Money Issues, Tortured Loki, Blood, Sorta self harm? it’s weird, again this is angst if you’re reading it for fluff I direct you to literally anything else on my page

Summary: You had thought your relationship with Loki was the main story, the tale of two lovers, a romance. It was merely a preface, and that you now know.  

~~~~

2009

You first met him by accident. You were just wandering about the bookstore: you had gone for a particular book, which you found, and were now letting yourself be caught within the pamphlets for vacations in Hawaii and test prep books. You let your hands brush some of them idly: the smell of paper is something familiar. Calming.

You step back for a moment, only to bump into a tall man. Hastily turning about-face, you nearly trip over the apology in your mouth at the sight of him.

Tall, dark, and handsome didn’t begin to cover it. He looked like he belonged in the Romance section, not squashed between ACT Test Prep and AP Chemistry.

“Oh my goodness, I am so sorry,” you squeak. He blinks at you slowly. Encapturing, you think to yourself, as his eyes turn from an icy blue to a green only seen on fresh grass.

“It is no problem at all, my dear,” he says with a small wisp of a smile. You have to hold yourself back from gaping at his voice, all velvet and red wine. You begin to take little steps outside of the aisle. Being within the scope of this guy is making your heart race way too fast for your liking. You’ve made it a few feet when a large elegant hand lands on your shoulder. Tensing immediately, you turn to see who did such a gesture.

“Apologies, dear, but would you mind helping me out for a moment? You seem acquainted with this establishment,” he asks, a teasing tone to his honeyed voice.

“Oh yes, totally,” you yelp, sounding nothing if not vastly peasant-like comparatively to him, “Could you maybe- take your hand off my shoulder first?” The mystery man removes his hand with leisure, holding on a moment longer than necessary before removing it completely.

“Of course,” he murmurs.

“Alrighty then, what are you looking for?” you smile at him bashfully, unable to meet his eyes.

“World history, if you would,”

“That’s sorta… a wide topic. Like, maps or something?” you clarify. He shakes his head.

“No, the entire history of the world. From the start of mankind to now,” he ensures. You stare for a moment: the history of the entire world. Something that kids learn for years. Yeah sure, that’s totally easy to do.  

“You mean… just America, right? Ha…” you start to laugh but take in his stony expression. No, he’s completely serious. Where has this guy been that he needs to know everything about the world? “Alright then. I guess I could show you to the World History section,” you accept. He smiles appreciatively.

“Yes, that would be satisfactory. Thank you.”

“Oh… it’s no problem. I wasn’t doing anything anyway,” you chuckle, leading him through the rows upon rows of books and weaving through the different sections. This mystery man’s gait is smooth and soundless. You finally reach the section, feeling as though you should bow before moving to leave.

“Whelp, this is it. It’s really funny that you want to learn everything- I went through a phase like this- well not a phase, I’m an out of work history teacher now, you see that’s why this is so amusing to me. You probably don’t want to hear this, heh- I’ll be going then,” you turn around.

“Wait-” he tugs on your arm lightly. Goosebumps, you think as you shiver. “How about… you show me how to do this? Be my tutor, if you would. I’d like to learn. Please, my dear,” he asks so politely, so carefully.

“I’m sorry, I don’t even know your name-”

“It’s Loki. Now, please. I will compensate you for your time. Please,” his eyes are wide and pleading, and you can’t bring yourself to say no. Even though you should. Even though he seems somewhat dangerous, with how his eyes swirl with unknowable emotion. Even though you just learned his goddamn oddball name.

“Alright then, Loki. I’ll help you pick some books out. And then we’ll see,” you adhere, already knowing full well you’re giving in too easily. Loki listens intently as you explain how many books there are, how many world events have occurred. You end up talking with him, even laughing slightly at his clever words. Conversation with Loki is like playing backgammon: skill, and luck, and fun in an intellectually teasing way. He’s suave and charming, and so powerfully endearing. You make him laugh just once, talking about common legends of zombies and vampires. He laughs in disbelief, in mockery of humanity: but it’s a noise unlike anything you’ve heard. It rolls over your skin like a wave.

When you go to buy your books, you go to the register together. Your one book: and the five textbooks he’s holding. Utop of the intellect, utop of the beautiful, utop of the elegance: he’s strong. Loki carefully places his books on the checkout desk, and the cashier starts scanning them.

“And what choice of payment will you be using today?” the cashier asks calmly, offering a polite smile.

“Payment?”

“Yes. Credit, debit, or cash?” they repeat. Loki’s expression flutters, and you glimpse something beneath his easy face. Something that to be honest, makes you think that you were right to call him dangerous. You tentatively place you hand over his. Instantly, you nearly jerk your hand away: his body is so cold, it’s what you’d imagine a cadaver would feel like. But, insistent on comforting him, you stubbornly keep your hand on his. He breathes in a sharp breath, and his other hand fists by his side.

“Hey, I got it. Here’s my card: can you put my book on it too?” you smile gratefully at the cashier, who rings it up with shaking hands. Loki untenses as he watches.

“Did you forget your wallet at home or something, Loki?” you ask curiously. His eyes glance at you and then look away again.

“Yes. Yes, I did. This is very peculiar for me. Apologies,”

You chuckle.

“It’s fine, it’s only… oh my god, 230? That’s criminal!” you gasp. The cashier shrugs.

“Textbooks go for a lot these days, education is expensive,” they merely say, before handing your card back.

You’re trembling by the time the card is returned to your wallet. I’ll be broke. Late on rent, at the very least. I’ll have to skip meals to keep my apartment, and even then… that’s no measly sum.

Loki takes the books from the cashier and leads you out of the store. Once outside, he takes your book out of the bag and hands it to you.

“Much appreciated, my dear. Would you like to help me sort through this hefty amount of information?” he asks. You frown at him. He’s still asking about that?

“I’ll pay you handsomely. It will more than make up the price of these textbooks.”

“Oh?” The edge of Loki’s mouth pulls up in a half-smile.

“Of course. The least I could do.”

~~~~~

To say you were smitten with Loki after only two months of teaching him would be an understatement. You’ve been going to his immense apartment every three days since the day at the bookstore for ninety minutes at a time.

There’s something about him that’s made you memorize his mannerisms and phrases. When he’s exasperated, he likes to shout “By the Norns!”. When he’s reading, everything is still with the exception of his fingers that tap his thigh or sneak over to your knee and rub circles around it.

He’s smart as all hell. You rarely have to review anything anymore: he can take in the new information so quickly. And he immerses himself in the knowledge he acquires. You can tell that Loki adores it, adores the learning aspect. It’s childlike, almost, and so painfully endearing at this point that your heart pangs at his excitement.

And he always goes out of his way to be kind. You can tell that he’s holding back everything. It’s in his eyes, you’ve noticed: they start as an icy blue when you come in, but warm into emerald after you say hello. If that’s not romantic… you don’t know what is.

Every inch of your body flutters when Loki looks at you. It’s embarrassing, and you blush, and he teases you about it. You bite your lip and look up at his apartment building: you’re ten minutes early to his apartment. Should you just wait in the lobby? Humming tunelessly, you stroll into the huge high-ceilinged building. It’s frigid in the room, juxtaposing the easy sun outside. You shiver slightly and take a seat in one of the black chairs decorating the lobby to wait. Tapping your foot, look at your phone… it’s all fine until a harsh hand lands on your shoulder.

“Wow, I can’t believe I’d ever find you in a place like this!” a harsh bark laughs. You glance over your shoulder: it’s a past ex-boyfriend of yours. You didn’t know that they lived in the building. He smiles cruelly, knowingly.

“Why not?” you huff, closing yourself off from his overbearing presence.

“Because people with money go here. People who can afford things! That’s not you, bitch. You had to leech off my money the whole goddamn time we were together. You remember that?”

“I just… you said that-”

“Yeah, you do,” he brushes a lock of hair back, to which you hiss a hushed “Don’t touch me”. He merely chuckles. “God, such a golddigger.” You said what’s mine is yours, you said if I needed anything I could just ask and you’d help, I didn’t know- “Paying me back with that second rate body like a fucking slut.”

You shake and glare at him abrasively, but say nothing for fear of what he’d retaliate with. It wasn’t paying you back it was a fucking relationship-

“Bet you haven’t been seeing anyone else. No one else wants to take on that kind of fucking luggage, huh? God, you’re useless. And I heard you lost your job? Wow, no one can stand you. Could’ve told ya that,” he snorts. You’re shaking now. You convince yourself you won’t give him the pleasure of making you cry, so instead, you’re looking at the asshole angrily.

“You shut up. I have a new job now, I’m tutoring-”

“Haha- tutoring? No wonder. Then they don’t have to see you every day! Wow, that’s smart. Because they’ll be able to cancel on you at any time. Truly a good thing. God, I wish I could’ve done that with you. So fucking clingy,” he’s smirking, and you want to cry, and then he’s being pulled back aggressively.

Loki growls at the man, who suddenly seems quite small and meek comparatively.

“Get out of here,” he snarls at the man, who trembles at his sharp words.

“B-but I live h-here-”

“Go out then,” Loki’s voice does not waver for a moment. It is strong and dangerous and protective and the man who had been spitting such vileness runs with his tail between his legs. Loki watches him go steely before helping you from your seat. His arm holds your waist tightly, restricting your movements as he all but drags you to the elevator.

“Who in Hel was that bastard?” Loki asks you with no lack of malice: his tone is seething and his eyes swirl icicle.

“Just an ex-boyfriend of mine,” you whisper, still trying to reign in the tears. Loki is muttering things under his breath, the words rising and falling in inflection but indistinguishable from one another. Loki’s arm never leaves your torso. You make it all the way upstairs, all the way to Loki’s beautiful apartment. He’s still muttering to himself, his body tense when you excuse yourself to the bathroom near silently.

You close the door, listening for the quiet click of the lock, before breaking down and crying. How mortifying. Loki had to come down and pick you up like a lost kitten, how useless you must seem to him now. You’re sure that Loki hadn’t thought you some poor wretch but now he should. You mourn the loss of Loki, the loss of this relationship that you were already attached to. There’s a harsh knock on the door.

“S-sorry, just give me a minute, I’ll be out in a moment-” you sniffle, trying very hard to make it seem like you're not crying in his fancy bathroom. The knocking continues, and then suddenly halts. You breathe in. And breathe out, and then the door is knocked off its hinges.

You whirl around to face the intruder: Loki, leg extended, looking murderous. His eyes soften as you squint at him through the tears. It’s slow and seemingly something that Loki is not used to when he bends to your level on the ground and wraps his arms around you hesitantly. You lean on him, letting him take you in his arms completely.

“Oh, my dear… you’re trembling. Please don’t cry,” he murmurs, face landing in your hair, “Don’t cry, my dear.”

You sniffle, “I’m not crying.”

“Don’t lie to me, sweet,” he says: part of you thinks it was supposed to be a joke, but he says it with such dark connotations that you don’t dare laugh. You just nestle in close to his cold body, feeling hot yourself.

“He’ll never bother you again. I’ll make sure of it. Shh, I’ve got you now,” Loki says, and his lips move down to your temple and press in sweetly. You gasp and nearly fall out of his arms. Loki catches you before it can happen, and stands up fluidly. You’re still in his arms, and not the lightest person: clearly, his strength is immense. He knocks down a door and holds you like it’s nothing. He looks at you sharply, daring you to speak.

“Why…?” you ask slowly, mouth feeling dry as his eyes bore into you.

“Why not, my dear? You’re beautiful,” he whispers, letting his breath dance over your ear. You shiver, and he takes it as an invitation to press a kiss onto the shell of your ear. “You’re so very smart… you’d think you’d notice by now how much I want you… I’d like to keep you,”

“Loki, why are you-”

“Shh,” he instructs, his eyes green and warm now, “I know you want me, my dear. I know it,”

You’re so embarrassed. Were you that obvious? Ugh. You place a hand on his muscular arm, pressing it to signal that you’d like to leave.

“No no, my dear. Please don’t go, stay with me… I’ll take such good care of you,” he says softly, pulling in close. “Don’t you know me by now? I’d never hurt you. Never forsake you.”

“Loki, I’m s-supposed to be your tutor, for god sakes, I-I can’t-” you stutter, blushing profusely. He’s so fast, he’s moving so fast all of a sudden, why-

“Then quit. Norns, woman… it’s not so hard,” he growls, his grip tightening around you. You yelp a little in surprise. His arms loosen immediately and he sets you on the ground with a guilty expression. “Apologies,” he says hoarsely. You laugh awkwardly and take a step back.

You avoid Loki’s gaze and rather watch his hands. Because you know, you know, if you look at him you’ll be swallowed up and the next thing you know you’re in his heinously comfortable embrace. Loki’s hands quiver at his sides for a moment and then they hesitantly rise. You watch carefully as they move upwards until they’re cupping your face. You’re unaware until it happens that you’re staring right into his eyes.

Green. Green as forests that you’ve only seen in pictures, green like dancing leaves in summer, green like liquid emeralds.

“My dear… please don’t shut me out. I can’t lose you. You’re all I have. Please. I’m desperate,” he murmurs: you can bring yourself to look away from those mesmerizing eyes. He’s gorgeous, he’s so pretty-

“Alright,” you whisper, then louder, “Alright. I can’t bring myself to say no to you,” you smile. Loki breathes a deep breath of relief before snaking an arm around your waist and pulling you in close. He barely checks if you truly want this before pressing your lips together. He dominates completely, pulling you close and pressing in more all at once. It’s intense and demanding and you melt. You’re melting into him, and he’s so very cold as he pulls you up into his arms and carries you away.

~~~~~

Swept away. That’s how things felt. You were no longer in your own life, you existed solely in Loki’s. You lost yourself over and over in his arms, in his kisses. He told you he loved you. No, he tells you he loves you.

You said it first, of course: “I love you,” over a cup of hot coffee. Loki looked at you with raised brows: “I love you too, of course.” It rolled off his tongue so smoothly, effortlessly. He pressed a kiss onto your forehead and then asked to continue the lessons.

It’s magic. It’s magic that has lasted for nearly a year now. So much so that you’re head over heels with what you used to think could be nothing but fantasy.

You live in his apartment now, for the most part: he’s never been to your own drab place but pays for it anyway while he keeps you. Loki pays for your food, eats your meals beside you. He accompanies you everywhere you wish to go. He hangs on every word you say, every memory you impart with a bemused calmness. He lets you rest on his side, snuggling in, and watch all sorts of movies. And you’re still telling him every piece of knowledge you know about the world.

Loki’s odd sometimes. He doesn’t understand the simplest things: the grocery store still eludes him, and it took him ages to discover that phones have larger capabilities than just texting and calling. Loki gets upset about it… when the television doesn’t work, when his delivery is late, when you can’t explain why a thing is doing something. He’ll spit foreign curses and sometimes, though it’s rare, things break. Loki apologizes instantly after: buys you a better, more expensive item to replace it. Make-up kisses and snuggles. He holds you tightly, close to his chest, so near that you can’t even move.

You think- no, you know that Loki’s not of this world. He’s an alien, or a vampire, or something. He won’t tell you which, rather chuckles at your attempts to deduce his origin. There was one point where he pulled a scepter from midair: you gawked.

“Magic,” you whispered, “You have magic.”

“Is that what they’re calling it these days?” he had said lightly, teasingly. He held his scepter with a practiced grace: you watched enraptured as the gem suspended on it glows an alluring sapphire. You looked to Loki, shocked.

What you saw in his eyes made you want to look away again. The stunning blue, matching that of the scepter… how his eyes bored into the gem obsessively, how his mouth was forming words and sentences near silently. It was a movement you know all too well: it’s the one he likes to do in the early morning. Whispers of sweet words, promises, and adorations. It had been uncomfortable. Too uncomfortable.

“Loki,” you had started, reaching a hand out to touch his shoulder. And he had nearly swatted your hand away, his mouth pulling animalistically before he caught himself and apologized. Apologized profusely, at the sight of your eyes tearing up. Magicked the scepter away alongside his ice eyes and held you, murmuring lovely nothings. It’s in the past now, anyway.

Except for select parts. Select parts that relapse again and again. As time passes, Loki… changes. He’s angrier. Vengeful, with eyes of winter. He’ll be fine one moment, and the next he’s spitting vile at something or other. Occasionally it’s you. And you try to take the brunt of it, knowing full well that he doesn’t mean it, he loves you… and he comes to his senses after a moment anyway, assuring you that it was just a spell. And you kiss.

It’s a relationship, though you haven’t put any labels on it. You’re glad for that… because if you were still his tutor, yesterday would’ve been the last session. There is no more to learn. No more to teach. You can’t help but smile to yourself: now it’s just you and Loki, nothing providing a reason for the relationship to be anything short of dating.

Today is normal. Well, the new normal. You wake up to a cold bed: you can never tell how long he had been out of the sheets. He was always cold in them, cold outside them.

“Loki?” you grumble, feeling around the sheets. Nothing. He’s up already. Groaning, you stretch your body as you exit the bed. Sore, as per usual, after Loki has his way. You stumble out to the kitchen where Loki has his hands pressed into the counter and his back away from you. Smiling silently, you pad over to his back and embrace him.

“Loki- we’re all done! No more lessons, just me and you,” you sing-song cheerfully, sunshine and love, and- he backhands you suddenly with his left hand, with such force that your face slaps to the side and forces you to the floor. Tears spring to your eyes: from the pain yes, but also the betrayal. He hit you. Square across the face. Loki snarls above you, standing over your body intimidatingly. If you hadn’t been intimate with this man, you would’ve thought he was a demon with eyes of the frozen sea.

“Useless bitch! Wretch, you dare lay your hands on me? You are but a toy, a harlot- you do what I tell you and nothing more. You must be truly naive to think that you are anything above that. Now, bow to your king, beg for forgiveness,” he demands. You’re terrified, clutching onto your quickly reddening face and staring at him. “Kneel!” he yells.

“L-Loki, I don’t understand- why would you- why would you hit me?” you stammer as tears start to fall.

“You truly, hah, you’re truly a fool. Idiotic mewling quim,” he bends down to your level and with the same hand as before, slaps you the other way. “No one will ever love you. I used you, and now you have no use to me. So either submit and I’ll find a reason for you, something that fits your status… not a consort for a king, no, perhaps just a holding place until I find someone better... so, wench,” he grabs onto your stinging and bruised jaw with that ethereal strength, “Submit to your savior or get out of my sight. You are not worthy. Of my time. My presence. My being. You are nothing.”

He laughs maliciously as you cry and struggle to get up from your sprawled position on the floor.

“You’re trembling,” he notes aloud, sneering. You make a strangled noise: had once remarked the same thing, but with such kindness and caring and with a hug to boot. And now… and now, he steps on your face with light pressure, enough to make it hurt. “Stop it, and answer me.” You’re crying heavily now, sobs ripping themselves out of your chest, and it takes the last of your strength to punch the inside of his knee on the leg that’s holding you down.

Loki grunts and stumbles back, and you race away to the bedroom before he can regain his bearings. You lock the door with quivering fingers and slide down it before devolving into tears completely.

I thought we were okay. I thought this was it.

You’re sitting there, shaking, as you hear Loki’s feet stomp their way to the door. Your phone is charging fruitlessly in the living room: there’s no landline in the bedroom either. The penthouse that Loki’s in is way too far up to escape by a window if you want to survive the fall. Truly, hiding in the bedroom was not one of your wisest choices. You hear his footsteps, pounding the floorboards approach… until they falter before the only thing barring his entry into the bedroom. You crawl to the door of the closet: maybe if you’re quiet, you can hide there without a hitch. And he’ll be back in his right mind.

Bits and pieces of mutterings make it through the two closed doors: things like “no, stop”, “insolent”, “disobey”, “fine”, “go”, “stay”, “carry out”, “die”, “how could you”. The door slams: then his footsteps sound, quieter as he goes away. You breathe a sigh of relief, the breath coming out staggered, and lean against the side of the closet before crying a little more and gingerly touching your swelling cheeks.

How did I get here?

~~~~~

When you finally exit the bedroom, a good hour after the event, you’ve decided to forgive him already. You know it’s bad, and you know you shouldn’t but… you love him. And that’s bad, he’s bad but… perhaps you’re making him better? You are, you’re sure of it.

Tiptoeing out of the room, you hear the tell-tale sound of water running. You peek first from the corner of the hall. Loki’s simply at the sink, washing something or other. He seems peaceful. Docile. There’s a rhythmic “scritch scritch scritch” as Loki cleans. You grab your phone from its charging spot, just in case, before striding up to Loki’s straight-backed figure. You clear your throat when you stand behind him. Surprising him with a hug hadn’t been the best idea before.

“L-Loki? Is… is everything okay? Did something happen? If it’s about what happened... it-it’s okay. You weren’t in your right mind. I know you, I know you’re not like that: you’re so good to me! It’s just one time. It won’t happen again. I forgive you,” you smile at his back kindly, and take a step forward when he doesn’t respond. A step after another, set to the tune of “scritch scritch scritch”. “Loki, I’m going to hug you now, if that’s okay.”

You reach up with a quivering hand to tap his shoulder, having to step closer in the process, and what you see makes you stumble.

He’s not cleaning the dishes.

Loki is using the steel wool you use to clean the pans on… on his left hand. It’s shredded, horribly shredded: blood coats the sink and his arm, slowly going down the drain mixed with the running water. The scritch noise was… was his bones in his hands against the wool. His body shakes as you gasp, horrified.

“Oh my god, what are you- what are you doing, Loki, stop,” you sob, reaching forwards to pull the wool out of his hand. Your action is halted by the sudden clamping of his right hand on your wrist, the wool landing in the sink: it holds you steadfast and still with his much superior strength. His head turns to yours, and you can’t help but whimper at the emotions in his teary eyes.

Despair.

Hopelessness.

Pain.

And most worryingly…

Fear. Palpable, incredible, fear in those green eyes: they swirl dangerously with blue in a battle that you can’t help but feel terrified of. Loki whines like a scared child, his eyes wide as he clearly struggles to let go of your hand.

“Loki, let’s just calm down now, we need- we need to get you to a hospital,” you cry, gently removing your hand from his grip as it laxes just a bit. Loki shakes his head slightly, all he can muster.

His mouth moves, and no words come out. You watch patiently with shaking shoulders as he battles with himself to get the words out. When they finally come, garbled and quiet and painful to hear, it’s not affirmation or an apology or a declaration of love. It’s…

“Run. Please.”

You stagger backward in shock.

“But… but I love you, we can do this-”

He shakes his head, an “I’m sorry” being mouthed, and then his face distorts in pain. His bloody hand constricts around itself, shaking.

“Run, now! Never return, ever,” he growls.

You glance at his wrecked hand, then back at Loki’s tearful eyes, and then at his pained expression. He… he isn’t right. Something is happening to him, and you are not the one who can fix it. You cannot help him here. You know that, but you have a connection to him, you’re in love-

“I’ve never loved you. I’m… I’m so sorry- I think that with time and in different circumstances I could’ve but… ngk- you have to leave, before it’s too late. Go as far away as you can, quickly as you can. Things are coming, and you… you are but a mere foolish girl who loves too easily. You do not deserve the fate that the others will experience,” he grits out.

Your heart shatters.

Every snuggle on the couch, every peck over cooking eggs, every “I love you”. Months of your life, months spent in love, months with who you though yourself undeserving of and how goddamn amazing it is that you’re with him and he loves you and you wanted to spend your life with him oh god-

“Oh god,” you cry, tears spilling in great numbers, “I- Fuck! I can’t believe this, I-I I thought-”

“Leave,” Loki demands, a now all too familiar malice creeping into his tone, and you trip over your feet grabbing your coat and phone and wallet before leaving for good. Something is terribly wrong with this man, and you can’t help him. You don’t want to help him at this point, with all his lies and manipulations.

You leave alone.

You leave mourning the loss of months of your life.

You leave brokenhearted.

~~~~

And there’s something about watching Loki decimate the city you love on the television a few weeks later, in a new town with a new job and a new home, that makes you feel as though broken dreams and departed love will never ever allow you to have peace of mind.

~~~~

That’s it... Thanks for reading. 

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[tact-and-impulse]

With These Hands Chapter 11

Look, I say we’re ending 2020 with affection and fluff! Also, now that I know what it’s like working in a hospital, I can write this AU better, and this episode has heavy influence from my first night call shifts. For my fellow healthcare workers, because this was...a year. Here’s to staying safe in 2021!

The rest of this chapter is under the cut or on FF.net and AO3

Chapter 11: Endurance

Admittedly, Kenshin’s stomach dropped when he saw her. She was limp in her chair, arms dangling at her sides and her face turned away.

“Kaoru-dono?!” He rushed to her desk, panic overriding sensibility. But before he could touch her, her eyes snapped open and her right fist lashed out in a glancing blow that brought him to his knees. Acting on instinct, he latched onto the edge of her desk, elbow colliding with the hard surface. “Oro!”

At the contact, she blinked away her drowsiness. “Ken…shin? Oh, no! I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” She sat up, her fingertips brushing his aching cheekbone. The pain was already fading, and he resisted leaning in.

“This one is fine. It was this one’s fault, surprising you.” He managed to answer. Despite how his skin was buzzing, he was not going to behave like a hormonal teenager.

“I still shouldn’t have punched you.” She withdrew, her voice full of concern. “I hope it won’t bruise.”

“There have been worse hits that this one has taken, so don’t worry.” And on that same side as well, he ruefully thought. “Are you still working?” It was already past seven.

“I’m on night call.” Her explanation contained no small amount of misery. “And I had a meeting in the afternoon, so I only got an hour of sleep before I came here. It’s going to be a long Thursday night; at least, I have the weekend off. What about you?”

“This one is also in the same situation, filling in for a colleague who was supposed to work tonight. There was a family emergency, so this one is here instead.”

“Oh, good. Not that you have to work on short notice,” She hastily added. “But we can keep each other company.”

“That’s true. It will be easier to stay awake.” He would have been content to stay at her desk; he had nothing urgent at the moment. But she did, as signaled by her blaring pager. She mouthed an apology, before taking the call. Leaving her to her responsibilities, he drifted back to his spot across the room, to print his list of patients.

***

He was reading the interim notes on his patients when she commented.

“By the way, I forgot to mention earlier. I like your scrubs.”

“Oro?” The faded magenta met his downward gaze. “These are very old.”

“But you look so cheerful! The other male doctors stick to blue or black.”

“So did this one, in the past. However, brighter colors can be comforting or distracting for the children, so that’s something this one can do for them.”

“You also can pull it off, because you’re an attending.” She pointed out, and he laughed.

“There’s nothing wrong with navy either.”

“It’s not navy, it’s indigo.” Grinning, she tugged the front of her scrub top. “But it’s my favorite color.”

“It suits you very well.” Belatedly, he wondered if that was harassment, but she didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she blushed. At the sight, his own face warmed.

“Thanks.” For a heartbeat, the only sound was the humming of their computers. Abruptly stretching her arms over her head, she declared. “I need coffee. The cafeteria’s closed, but do you want anything from the vending machine?”

“This one can join you.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to bother you if you’re busy, and you can just text me.” They had already exchanged numbers, thanks to the group chat Misao had started for the workroom.

“No, it will be a long night and this one prefers not to stay in one spot.” He pocketed his pager and stood from his chair.

Her smile widened. “Yeah, I won’t argue with that. And I’m glad! It’s more fun with you.” Her blush had not faded, and his cheek tingled.

He replied honestly. “This one feels the same way.”

Unfortunately, the closest machine had its interior lights off and the glass front bore a paper sign. ‘Out of Order’ was written in large block letters, punctuated by a frowning face. If he had to guess, it appeared to be the handiwork of either Sano or Misao, perhaps even a joint effort.

“That’s a shame.” He said. “Should we search for another?”

“Sounds like a plan! Let’s hope the others are still functioning.”

Their workroom was at the injunction between the main building and the children’s hospital, so they had options. He allowed her to decide, and she headed for the pediatric side. She swiped her badge to access a corridor that was glass on both sides, from ceiling to floor.

“This part is one of the best, in my opinion. Well, at least during the day.” Outside, it was dark, except for the street lamps. Occasionally, a car zipped past on the road below, illuminating the surrounding greenery. But he understood her. When it was sunny, they were provided with a scenic view of the city beyond.

“Yes, it’s the closest we have to stepping out. It’s important to have something to look at, other than the interior of the building.”

“Right? I always feel more rejuvenated when I go through this way. Although, I do love the murals in the children’s hospital.”

“Which do you like best?”

“Hmm. I think the bamboo forest, on the sixth floor. The animals are cute, the pandas and the tanuki.”

“Also, because that is where shinai come from?” He innocently referred to her love for kenjutsu.

“Okay, a little bit.” But she laughed. “Well, which is your favorite?”

He already had an answer. “The fourth floor, with the countryside motif. It reminds this one of his childhood.”

“You were a country boy?”

“In the Kansai region, yes. However, it has been almost twenty years since this one lived there. This one doesn’t even remember the closest town. We did grow rice and vegetables, and there were some chickens.” He pieced together the fragmented memories. “But it was a very long time ago.”

“It must have, I couldn’t tell at all.” She was thoughtful, and he realized he might have shared too much. But she didn’t pry, instead asking. “Did you have any baby chicks?”

“Not that this one can remember.”

“That’s too bad.” Disappointment showed on her face.

He smiled. The image of Kaoru, cradling fluffy chicks in her arms, was sweet.

In a corner near an empty waiting area, they finally found a working vending machine. Kaoru cheered at its presence, peering within to decide on her snacks. She was terribly adorable, depositing her change and punching the buttons. Holding her coffee and a package of chocolate-covered biscuits, she beamed. “Alright, your turn!”

As she walked past, he caught the scent of jasmine flowers. Too subtle to be perfume, it must have been her shampoo. He thought it was pleasant.

“Kenshin? Aren’t you going to buy something?”

He jolted, realizing he hadn’t moved. “A-ah, yes.” Breathing deeply to settle his nerves, he chose a bottle of green tea, and the same cookies she picked. She had already opened her drink and sipped it as they walked back.

“Whew, I feel a lot better.”

“That’s good. You need your strength for the hours ahead.”

“Yeah. I still wish I had more sleep, but I just remind myself that at least, I’m not in one of the hospital beds. That was much harder.”

“And now, you’re here. Your patients are extremely fortunate to have you, because you understand what it must be like.”

Her blush had returned in full force. She nodded, before her brows drew together. “Wait-”

Overhead, the loudspeaker crackled, calling for a medical response team. They both stopped, listening attentively. The alert meant that a patient’s condition was deteriorating. He checked his list as the room number was announced. It did not belong to any of his charges, and judging from how Kaoru exhaled, it wasn’t any of hers either. But elsewhere, someone was struggling and their colleagues were doing everything they could to save them.

As they approached familiar walls, it was his pager’s turn to vibrate, and reluctantly, he excused himself.

***

After midnight, he had one emergency surgery, for a patient that had gone into hemorrhagic shock. Two hours later, he emerged from the operating room, the worst outcome kept at bay. He ordered for two units of blood, to be transfused if the patient was anemic, and headed back to the workroom.

Kaoru had her earbuds in, obviously engrossed. Upon his entrance, she removed them and greeted him. “Hey, Kenshin. How’d it go?”

“Well enough. The patient is stable for now, but this one will keep a close eye. Did you have any new admissions?”

“Just one in the emergency room, who’s waiting to be placed in a room, but it seems like a straightforward case. History of glycogen storage disorder, so I’ve been reading up.”

“This one didn’t realize articles were accessible on CD.” He had noticed the small player next to her keyboard, that had appeared in his absence.

“Oh, no, this is an audiobook. It’s an old one, I already know all the twists. I only replay it because of the narrator.” Her expression became very fond.

“Ah.” Inwardly, he was caught off guard, but he maintained a neutral face. “Is he a good actor?”

“I think she was. This book is one of my mother’s recordings, after all. Would you like to hear her?”

Somewhat embarrassed, he agreed, and she transferred the CD to her computer. Momentarily, a woman’s gentle voice filled the air. Her cadence and intonation were similar to Kaoru’s, and she switched between characters with impressive ease. It seemed to be an anthology of short stories.

“You were not wrong; her performance is wonderful.”

“I’m glad you think so! She’d be happy to hear that, if she were alive.” Kaoru clarified. “She had lupus, and she passed away from kidney failure when I was young. She couldn’t get a transplant in time. The Mirror Wing in the main hospital is named for her.” The dialysis unit was located there.

“You must miss her.”

“I do, but at least, I have Okaa-san in this way. Not many people can say the same.”

He definitely couldn’t. Then, the staccato beeps of her pager interrupted them again. He was beginning to dislike that particular ring.

By three in the morning, Kaoru was starting to falter. She was continuing to type on her computer, but her head nodded and she occasionally jolted, unconsciously trying to stay awake.

“Kaoru-dono.”

“Hmm?” Her gaze lifted, though not quite focusing.

“Please, get some rest. The work can wait.” He gently said. “This one can turn the lights off, if that would help.”

“Would you? That’d be really nice.” She murmured.

He flipped the switches, leaving the glow of his monitor. “If there was a bed, that would be better.”

“It’s okay. Hospital beds aren’t very comfy.” She certainly spoke from experience. She opened one of her desk drawers, taking out a spare surgical mask. “Please don’t tell anyone else in your department.”  Before he could inquire further, she proceeded to wear it over her face, and it was large enough to cover her eyes.

He had to stifle his laughter. “This one promises.”

It was uneventful afterwards, without beeping pagers or loudspeaker announcements. He lasted another hour and a half, before he felt the familiar pull of exhaustion. He logged off and sat back in his chair. He could never fully sleep while on the job. That was especially true now, with Kamiya Kaoru in the same room, softly breathing.

It was Director Kamiya who had offered him a place at Kamiya Kasshin, while he was still working for Katsura. He had been disillusioned and burnt out, entertaining ideas of quitting medicine. He was too ashamed to talk to Hiko, but he caved to the “fates” as his guardian liked to refer to them. Akane, Kasumi, and Sakura had sat him down, persuading him to take the new job before deciding anything further. Akane was particularly fervent, she had never liked Katsura.

So, he had accepted the position and adjusting to the new work environment occupied him. Then, the accident happened. It was on a night not too different from this one, and he had also been on call. He heard there was a group of people, on the phone with the director at the crash site, trying to obtain details. He had run to that desk, preparing to encourage the man who had helped him so far. It was at the other end of the hospital and he was relatively late, everyone else mobilizing for the victims’ arrival. When he picked up the phone, he was out of breath. “Kamiya-dono?”

Instead of Director Kamiya’s voice, there was a young, feminine one. Choked with tears, but still strong. “Hello? Please, can you hear me?”

One fateful conversation, and she reminded him of what he loved about his profession. But she didn’t seem to remember. That was alright, the memory was wrapped up in tragedy, and he didn’t want to hurt her. Getting to know her was enough. Even after six years, she was very much the same woman he had spoken to. Compassionate, brave, honest.

Hiko, being his usual infuriating self, had accused him of having a crush, although Kenshin was disgruntled. Not that Kaoru wasn’t attractive, but it was not the point. It wasn’t a crush, he was immensely grateful to Kaoru as well as her late father, for his current life. Originally, he was trying to repay their kindness, in what little he could manage on his part. So far, he enjoyed spending time with her, even when on call. Around her, and for that matter, their other workroom colleagues, he felt at ease in a way that he hadn’t experienced in decades.

But if she asked about him…? He hadn’t decided what he would do yet.

***

Kenshin slowly emerged from his trance. The blinds had been opened, the sky pink with dawn. He clicked his mouse and the monitor lit with the time. Just past six. Night call was almost over.

Kaoru’s chair was empty, and he drowsily recalled her rummaging about, before the door closed. She must have gone to pre-round on her patients, to check on them before meeting with the rest of her team. He hoped they would let her go before noon.

He relayed the night’s events to the day shift’s surgeon, who insisted that everything would be taken care of and please get some rest, Dr. Himura. But he went to check on his shock patient, who was thankfully stable. Then, the parents arrived in the waiting area, and he took the opportunity to speak to them. By the time he returned to retrieve his things, it was already ten. Kaoru was also there, greeting him as if she hadn’t spent the night at the hospital.

“Morning, Kenshin!”

“Good morning. How were your rounds?” He inquired, clearing his desk.

“Quick, thank goodness.”

“And how are you?”

“I feel fine. Well, I know it’s fake, I’ll probably crash once I get home. I’m just going to submit my notes, and then, I’ll go.” She didn’t sit down, her eyes glued to her screen as she logged in. A few clicks, and then, she grabbed her bag. “Done! Geez, I’m ready to leave.”

“Good work, Kaoru-dono.”

“You too.” Despite how little she must have slept, her smile was as radiant as ever. “But you’re still here? I thought you would have been out by now.”

“This one had a few tasks, but this one was just about to leave as well. After you.” He urged her ahead of him. They shared an elevator down, luckily without any stops.

“Have you already eaten breakfast?” She asked.

“This one had a leftover rice ball. The cafeteria is…” His weary mind searched for a word that would be appropriate.

“I know, I really want Tae to expand her hours, but she can’t while she has her regular job. I think I have cup ramen in my pantry.”

“Next time, this one will bring enough onigiri to share.”

“Next time?” She repeated, emphasizing the implication of another call shift in the near future, but she was laughing. “Would they have caffeine in them?”

He smiled at her. “For you, this one will make an exception.”

Her cheeks grew pink. “Thank you, I’ll look forward to it.” After a pause, she added. “What would even be inside such onigiri? Instant coffee?”

Matcha powder actually, but he needed to perfect that recipe. “It would be a surprise.”

“Geez!”

They passed the lobby, and bright sunshine filled his vision. After spending so long in the hospital, it was a relief to be out in the open again. The cloudless sky was an immaculate blue, the fresh air crisp. Beside him, Kaoru sighed, her lips curving. The wind tossed her ponytail, and she shoved her hands in her pockets, continuing on. Suddenly aware that he was staring again, he picked up his feet. Then, they were already at the garage and had to part ways. Work had truly ended.

“Drive safe and sleep well! I’ll see you on Monday!” She waved and he did the same.

“Take care.”

There was no traffic, and his empty apartment was cool. It was quiet as he meticulously cleaned his belongings. As he walked to his bedroom, he barely made a sound. The shower seemed too loud, and so did the hair dryer. Slipping between his clean sheets, he noticed the lack of scent. After leaving his glasses on his nightstand, he checked his phone again. Nothing new, which was supposed to be good. He hovered over Kaoru’s name in the group chat. Well…it wouldn’t hurt. His thumb pressed down, and he began to type.

This one hopes you returned home without issue and that you have a relaxing weekend.

With the message sent, he locked the screen. She could reply on her own time.

And at last, he closed his eyes.

[giantmuschroom]

Writer’s Guild - Mark

For celebrating the Got7 newest comeback i was lucky enough to be part of this colaboration with the most wonderfull people on this planet. Words cannot describe how gratefull i am! 

So here is my story, hope you will enjoy it! 

The collab is now complete <3  Here you can find everything: Intro / Mark / Jaebeom / Jackson / Jinyoung / Youngjae / Bambam / Yugyeom

“It wasn’t interesting in the slightest!”

“Why should you be interested in this book? You shouldn’t, because the book itself is boring.”  

“As much I trust JYP Publishing, this was a really bad move.”  

“The most boring book known to man.”

Mark opened his eyes, when the carriage bumped on another rock. He hadn’t dreamed of that fiasco for a long time. Maybe it was the change that bought back unpleasant memories. He looked out of the window and the castle came in to view. It was a magnificent building; it was his fresh start.  

You were really proud of your job. The only one in the family who got to work in the castle and serve the Wentworth family. After four years of good services, you got to be head maid for the library and two other reading rooms.  

You loved the library, the serenity of the place, the smell of books. Furthermore, you loved the old librarian.  He was a kind one, full of knowledge. One day he caught you looking at one of the books and taught you how to read. Since then you would spend your free time in the library. One day, you found him in his chair dead. You cried the hardest at his funeral. However, life goes on with the Wentworth family and as any noble family they hired a new librarian, who will take care of the books, buy new ones and take care of them. So, they could boast about their wealth.  

After completing your duties, you climbed the ladder to the highest shelf. There were your favourite books, not the fancy ones, but the stories that spoke to your heart. You reached for one, standing on your tippy toes.  

“Oh, come on! I want to read you,” you said. Then you heard a chuckle in the library, turned too quickly and the next thing you know, you are falling to the ground. You brace yourself for impact, but it never came.  

“What do we have here,” said an amused voice above your head. You opened your eyes and looked upon the most gorgeous man you had ever seen.

“I’m Y/N. I’m the maid here,” you said and he put you down. “And who are you?” you asked suspiciously.  

“I’m Mark, and this is my library,” he answered.  

“Your library?”  

He smiled. “I’m the new librarian, so kind of.”  

“I loved Mr. Westley,” you said with a sad smile.  

“He was the kindest man I ever knew. It was him who taught me how to read and then he let me read in here when I had free time,” you explained yourself and looked at him with a hopeful expression.  

He picked up the novel and with a “Just return it, when you are done,” he gave it to you. You smiled at him and ran away.  

                                                        ***

“Mark?” He lifted his head and looked at you. You were curled up in a chair by the library window, book on your lap and shoes down.  

“What does aggrandize mean?” you asked.  

“What do you mean?”  

“It says in here ‘it was aggrandized’” he stood up from his desk and walked to you. Your eyes never left the book, but suddenly you felt his breath fan your face.  

“See? Here, this sentence, I don’t understand,” you say and looked at him. His face was so close.  

“Oh this…wait…what are you reading?” he asked.  

“It’s Tales from the village by M.T.. It’s a really good book. The stories are short and sometimes the author uses difficult words for me, but the stories are fun,” you said excitedly and showed him the cover. He rose quickly and turned his back to you.  

“What’s wrong?” you said quietly.  

“It’s nothing. I have lots of work, you should go,” he said sharply.  

                                                 ***

You avoided Mark for an entire week. You didn’t want to admit it, but you were hurt by his cold demeanor. However, it was your duty to clean the library. That’s when you noticed the paper on Mark’s desk.  

Dear Y/N,

It seems like you have been avoiding me. So, I chose to write this letter. I’m sorry I reacted like that. The truth is, and believe me I don’t say it lightly, I’m the author of the book. Apparently, it’s the most boring book in the existence of books. It’s a painful memory for me. I wanted to be the world’s greatest writer, but I gave up after one unsuccessful try. Nobody liked the book and here you are. Enjoying my stories and questioning me about the difficult words I used.  So, I wanted to say thank you.  

Mark.

You smiled. He had really neat handwriting, you thought. You tucked his letter in one of your pockets and walked from the library.  

                                                   ***

“Here is your tea,” you placed the tray on his desk.  

“Thank you, Y/N” he smiled at you.  

“What are you doing?” you asked.  

“Well, Lord Wentworth ordered new books from Sir Walter Scott. So, I’m writing it in the catalogue of the library. I must say my predecessor did a really good job at keeping track of the books,” he explained.

“Oh, so this has a list of all the books in the library?” you asked excitedly.  

“Yes, yes it does. And here are blank pages for the new ones,” he pointed out.  

“That’s marvelous!” you clapped your hands together.  

“So why did you stop writing?” you blurted out suddenly.  

“You read the book,” he said.  

“Yes, I did. We all did actually. I read it to the other staff and they enjoyed it too. Not the difficult words though,” you said.  

“They did?” you laughed at his shocked expression.  

“Yes, maybe the stuck-up city society doesn’t understand, but for us common folks? Your stories hit the right note,” you said.  

“If you put it that way… the bad thing is most of the common folks don’t know how to read. And if you want to make money with writing, you need to please the high society,” he explained.  

“That’s not fair,” you pouted. Mark started laughing and you never felt better.  

                                                   ***

Your friendship with Mark only grew stronger. You spent every free minute in the library. He taught you about the books and you just talked to him about the servants living in the castle. Until Lord Wentworth decided to get his hands on one particularly rare edition of Don Juan by Lord Byron, and naturally he sent his librarian after it.  

“You don’t look so good Y/N,” said one of your fellow maids.  

“Is it because a certain librarian isn’t here?” said another playfully and you glared at her.  

“We are friends,” you clarified it, but it didn’t sound right. It was so much more for you.  

“Yes, friends. Ada and Jon are friends too, that’s why they are getting married on Saturday” both of them started laughing.  

“Stop it, you two. Y/N, you have a letter here,” the footman interrupted your circle.  

“Is it from your friend?” asked the girls and started laughing again.  

Dear Y/N,

Is it inappropriate of me to say that I miss you? Our afternoon teas, your curious questions and your smile. The journey was a long one. There are so many people who want the book. I don’t know if I will be successful. Let’s hope for the best. How is life in the castle? Did Daisy overcome the cold? How is Ada and Jon’s wedding preparations going? Is Miss Cicely still annoying? Are you keeping our library clean? Did you read a new book? I have so many questions and you are so far away. So, prepare your answers when I get back. Say my greetings to all the staff and if it’s not too forward, think of me.  

Mark.

You clutched the letter to your chest. Oh, how you missed him.  

                                                     ***

You didn’t want to seem too eager, but every time you heard a coach arriving, you were at the nearest window looking at who walked out of it. So far it was one suitor for Miss Cicely, mail and supplies. Mark didn’t really say when he will be back, you just heard Lord Wentworth deliver the news about a successful purchase of the book. So, you expected Mark every day now. You had so much to tell him.  

So, when you heard the wheels of another coach you said to yourself that you wouldn’t look. It’s the supplies again since the Wentworth’s are planning the big dinner. You are a strong woman, you will not look.  

“Oh…The librarian is back,” said your friend.

“What?” you turned to her and then made your way to the window. It was him! So, you started to run.  

Mark passed the package to one of the footmen and made his way to the hall. When he heard footsteps approaching, he turned and saw you running.  

You clash with Mark and almost knock him to the ground. Your hands around his neck and bodies pressed together.

“Life was dreadful without you! Daisy is fine, the cold didn’t last long. Ada and Jon got married and you weren’t there! Miss Cicely has another suitor, the girl will never marry, she is too picky! And yes, it’s a little annoying. Of course, I kept the library clean, what have you got me for? No, I didn’t read anything and …” you stopped to catch your breath, but you didn’t have chance to finish your speech. Marks lips locked yours in kiss and you surrendered.

“And I missed you terribly,” you finished when he ended the kiss. So, with a smile you reached for another.  

                                                   ***

Several months later

“Honey! It’s here,” you called. He looked at you and smiled.  

“Come on. Open it! Hurry!” you practically danced. He carefully removed the wrapping paper and took the book out.  

“Letters to my wife by M.T.,” he read the title.  

“It’s beautiful! Look at it,” you beamed as he held the small book in his hands. The title was gold and the book itself was dark blue.  

“I’m so proud of you. Your new book! Without the difficult worlds,” you laughed.  

“But full of love,” said Mark and placed a kiss on your forehead.

[blazehedgehog]

So rather than attach it to the last (rather large) post thread, I’ll start a new one. If you didn’t catch it on Twitter, friends managed to raise some money through nothing but sheer good will and I ended up booking a stay at the same hotel we should have gotten for free.

I’m starting a new thread because I want to ask a question, but first I want to clarify and provide a better timeline of everything that’s happened. This isn’t exact, but it’s as close as my memory can remember right now:

Late 2019/Early 2020: Whoever owns my apartment complex sells it to a new company in California. The complex is in Nevada. It’s a big apartment complex; it used to be two separate ones that were right next to each other and they merged to create a “project” that houses something like 150-200 units. If you consider families, somewhere in the realm of 300-700 people live here.  

April/May 2020: We get a notice on our door announcing that our new owners want to renovate the complex. Every single unit. It’s such a big ordeal that they have to put in to get funding from the State of Nevada to do it. The initial claim is that they will move us out of our apartment unit in to a new unit for up to a month or two (at no cost to us) while they renovate. More information will come in summer 2020 during a town hall meeting we will attend in person. I expect that with the pandemic starting and “shelter in place” orders going out that there’s no way they’d be dumb enough to go through with any of this. The notice ends with them pleading with people not to take this as a cue to move out. In the months to follow, we spied at least four people who were smart enough to get out before the renovation hit. We considered it, but the housing authority we have to rent through went dead silent the moment the pandemic ramped up and have yet to say even a single word to us (even now).  

Late October/Early November 2020: The town hall meeting finally happens, online, in a Zoom meeting. Three people in California dictate to the 40 or 50 tenants (maybe more) that attend the meeting how this is going to go. Plans have changed: the renovation will take place across ten days. Very tight schedule. In and out as fast as possible. In batches of 4-5 units at a time, going alphabetically across the complex, units will be renovated. New paint, new carpet, new cabinets, new sinks, new toilet, new shower, new appliances, redone balcony. Renovation teams will come in at 8am and work until 5pm. After 5pm, we will be allowed to return to our unit and sleep there. We will be allowed to keep one bed (per person) and one TV, which the renovation team will move out of the way during the day and return to our unit when they leave. We are also told we will be getting a sealable plastic tub to store personal items (toiletries and such) that the renovation team will also handle. We are assured they will be adhering to rigorous sanitization standards, with multiple temperature checks daily, masks, and gloves. During the day, we are free to go wherever, but the complex will be setting up what they call a “hospitality trailer” -- a communal space for everyone currently effected by the renovation to hang out inside, together. There will be port-a-potties and wifi. We’re told meals will also be provided, possibly in the trailer, but details are unspecific. We’re also told some landscaping will be done. All told, between renovating units and landscaping, they say the whole process from beginning to end will take 18 months or more. Tenants in the Zoom call ask questions -- if we don’t want to stay at the hospitality trailer, we’re told we should consider staying with family during the day. They ignore multiple questions from people asking if this will cause the rent to go up.  

December 2020: Renovation begins, starting with apartments in the A block. We’re somewhere near the middle of the alphabet, and going by the ten-days-per-unit estimate, we’re expecting the renovation to hit us around March-ish, maybe even as late as April. I develop an ugly toothache; my face swells up. I do a phone visit with a dentist and he prescribes me antibiotics and schedules me for an appointment on January 18th to pull the tooth.  

Early January 2021: Going to check the mail one day, I notice it feels like they’re spending a long time on the first few sets of units. Then, all of a sudden, renovations surge ahead, and units worryingly close to our letter start putting tarps up over their balconies, signalling they’re either mid-reno, or at least packing.  

January 18th, 2021: Tooth is “fine” (big cavity, no pain) but we discuss options for pulling multiple bad teeth with this problem tooth, since a lot of my upper teeth aren’t in great shape. Will require multiple rounds of surgery to remove them all and set up replacements. First round of surgery is on February 24th. I immediately wonder if we’re going to get called early for renovation and it’ll land simultaneously with the surgery. I try not to think about it.  

January 30th, 2021: We receive a notice that our apartment’s number is due. It’s post-dated, which means the notice is late. We’re supposed to have 45 days notice, and the move-out date listed in the notice is February 23rd. By the 45 day rule, this notice should’ve arrived January 9th. There’s also a degree of confusion: the notice was delivered to our apartment, but the notice is addressed to the apartment below us. Parts of the notice still mention our apartment number. We call the front office for clarification, and they tell us that the notice was indeed meant for the people below us. According to them, we’re in the clear for now. “You’re close...” tells us the person on the phone, “But it’s not your time yet.” We consider preparing early, but it sounds like we have to use the provided packing materials for organizational reasons when the movers come.  

February 5th: I record my Patreon Podcast. I mention the renovation. If you consider 10 days per renovation, based on when the notice was actually delivered, I’m expecting we’re going to get our notice in the next few days.  

February 8th: We get a knock on the door. A man from the front office is checking in with us to see how packing is going. Packing because the notice was actually for us. It was for all four units in this block. We tell him: we called. They said it wasn’t our time yet. He just kind of shrugs and asks if we need boxes. Of course we do. Our 45 day notice has been cut down to less than 14 days. On top of that, we’ve got doctors appointments and things coming up that’s going to eat in to this time. He says everything has to be in the office-provided UHaul boxes. Even if we have items already in cardboard boxes, they have to be specifically repacked in UHaul boxes.  

February 13th: After days of trying to contact my dentist office via email, I finally get a hold of them via text. I try to reschedule my appointment, but the receptionist tells me it’s just another consultation, not surgery. I hope she’s right. The stress of all of this is making it hard to get packing as fast as we need to.  

February 15th: My Mom tells me she’s managed to book an appointment for her first round of covid-19 vaccinations. Unfortunately, it’s on February 23rd, the day we’re being moved out.  

February 16th: We talk to the people below us, an elderly couple. They’re panicking about packing because they have so much stuff. They mention that the front office booked them a hotel for the duration of their renovation. All they needed was a doctor’s note proving they needed it. Given that my 75 year old mother has a doc appointment literally the next day, this seems like extremely good timing. After doing curbside pickup for a grocery order that day, we pass the movers on our way back in as they are loading a unit in to their Ryder truck. None of them that I see are wearing masks or gloves.  

February 17th: Doc visit happens, she implies that he kind of blew her off. She’s had chronic pain in her hands and knees for years, and in particular, the pain in her hands has been getting bad, fast. She wraps her thumb in sports tape because bending it hurts. She used to be a waitress, she used to be a cake decorator, she did data entry for a couple years, and now she’s dabbling with painting. Her carpal tunnel is severe and its accentuated with arthritis. Doctor just kind of shrugs it off, tells her if it gets worse to come back in a few months, even though arthritis can kill people if not treated properly. Still, he writes her a cursory note for the apartment front office. She talks to them and they’re very glad she contacted them about this; it sounds like the kind of thing that’s only available to people who ask, since presumably the owners don’t want to shell out $900,000+ rooming the entire complex in a hotel. Either way, we’re excited; maybe this renovation won’t be so bad. They tell us the name of the hotel and where its located.  

February 18th: While doing laundry in anticipation of packing things up for the hotel/renovation, we happen to catch someone in the laundry room who just got back in to her apartment after her reno finished. She tells us a horror story: everything they told us in the Zoom meeting was a lie. They are renovating way more than 4 units at a time, they aren’t going alphabetically anymore, and she theorizes they’re going with a cheaper renovation team because half of her apartment straight up wasn’t done. The new tile was cheap plastic, which was already gouged by the time she got there. No new fridge, no new shower or tub, no new toilet. “Those will be happening this summer,” she tells us. Sinks got replaced, but the new sinks are apparently bigger than the old ones, leaving less counter space (a particular problem in the bathroom). Carpets were new, but already a dirty mess because of the movers. She had to go around and pick up nails stuck in the carpet that were left behind by the renovators. Since they didn’t take the fridge, she got to keep her food in there, which was important for her because she had special dietary food that needed to be refrigerated. The bad news? Some of that food was stolen. She had a broom and a dust pan stolen, too. She mentions how poor communication has been. We mention the hotel, and she lights up. She didn’t stay in her apartment either, they put her up in the hotel, too. So at least there’s that silver lining. Though she regrets it, because they damaged her TV while she was away. She finally helps clarify the food situation for us, too: we’ll be receiving a “food voucher” to pay for our meals, whatever that means.  

February 19th: My Mom was supposed to call the front office to confirm we got the hotel, but in all the confusion, she didn’t get around to it. We’ll have to wait the entire weekend to get confirmation. But if the elderly couple below us got a room, and the lady we spoke to at laundry got a room, it sounds like we’re a lock.  

February 22nd: The front office checks in on us again, shrugs their shoulders at how behind we are on packing, and offers us more boxes. They only give us large boxes; we need small, medium and especially rolls of packing tape. They mention they’ll have more later once they open the storage unit, but we never get any. Across this entire ordeal, we’ve only gotten a single roll of packing tape. We bought several rolls of our own after being tired of waiting. Front office guy says our fridge is being replaced, but we can still keep food in our old one and we’ll just “come in and change it out.” Whatever that means. Later, after getting off the phone, we learn we were rejected for the hotel. The doctor’s note wasn’t good enough and the head office in California denied our request. My Mom tries to contact her doctor again to get a more detailed note, but he doesn’t return her call. We’re going to be living out of the car for the next ten days. We talk about protesting this; by stopping packing right now and refusing to leave, but eventually decide that would be a bad idea. We don’t want to risk the movers breaking any of our things. A couple friends start spreading around my paypal.me link in the hopes of raising money for us to stay at a hotel. They raise a little over $200, but it’s hard to justify spending that on a hotel.  

February 23rd, Morning: By this point, we’re running on empty. No sleep, physically exhausted, stressed out of our minds. Both of us on the verge of tears several times. With everything going on, we’re a little over halfway done packing and there’s no time left. We quickly move from “pack everything” to “pack what’s important so the movers don’t have to touch it.” Whatever we can’t finish, the movers will pack for us. At 7:30am the movers arrive, and they knock on the door at 8am. They are very polite. They are all wearing masks and gloves. We tell them they are nowhere near ready, and they offer to do our unit last. We do the best we can and leave the rest to them. On our way out, we talk to the elderly couple that lives below us, who claim the moving truck won’t be enough to hold everything in their apartment. It’s a big truck and a small apartment. I find that hard to believe. We go park somewhere and doze in the car until my Mom’s vaccination appointment at 10am. More friends, some of them with very large followings, start spreading the paypal.me link around. Momentum begins to build.  

February 23rd, Midday: We get to the vaccination place only to realize we forgot some things at the apartment. We quickly jog back across town and plan to ask them if it’s okay if we can go in to the apartment and retrieve it. When we get there, they’re still unloading the couple below us, and I notice they aren’t just taking UHaul boxes, but regular cardboard boxes, too. Given it’s been almost two hours, this might be second truckful, maybe even the third. I grab the stuff we’re missing and we head back to the vaccination park. Afterwards, we hang out at my brother’s just in case my mom has an allergic reaction to the vaccine and she needs help. She’s fine, and by the time we’re through there, it’s getting to be time to head back to our apartment for the night at 5pm. Before we leave my brother’s, I use their wifi to check my Paypal account. I joke, “I’m worried that I’ll open my account and it’ll say $2000.” Combined with the little bit of money I already had in my Paypal, the donations have pushed my account close to $2200. I burst out laughing. “YOU WANNA GO GET A HOTEL?!” I shout. We agree we’ll spend the night in the unit tonight and decide what we’ll take with us to the hotel in the morning.  

February 23rd, Evening: It’s close to 6pm and the movers are still there. They were supposed to clock out almost an hour ago. I browse Tripadvisor and Expedia in the parking lot and decide to just book the same hotel they dangled in front of our faces, since reviews specifically point out it’s clean and has extremely good quarantine practices. Expedia lets me pay with Paypal directly, but there’s a problem where it won’t connect to my Paypal account. As I go to transfer the money out of my Paypal and finish booking the hotel, the wifi dies. The movers just unplugged our modem and packed it up. They probably weren’t supposed to do that, and they picked the worst time, too. We spend the next 45 minutes driving around town trying to find free wifi so I can book this hotel. We end up parking at my brother’s place and leeching his wifi from the driveway. Hotel booked, check-in is at 3pm on the 24th. For now, it’s back to the apartment to decide what to take with us.  

February 23rd, Night: Upon getting back to the apartment around 7pm, we find it’s... a disaster area. They spent so long unloading all the other units, they did not have time to finish packing and unloading what was left in our unit. There’s garbage everywhere, it’s mixed in with the stuff we want to keep, some of it’s broken, it’s horrible. It looks like they just swept everything off the tables on to the floor. TV remotes and mail are spread out all over the place. They didn’t leave us any lamps, so the only lights in the apartment are the front door light, the kitchen light, and the bathroom light. They might have left us our mattresses, but they didn’t leave us any pillows or blankets. Still, we spent the better part of the night sorting through the “trash” and separating it out in to the stuff we wanted to keep. We pack up most of the apartment with whatever materials the movers left behind, but we eventually run out of boxes and tape. We still managed to pack 99.9% of what was left. From 7pm to 2:30am.  

February 24th, Morning: At 7:30am I'm woken up by the movers pulling up. I can hear them joking in the parking lot about who gets the honor of being called "papi" and cracking rude jokes about "assuming gender." They probably think nobody's around to hear them. We ask them for more time so we can wake up and get dressed. As we're loading up the car with stuff to take to the hotel, we overhear the movers complaining about how they are being made to wait because we were supposed to be out of here by 8, and it's close to 9. My Mom gives them an earful about how little time we had to pack compared to how long we should've had. "That's been happening to a lot of people here." one of them tells her. My whole body hurts after days of little sleep and packing extremely heavy boxes. I’ve had a throbbing headache for almost 48 hours. With the dentist appointment at 3pm that afternoon, we go to a park and I doze in the car for another five hours.   

February 24th, Afternoon: Dentist appointment goes smoothly; they offer to start surgery, but I explain to them what happened with the renovation and they are perfectly fine postponing until a later date. By now, my feet hurt where the soles of my shoes have been rubbing. My ankles and knees are hurting from being crunched up inside a car for two days. My back hurts from all the lifting. I’m beyond miserable and realize there’s no way I could bare to spend 10 days living in this car. Thankfully, with the dentist appointment out of the way, it’s check in time. The hotel room is nice, but given I’ve never stayed in a hotel before, I don’t have much of a comparison. But when I fall asleep that night, I sleep harder and longer than I have in years.  

February 25th: The elderly couple that lived below us at the apartment are here at the same hotel we are, and we talk to them. Turns out, the lady has the same doctor as my Mom, and they were rejected from his note, too. The approval they got for the hotel came from her husband’s doctor, who wrote an extremely detailed note about his oxygen needs. They mention that people living in our complex with disabilities weren’t housed here and they don’t know where they are or what happened to them. They also claim that the food provision stuff from the apartment front office is apparently some kind of a $45/day meal credit we get at the end of the renovation. But again, it’s still not clear, and the apartment itself has never clarified. That night, we return to the apartment again to raid our fridge for stuff to bring to the hotel. Now, if you remember, we were supposed to be able to sleep at the apartment every night. The apartment we returned to was in such a state that it would have been impossible to sleep in. No sinks, no toilets, no stove, no running water of any kind, and all of the outlets stripped down. Literally the only thing we could have done was sleep there; nothing else was possible. And even then, remember: no bedding. No pillows, no blankets, and it’s still winter out there.  

Update on things I forgot: Also on the 25th, elderly couple in the unit below us also told of how the movers had thrown their $950 couch outside and left it in the dirt for multiple days, asking if it was “trash” because one of the washable seat covers had a single pet stain on it. (When we visited the apartment that night to raid the fridge, we even saw it) Not only that, but last year, our bathroom tub had been leaking in to one of their closets. They had to shut our water off for several days and fix the pipes. Apparently this caused black mold in their apartment that wasn’t discovered until they started hauling boxes out. Upon bringing it up with the renovation team, they got told “there’s black mold everywhere! it’s in the grass! it’s fine!” The husband went in to take pictures of the black mold, but by the time he got over there with the camera, the renovation team had already painted over it. Apparently another tenant on the other side of the complex had mold problems so bad that she’s been paid to stay at this hotel for more than a month already while they deal with it.

Which brings us, roughly, to today.

Now, the question I mentioned way back at the top: what are my options here, legally? A lot of friends have told me up and down that this is either illegal, or should be illegal, but I have no idea where to start with any of this stuff and frankly I’m a little gun shy. I don’t know what Nevada housing law is like, what renters rights are, and I don’t want to risk being evicted. But I also know that the threat of being evicted is also what keeps people complacent.

All I really know is that basically everything they originally told us was a lie, and they never informed us of most of these changes. As for the rest, well... just read for yourself.

Whatever you know, I’d like to know.

[the-bard-writes]

The Young Owl, Episode 2, Part 5

The Young Owl sat in a chair in a bedroom across from a girl. The girl was only a few years younger than she was. She was the daughter of a pair of carpenters, skilled ones, which serviced the whole town. Her face was pale, and her skin covered in a sheen of sweat, and she shivered ever so slightly.

She didn’t have a lick of miasma on her. It was not any plague, that much was established.

Must be external forces, the Owl concluded. It’s not plague. It’s not my business.

She stared at the young girl. She knew that the girl’s father was just outside the door, waiting with Sparrow. Both awaited her professional opinion. The father had offered to pay for service, right in front of Sparrow, too.

The Owl sat in thought. She thought of the girl in front of her, and the girl outside the door, and the father, too. She thought of the people waiting for her in Saras. She thought of the coinage the father had offered, how nice it would be to buy new supplies and sleep on a bed for a few nights. She thought of the vial at her hip, the churning miasma inside, how dangerous it was to dally with it.

Though her skin could no longer itch, nor could she reach it if it did, she instinctively scratched at her mask.

Finally, she sighed, and stood. Approaching the young girl, she kept her hands gripped on her belt, considering what she was about to do.

Slowly, the Owl pulled an instrument from her belt. Atop its handle was a cone shape, with one side large enough to fit around one of her mask’s lenses, and the other side small enough to fit into a bodily orifice. She inserted the smaller end into the girl’s ear, socketing one of her lenses against the other end.

Through the device, her mutant eyes could see the minutia of her ear canal. With a clicking sound and deft movements of fingers on her mask’s lens, she peered about and zoomed her focus in and out, examining the girl’s interior. Her gaze could not pierce the ear drum, but there was a great deal she could learn from the middle ear by itself. As expected, she could see no shimmering miasma swirling about, but she did discover something interesting: a dark crust accruing within the canal.

“What in miasma are you…” the Owl wondered quietly to herself as she examined the crust. With trained dexterity, she held the examination device steady as she procured a very thin rod from her belt. She inserted it into the patient’s ear, and gently secured a sample of the crust. Removing it, she examined it more closely. She held it to the beak of her mask, and took in a deep sniff. There was a tinge of iron and rust to it.

“Blood…?” She softly exclaimed. Tapping her fingers against her belt thoughtfully as she stared at the dried blood, she puzzled over what could be causing such a thing.

Seating herself again, she busied her hands with sterilizing her equipment with vinegar from her pack as her thoughts cataloged the possibilities. It was certainly not plague. It could be either injury or parasites from there, she knew. Injuries that would cause aural bleeding would be fairly obvious, which meant that it must be some manner of parasitic infection – except she had no idea what manner of parasite would cause fainting spells that would be endemic to the region.

When she finished sterilizing her equipment, she returned it to her belt. She sighed as she remembered how little she could afford to remain… but also how little she could bring herself to leave.

Especially since a parasitic infection could multiply and spread.

“Sparrow,” she called out, an idea coming to her. “Could you come in? I’d like to consult with you.”

A moment passed, and the door opened. Sparrow entered, closing the door behind her, before crossing her arms and staring at the Owl.

“You going to take care of her?” Sparrow asked.

“I’m going to try,” the Owl sighed. “I believe it’s a parasitic infection, but I don’t know this area enough to know what kind of parasites are present.”

“So you want the local Lodger to fill you in,” Sparrow nodded along. “Sure. I know all sorts of parasites around these woods. Have a few books on them back at my Lodge.”

“How far is that Lodge from here?” The Owl asked. “We may need to reference those texts.”

“A few days,” Sparrow shook her head. “Probably too far to be any good to these people.”

“We’ll see,” the Owl scratched her mask. “Do you know any parasites that could cause bleeding in the ear canal and fainting spells?”

“Plenty, if they got to a human,” Sparrow shrugged. “Ear’s a good place for plenty of nasty bugs to crawl into. I know a lot of things around here that do something similar to animals, but I’ve never heard of a human getting infested by any such thing.”

“Why would humans go unaffected, if there are so many candidates?”

“Usually humans are too big,” Sparrow explained. “These are tiny critters I’m talking about, they can’t get to high places. They crawl into something’s ear when it’s laying on the ground, and they rely on roots and fallen leaves and stones and such to find shelter before they have a host. A village like this doesn’t have much in the way of a home for them, and even if they somehow crawled all the way here, climbing up a bed to get to someone’s ear is much too much work for them.”

“What if someone slept on the forest floor?” The Owl asked.

“Even then, if some critters got in, they’d have to go nearly a day without bathing for them to burrow,” Sparrow said. “Can’t imagine someone sleeping in the forest and not rinsing off after it.”

“Travelers do that quite often,” the Owl pointed out. “Sodalists sleep on the side of roads almost constantly, I imagine other wanderers must as well.”

“I suppose then it’d be more likely,” Sparrow nodded, “but these aren’t travelers we’re talking about.”

“Right…” Owl nodded back, staring at the patient thoughtfully. “If it’s a parasitic infection, based on what you’re telling me, a thorough cleansing of the ear canal may be sufficient to root them out.”

“Depends on the nasty,” Sparrow cautioned. “And how long they’ve been in there. They might be burrowed so deep that nothing you put in there will flush them out.”

“Do you think they’d burrow deeper into the body from the ear canal?” The Owl asked.

“Depends on the nasty,” Sparrow repeated with more emphasis. “I’ve said all I know for sure on what you’ve told me, which is blood in the ear and faints. From there, there’s a lot of possibilities.”

The Owl sighed in frustration. “It must be something unusual if these people have lived here in a village for generations and have no answer for this. Which means a rare parasite, or a rare interaction with a common parasite. Either way, more than one subject is affected, which means either multiple people were in the same conditions that led to infestation, or the infestation is spreading from person to person, and since it’s not miasmatic, I can’t track it.”

“You’re a lot more interested in this than you were in that tavern,” Sparrow observed. “Thought you wanted to skip over this place and get to Saras.”

“It’s caught my interest,” the Owl confessed. “And it’s obvious that the situation will deteriorate to dangerous degrees if left unchecked.”

“And there’s pay now,” Sparrow noted cynically. The Owl looked to her. “Naturally. Since someone’s life is on the line and you won’t help until there’s gold.”

“That isn’t…” Owl started, but simply sighed. “Think what you will. I’m going to help. Will you assist me, or not?”

“Of course I will,” Sparrow snapped. “Now that you’re actually here to help.”

“Go to the other victim,” Owl ordered. “Confer with him and his family about his recent activities. I will do the same here with the first patient.”

“What if they won’t talk to me?” Sparrow asked.

“You don’t look like a Sodalist, you should be fine,” the Owl said. “But if they still won’t speak with you, then that’s their choice. Just clarify their son’s life may hang in the balance, as well as their own.”

“Grim method of persuasion,” Sparrow mumbled.

“I’m no Crow,” Owl shrugged as she went over to the patient to examine her further. “I don’t have diplomacy and tact, just facts. My patients can take them or leave them. Now go. Leave the girl’s father to me…”

[adarlingwrites]

Absolution

Summary:

noun: formal release from guilt, obligation, or punishment

The Capital Wasteland lauded the Lone Wanderer as a hero, a Messiah, a savior who's willing to give her life for the Good Fight. Beyond the legends, the propaganda, and the mythification that surrounded her legacy, there is only one person who knew her bare soul. She gave him his absolution, and now he will fight for hers.

VIII

September 23, 2277.

It’s been a few days since my recall. Percy told me to rest and we’ll leave for Rivet City in two days. Something about looking for a scientist called Madison Li. Percy said she might know where her father is.

On the wall opposite the couch hangs a photograph of the young mistress and her father. Percy said his name is James. Yesterday, she caught me looking at it and told me she was in a rush to leave the vault but she could never leave the photograph behind. He’s the splitting image of the mistress. Almost.

The mistress and I had supper in silence, a slab of brahmin steak the mistress seared herself, with Instamash on the side. The dog is currently curled up in my lap while I sit on the couch. I can’t remember sitting something on something relatively comfortable and relaxing for once. Hell, I can’t remember the last time I relaxed and let my guard down before this Vault girl walked into my life.

It’s… difficult acclimating to my new employer’s lifestyle. I have no complaints for the free food and board that comes with it, but having this much time to myself still feels strange. I’m afraid spending most of my waking hours standing in the corner in the Ninth Circle has something to do with it.

Percy saunters over and calls my attention, a book in hand. “Hey. I thought you might like this book, Charon,” she tells me, handing it over. The cover is faded and the paper is yellowed, but it’s intact. There’s a dog- a wolf?- on the cover, and its coat pattern looks similar to Dogmeat’s. I found it interesting, but to be truthful…

“Thank you, miss. Unfortunately, I cannot comprehend this book.”

“What do you mean? This book is in English so...”

I hesitated on whether I should tell her or not. Wastelanders never knew how to read or write, but I was born before the bombs fell. Granted, the circumstances robbed me of the opportunity to learn, but shame grows at the pit of my belly. I felt pretty damn stupid.

“I barely remember how to read, miss.”

“Oh. That’s fine, I can read to you and teach-” Percy stops mid sentence and has a look of surprise on her face. “-wait, how do you know the contents of your contract then?”

The itch in my brain returns, but I am too exhausted to entertain it. The nightmare took a toll on me. “It was taught to me. Please, don’t ask.”

My mistress nods, taking the book from my hand. “Okay. Do you want me to read to you?”

“If the miss wishes to,” I tell her, but she shakes her head.

“I’m asking if you want to, big guy,” said my mistress, a smile on her face.

It wasn’t unkind.

It’s warm, like the ones she gave me when she used to come by in the Ninth Circle. When did an employer care for what I want? I’m still learning to trust this girl, but how can I say no to a good thing?

“Yes.”

Percy’s smile turns into a grin, her too white teeth gleaming. I think I’ll never be used to how healthy the mistress looks compared to the other denizens of the wasteland. She scoots closer, the dog nestled between us, and opens the book.

“Chapter one, ‘The Trail of the Meat’,” she starts. “Dark spruce forest frowned on either side the frozen waterway…”

??? ??, ????

I feel the warmth of another person beneath me. A whisper tickles what’s left of my ear, voice familiar.

“Please.”

It’s Percy’s.

There’s desperation in her voice, and I get on my hands and knees to look at her. Face flushed and glasses fogging, she looks me in the eye, with an expression similar to the ones I see on the women in the skin mag she found in the scrapyard. She’s dressed in that stupid blue jumpsuit, and I grab the zipper and undo it, dragging slowly. Underneath, she wears her shirt and boyshorts, the fabric sticking to her sweat-drenched body.

Head thrown back, her pale throat is exposed. I lean in to swipe at a bead of sweat with my tongue, my ruined mouth dragging against the skin on her neck. The mistress’ skin is as soft as I imagined. My hands scrambled for purchase, squeezing her breasts, rough fingers slipping beneath her shirt, pinching her hard nipples. I latch on to one, and she sighs softly, small hands grasping what’s left of my hair.

“Please.”

I stop, on my hands and knees once more, and my hands move lower, grasping her shorts and peeling it from her hips, ruined fingers touching her in places I have no right to. She leans in and kisses my ruined cheek, before slipping her tongue in my mouth.

“Charon, please,” she begs, breaking the kiss and bucking her hips against me.

I kneel between her legs, ready to service my mistress.

“Charon…”

I want her to never stop saying my name.

September 24, 2277.

I jerk awake, an uncomfortable pressure between my legs, and I look down, cursing myself. I’m too fucking old for wet dreams. Suddenly having a nightmare seems more preferable. Of all the dreams I can have, why that, and why her?

I hear a gentle knock and Percy’s voice from outside the door.

Dammit.

“Charon?” she calls again. I scramble to find my pants, do my best to conceal the hard-on I have, and hope she doesn’t notice it.

I open the door, and Percy stands there,  I can no longer stop myself from looking at her. Droplets of water are dripping from her hair, down her neck, and to her sleeveless white undershirt. She wears her vault suit with its sleeves tied around her waist. The thin, wet fabric of her undershirt reminded me of the dream I had and I felt myself twitch at the sight of her.

“Miss. What do you need?”

“Lunch is ready,” she tells me, and I nod. She turns around and descends down the stairs, and I follow her, eyes trailing down her spine, to the curve of her ass, to her legs. The guilt settles in and I look away, even if she doesn’t know where I’m looking. It felt dirty, ogling the kid who’s offering me a roof over my head.

We eat our meal in peace like before, and Dogmeat lies on my lap while I sit on the couch. After fifteen fucking years of standing in that corner, I will take every opportunity I can to sit. I pet the dog’s head until he falls asleep, the rise and fall of his breaths slowing down. The mistress sits on the other side of the couch, sipping a Nuka, legs raised to the backrest.

“Looks like the two of you had taken a liking to each other,” said Percy, that smile on her face again. I felt the corner of my mouth tug upward, but I didn’t respond. I didn’t feel the need to.

“What about me, Charon? Do you... like me?”

My head whips to my mistress’ direction, and she must’ve seen the look on my face for her to let out an awkward laugh. “Seeing how you didn’t hesitate to put down Ahzrukhal, I hope I’m earning your trust and not doing anything to earn that treatment,” the mistress explains.

When Percy clarified what she meant by the question, I felt somewhat relieved. I’m not blind nor numb; she is attractive, even when I’m more used to the sight of ghoulettes. My body’s reaction to her says it all. I thought she was on to me, and I was terrified for a moment. Not a lot of things terrify me.

I have no reason to let her know about that, and I hope the mistress never asks. This new employer is treating me so well, I’m afraid her finding out about the physical attraction I felt for her will result in the sale of my contract.

“Yes, I do like you, miss. Your treatment of other people and I is much more preferable than Ahzrukhal’s,” I tell her, and she gives me a sigh of relief.

“Great! Great, ahem- that’s good to hear. Very reassuring,” she mumbles, a nervous crack in her voice.

“Miss, is there something bothering you?” I ask her.

“Oh, me? I- I guess I’m just a little worried,” Percy stutters, averting her eyes from me. “I mean, you are the first person I’ve travelled with since I got out of the vault. I have friends here in Megaton, sure, but never someone who’d watch my back while I look for Dad. Then you came along. I’m still learning to trust you, and I hope you’ll trust in me too.”

“Your worry is not necessary, miss. The contract entitles you my absolute loyalty.”

“Loyalty is different from trust, Charon,” said Percy. “It’s the difference between you unflinchingly following Ahzrukhal’s orders to fuck someone up, and letting yourself be vulnerable to me so I can patch you up, if that makes any sense.”

I raise a brow, curious. “Please explain further.”

Percy gets off the couch and paces around. “Okay. Remember how you stood down when I asked you to, when Barrows and the others pointed their guns at us?” she asks.

I nod at her, and she sits back down. “I’ve been reading your contract. It says that you were to remove all immediate threats to my safety, and yet, you listened to me and let me talk them down.”

“I merely listened to your orders, miss.”

“But it says on your contract that you can refuse to entertain orders or requests that can cause harm to your employer or to yourself, correct?” Percy asks again, to which I nod. “Well, you must have trusted my judgment enough to entertain my request to stand down even when there’s an immediate threat to both of us.”

I am getting impatient trying to find the meaning behind my mistress’ words. “Miss, where are you going with this conversation?”

“Straight to the point, aren’t you? I wish I can talk like that,” Percy mumbles, an embarrassed look on her face while she palms at the back of her neck.

“Charon, I want you to trust my decisions not just because I am your employer, but because you think it’s sound,” Percy tells me. “At the same time, if you think something I do will compromise us, I want you to speak up.”

Pondering on her words, I finally look her in the eye. “So, you want me to question you if you think that your decisions would endanger us?”

“Yes, precisely that. I told you that you’re open to make suggestions and ask questions, right? I meant that I trust your input and opinions. So, if you have tactical advice, observations, or comments, you’re free to make them,” Percy replies.

“I understand now, miss. However, I don’t see how my input is of any value.”

“Hmm, I’m just a nineteen year-old girl who got lucky that the wasteland didn’t kill me the first month I spent outside the vault,” Percy replies. Hearing that she’s older than eighteen made me breathe more freely for some damn reason, but it also reminded me of her youth and how old I am in comparison. My mind pulls me back to my darker thoughts about her, and I felt disgust for myself.

“Sure, I know how to set broken bones, sneak around, and hack computers, but you? You’ve got more combat and survival experience than me. Hell, I would’ve been blown to bits if you didn’t tackle me when that Super Mutant threw the grenade. There was probably an oversight in my tactics for you to get hurt like that,” Percy continues. She looks… guilty.

“You’ve been around for more than 200 years. Surely there’s something in your wisdom that will help us,” she adds, a sheepish smile on her face.

“Charming. Very well, miss. I shall consider it as a standing order, and endeavor to provide my insight when necessary.”

“Thank you. I’m glad we had this conversation, Charon,” my mistress replies.

The afternoon went by slowly. While I spent my afternoon servicing my shotgun, Percy tinkers with a bunch of fission batteries. Soon, it was nightfall, and my mistress took me to the Brass Lantern for dinner, too tired to cook after an afternoon of work.

On my last bite of noodles, Percy turns to me. “Hey Charon, wanna grab something to drink?”

“There is nothing in the contract that prohibits me from accepting food and drink from my employer. So, yes.”

“Well then. Off to Gob’s saloon we go.”

I follow her through the rickety metal scaffolding that leads to the establishment, and the dog follows behind me. As soon as she breezes through the door, a woman with short red hair and a ghoul behind the bar counter stop whatever they’re doing.

“Well hello, Miss Dangerous,” the woman greets, smirking. Percy walks over to give her a hug. “Nice to see you, Nova. Hey Gob,” Percy greets, turning to the ghoul.

“Hey kid. I heard you were back in town, it’s good to see you in here again. We’re having a slow night,” Gob rasps, cleaning the bar top with a rag.

“I made new friends,” Percy tells them, and gestures to me and the dog. “Gob and Nova, meet Charon and Dogmeat.”

There’s a flash of recognition in Gob’s face, and his shoulders droops, cowering. “Holy shit. Charon?”

“Oh right! You’re from Underworld too,” Percy comments, taking a seat near the radio. “You two are familiar with each other, Charon?”

“I cannot remember, miss,” I tell her, brain itching. I was thinking long and hard when the other ghoul speaks up.

“I-I uh, remember when I told you that Moriarty bought me from slavers fifteen years ago? Charon was with them.”

Fuck. I remember now. My mistress turns to me with an expression that I can only describe as horror.

“You were a slaver?”

The venom in my mistress' voice terrifies me, and I am not easily terrified.

“They held my contract, miss. Then, they sold it to Ahzrukhal.”

Percy’s face softens. The tension from her shoulders melt. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.” Then, the soft look on her face gets replaced with a worried one. “My God, they used you to capture slaves?”

“...yes.”

Tense silence.

“Hey, I’m sorry for bringing it up. Didn’t mean to dredge up the past,” Gob finally breaks it, fetching scotch from the liquor shelf behind him. “The regular, kid?”

“Yeah,” Percy replies, exhaling shakily. “Well, at least I’m holding his contract now. He won’t have to do that shit anymore.”

The corner of my mouth tugs upwards again and I hope she didn’t see it.

“Can I get you anything?” Gob asks me.

“Beer.”

I settle beside Percy, who’s already downing her shot of scotch. Gob hands me my beer and I take a swig.

Nova sits beside my mistress. “C’mon, let’s have some fun.”

[hikaruakahoshi-demonforge]

Understanding (Toshinori Yagi x MS! Reader)

Toshinori Yagi (All Might) x Multiple Sclerosis! Reader

Synopsis: Toshinori would always notice little things you did ever since you two met. But he never wanted to infringe on your personal life at work, so he never asked. But as you begin to date, he finds that he can’t hold back his curiosity and you decide that it is time to tell him.

Author’s Notes: As I’ve said before, I have the chronic illness that I am writing about in this one-shot. So I will directly adapt some of my experiences and habits into this, minus the fact I was diagnosed late last year while the reader is implied to have it for years. People experience MS differently, so I doubt this will be exactly like anyone else’s experiences. But I hope you enjoy it anyway :)

Tip Jar || Ask box: Open

Toshinori’s intense gaze on his paperwork broke when he heard an all too familiar alarm blaring from your phone. His tired blue eyes trailed towards you, who sat a few desks away doing your set of paperwork. The alarm went off every day at the same time, without fail.

Every time it did, you would reach into your pocket, retrieving a bronze pocket watch-like item. Toshinori’s seen it a million times before and remembers the design on like the back of his hand. You pressed a small button at the top of it, causing the lid to pop open. Inside was a collection of capsules, white and yellow in colour. You took one of the tablets, making sure to sip your water next to you before returning the pill case to your pocket. 

It’s a habit he’s seen so many times, but never questioned it. He never thought it was his place to do so. Especially when he first met you, work was work, and he wasn’t going to intrude back then. Even now, he still couldn’t bring himself to ask you, although you two began dating recently. He thought it was too soon.

“Is something wrong, Toshi?” 

The blond snapped out of his trance as you spoke, tilting your head at your boyfriend. He blushed, waving his hand dismissively. “No! No! I was just checking up on you, that’s all!” He sputtered, attempting to sound sure in his tone. 

Deciding not to question it, you smiled softly at him before returning to your work. 

Toshinori sighed, his shoulders relaxing. He continued with his work but would continue to glance in your direction every once in a while. 

This wasn’t the only time that Toshinori’s curiosity was poked. It continued to happen as your relationship continued to develop. He even began to notice habits he’d never seen before. 

There were occasions that you stop what you were doing to clench your right hand, always the right, even shaking it at some points. Toshinori observed your agitation with a small frown on his gaunt face. The hero in him wanting to help in some way, but he still had no idea how to. 

“(Y/n)? Are you alright?” He inquired, looking down at you with furrowed brows. 

“Hm? Oh! Yeah, I’m fine.” You chirped, smiling like you weren’t frustrated a moment ago. “Just tired, a lot of work recently.” You reassured him, resting your head on his arm and nuzzling against him. Toshinori smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to your head. 

He reached for your hand - the one you clenched - threading his fingers with yours and giving it a gentle squeeze. 

It’s a simple action. But it said so many things to you. Reminding you of what Toshi didn’t know. You returned the squeeze, continuing to bury your face into his arm. 

Yet another confounding moment for the former symbol of peace. Should Toshi ask you? If so, how should he ask? Poor Toshi pondered as he looked down at you. You looked normal on the outside. Eyes as bright as ever, smile as genuine as ever. Nothing appeared to be different since he first met you. So why was he just noticing all of this now? Maybe it was because you were dating that he was more perceptive? 

He didn’t get much sleep that night. Most of it was spent running his spindly fingers through your hair, holding you close to his deflated form as if he was still trying to shield you from something. You’re the one he loved, if something was ailing you - powers or not - he was gonna protect and help you.

~***~

None of this was lost on you. No, you noticed all of the curious and concerned glances from the beginning. You never commented on them, it was something you were used to. 

To the world around you, you were perfectly fine physically, and everything you were noticing was simply you overthinking something. That’s what you thought when this all started. It was all the things you were overthinking. 

You were 18 when you were diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. You’ve been handling it for years now and had it well under control nowadays. At most, days of fatigue and a few headaches were your worst enemies along with the symptoms that have stuck despite the healing inflammation. 

Having it for so long, many of the things that Toshinori saw as odd were the most normal of things to you. 

Glancing in his direction, your brows furrowed. You should have told him by now. You were even advised to discuss this with any significant other about your condition when you have one. But why haven’t you told him yet? He had a right to know, didn’t he? 

You would be correct there. But you kept shoving the thought aside whenever it emerged. Why? Well, cause Toshi seems to be in a worse condition than you! The man has literally lost his stomach and part of his respiratory system! For god’s sake, you were still intact and functioning. 

You didn’t want Toshinori to have any more on his shoulders when he already had so much. You loved him and tried to help him in any way you could. You were the one that was supposed to be worrying about him! 

Running a hand through your hair as you leaned back into the couch. Don’t stress. Don’t stress. It isn’t gonna help, You told yourself, removing your hands from your eyes to stare at the ceiling. Only breaking your stare when you heard the front door opening. 

“(Y/n)? I’m home!” Toshinori exclaimed, the jingle of his keys following as he put them away along with his coat. 

You smiled, standing to greet him at the door with a warm hug. But you immediately halted upon seeing the enclosed folder in his hands. Too large to be standard mail. Your MRI scans. Toshinori held it out to you, and you hesitantly accepted it, holding close to your person. 

“It came as I got home,” Toshinori informed you, his brows furrowed and his eyes glancing away. As if he was contemplating something. “May I...?” 

“Can we sit down? To talk.” You cut him off, returning to the couch. Toshinori silently followed you and sat beside you on the couch. You kept your gaze away from him as you attempted to formulate your words, only to pause when Toshinori placed his hand on yours.

“Tell me what’s wrong. Please.” He whispered, concern evident in his tone as he gently squeezed your hand. 

You stared down at your joined hands, returning the gentle squeeze he had offered you. You sighed as you gathered yourself before looking up at him, hoping to keep a brave face. But the sight of Toshinori’s blue-eyed concern caused you to freeze again. 

“Toshi... I have MS.” 

The weight lifted off your chest with the release of your seemingly simple statement, allowing you to finally take in a deep breath. 

However, Toshinori’s expression had shifted from concern to confusion. “What...?” He whispered. 

Lips forming into a small ‘o’, you were reminded that you often needed to explain your illness to others. You couldn’t fault anyone. You had barely heard about MS until you were diagnosed and that opened up a new world view for you. Though, as a big part of your life now, sometimes that awareness slips, but it is your world.

“Multiple Sclerosis,” You clarified, but seeing your partner’s remaining confusion, you continued. “My central nervous system attacks itself. The lesions it leaves can affect different things.” Retrieving the MRI scans from the envelope, you held it up to the light. 

The small image slices of your brain lit up thanks to your living room light. Tilting the sheet to allow Toshinori to study it as well. Following the image sequence, the deeper it got into your head, the more white spots appeared on the brains image. 

Toshinori remained silent as he attempted to count the spots. But his whirling mind kept ruining that for him. This was happening to you, and he didn’t know, he didn’t know a damn thing was happening. Sure, he recently had his suspicions, but from Day 1 you appeared to be in tip-top shape. 

Turning to your partner, your brows furrowed upon seeing his own doing the same. Placing the MRI scan on the table, he hesitantly grabbed his hand. “Toshi...” You began. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Toshi interrupted, his head tilting downwards. His hand clenched around yours, undoubtedly attempting to coax the answer. 

“I didn’t think it important...” You answered weakly. 

“You... didn’t think it was important...?” He said, confusion evident like his voice like he trying to process your words, over and over again. “This is your health. How is your health not important? To you or to me.” He pushed, raising his head to look at you. 

You couldn’t deduce the look in his eyes. Was he angry? Hurt? You didn’t blame him. You couldn’t if you tried. “I have it under control, Toshi. I’m on my medication, I go to my MRIs, I book my own appointments, and I go to them.” You hung your head, running a hand through your hair. 

“I’m not the pro-hero forced to retire. I’m not the one coughing up blood. You need more care than me. I don’t want you worrying for me while I’m worried about you.” You concluded, barely brave enough to glance at him.

“(Y/n)...” Toshinori whispered. 

“I’m sorry! I should have told you! I just didn’t want to worry you!” You broke, burying your face in your hands, muffling your words. 

“(Y/n), look at me... please,” Toshinori grabbed your hands, slowly pulling them away from your face. Looking up at him, you were met with teary blue eyes. 

“I really do wish you told me sooner.” He began, collecting your hands together in his, holding them together like he was in the middle of a prayer. “I love you (Y/n). I want to be there for you whenever I can. I know I’m far from the healthiest man in the world and I can’t be the Symbol of Peace anymore. But I can still be your hero, I’m here to care for you and love you no matter what. I’ve been worried sick for you the past few weeks because I didn’t know if something was happening. But I’m relieved to know now.” 

You pent up guilt, and his words brought you to tears. “To-Toshi...” You whimpered. He gently shushed you, wrapping you in his spindly arms. Nuzzling into the crook of his neck, you whispered; “Aren’t I supposed to being taking care of you?”

Toshinori chuckled, pressing a kiss your head. “It’s my turn to take care of you, dear. We take care of each other. I’m here for you no matter what, that’s what I promised you when I told you ‘I love you’ the first time. No problem is too small, all of it is important because you are important to me. You understand?” He queried, rubbing your back gently. 

You nodded with a soft ‘yes’, giving him a gentle squeeze. “I love you so much. But Toshi?”

“Hm?”

“Stop speaking like a poet. My heart can’t take it sometimes.” You giggled into his neck, smiling against his skin. 

Toshinori chuckled, “I can’t help it, you bring it out in me.”

The two of you were left in comfortable silence, you slowly released one another to sit comfortably on the couch. After organising the MRIs, you stood up to make some food. But Toshinori grasped your wrist, stopping you. 

“I really do mean it (Y/n). I’m here for you just as you are for me. I plan to be for years to come.” The blond promised.

“So do I, Toshinori.” Leaning down, you pressed your lips to his. Sealing your promise.

[snappedsky]

Fanatics 73.5

We finally learn what's happening to the rest of the Battalion. Previous! Next! 

--

Government of Doom Part 5

           Zim’s house is quiet, completely covered in impenetrable metal plating. On the roofs of the surrounding buildings in the cul-de-sac, four pairings of SDA agents are watching it closely, waiting for the slightest change. They are professionals, working in shifts to keep from getting tired eyes. And while they think they’re ready for anything, they could never be ready for what happens next.

           A young man walks down the street straight for Zim’s house. All four groups immediately perk up, recognizing him to be Johnny C. But before they can act, they’re all swiftly killed- necks snapped, skulls crushed, throats slit, and heads smashed by four individuals they were not expecting.

           The Night Terrors leap off the buildings and join Johnny as he enters Zim’s yard.

           “You sure you’re up for this, Nny?” Reverend Meat asks, noting Johnny’s pale, sweaty complexion and matted hair.

           “Yeah, you look dreadful,” Eff adds, “like even worse than usual.”

           “I’m fine,” Nny insists gravelly, “this is nothing.”

           When they approach Zim’s house, Johnny knocks heavily against the metal plating. “Hey! Open up! It’s Johnny!”

           There’s no response for a second. Then the plating around the door disappears and Skoodge opens it.

           “Come in, quickly,” he orders. Everyone hurries inside and Skoodge closes it after them, the metal plating returning.

           “What’s going on out there?” he asks frantically.

           “Squee and the others have all been captured by those agent assholes,” Johnny replies as they march through the house. “We gotta find them.”

           “Oh no!” Skoodge exclaims.

           They take the elevator down to the lab and Johnny starts to make a beeline for where the captured agents are in their glass cage, but stops at the sight before him.

           The agents are all curled up, rocking back and forth, and covering their ears, as Gir bangs tunelessly on a toy keyboard and squeals, “doom doom doomdoomdoom dooooooooom!”

           “It’s his Doom song,” Skoodge clarifies, “he’s been singing it since you guys left.”

           “Wow,” Johnny comments, “he’s almost better at torturing than me.”            He ignores Gir and stomps up to the cage, slamming his hand against the wall. “Where’s your headquarters?”

           “Doom doom doom,” one of the agents mutters feverishly while the others whimper and moan.

           Johnny glares at them incredulously while Skoodge passes by. “You’re not gonna get anything out of them,” he says as he approaches the main computer. “Fortunately, I got a better alternative.”

           “‘Puter,” Skoodge demands, “track Zim’s PAK.”

           “Tracking,” the Computer replies apathetically. A view of Earth appears on screen briefly before zooming in on the United States, into Nevada, and stopping over a flashing pink dot.

           “There he is,” Skoodge says.

           “Nevada,” Nny groans, “how are we supposed to get there?”

           “We can use the Epic,” he suggests.

           “It’s back at Devi’s I think.”

           “No problem,” Skoodge grins, “‘Puter, recall the Epic.”

           Everything’s quiet for a moment and then a sound similar to a jet engine echoes through the walls.

           “There we go,” he says and walks for the elevator. “I can drive.”

           “Ooh, we get to fly in the flying car,” Reverend Meat cheers excitedly.

           “I am coming too,” Mimi declares, “my master is in danger.”            “Fine,” Skoodge nods, “Gir, Minimoose, you stay and watch over the prisoners.”            Minimoose squeaks while Gir continues singing.      

           “Alright, let’s go already,” Johnny orders impatiently. Everyone rides the elevator and quickly exit the house, the metal plating closing back up behind them. They all get into the Epic and Skoodge punches in coordinates to Zim’s location.

           “Here we go!” he booms as the ship takes off into the air at such velocity, it pushes everyone up against the seats. “We’ll be there in no time!”

           Meanwhile, deep within the SDA facility, Zim is suspended inside a metal laboratory. His arms are hanging from the ceiling by metal cords and his legs are bound to the floor. His PAK is connected by only a few cords, giving his body just enough power to stay alive. Robotic arms coming out of the ceiling are removing all the items, which seem very miscellaneous: a couple large knives, a bat, a few books on the supernatural, two laser guns, and many alien devices.

           Zim pants heavily, too exhausted to try fighting back. But his antennae twitch slightly when a beeping emits from his PAK and he grins.

           “Hear that!” he shouts weakly, “that means my PAK is being tracked! My loyal minions are on their way to rescue me!”

           Through a one-way mirror, a head scientist named Mackey is controlling the robotic arms. He stops for a minute at Zim’s words and turns to his assistant.

           “Warn the Director,” he orders. The young man nods before hurrying off and Mackey faces the controls again. But his work is a little more hesitant as he is slightly unsettled by the grin plastered on Zim’s face.

           In a similar lab, Tak is in much the same situation. The only difference is a wire attached to the metal plating on her face. Whenever it looks like she might try to retaliate, the head scientist in charge of her capture- a woman called Nel- sends a large shock through the wire. This keeps Tak compliant.

           Nel would never admit it, being a professional, but she does love the way the alien’s body convulses with each shock. So she’ll take any excuse to punish her, even the slightest twitch of a finger.

           Tak pants heavily through gritted fangs. Even with her PAK detached, she would be able to escape if it wasn’t for those blasted shocks. When she gets out of this- and she will- she’s gonna make that scientist pay. She’ll make them all pay.

           Pepito is thinking the same thing as, a few labs over, his throat gets hoarse from screaming. He is shirtless, bound to a metal table by silver chains that sear his flesh. Twin scientists named Lark and Stark stand over him, both wearing large crosses as they test the sensitivity of his horns, by squeezing them with clamps.

           “Intriguing,” Lark comments as Pepito writhes. “They must be full of nerve endings, like teeth.”

           “Yes. Imagine what the Christian church will say when they find out the Antichrist has such a large weakness,” Stark remarks.

           “Indeed,” his brother agrees, “but his energy levels remain stagnant. I thought for sure stress would activate his powers.”

           “Could be the silver. But if we remove it, we risk allowing him the freedom to destroy the facility.”

           “Too true. For now, let’s continue testing the limits of his body. The Director wants us to document every single thing.”

           “He is so thorough.”

           The two brothers nod agreeably. Beneath them, Pepito pants rapidly, trying to think about something other than the pain. Where are his friends? What’s happening to them? He wants to question these scientists, but the words get gargled in his throat.

           He needs to get out of here. But they were right. The silver chains are preventing him from using his powers. If he could just muster up a little, he would blow them both to bits. If only.

           Finally, in a lab that looks more like a hospital room, a heart monitor beeps rapidly in accordance to Squee’s anxious vitals. He is strapped to a metal table, an IV in his arm and probes attached to his temples. The room is dark but he can make out the silhouette of someone standing on the far end, writing on something.

           Lights suddenly turn on, nearly blinding Squee as a door opens and someone else enter the room.

           “Director!” the first person exclaims, lowering her clipboard.

           “Hello, Doctor Theresa,” the Director smiles warmly as he approaches. He looks over at Squee, who glares at him through squinted eyes as he adjusts to the brightness. “How is he?”

           “His vitals have yet to settle down,” Theresa replies, “it’s a wonder he hasn’t had a heart attack yet.”

           “Well, you can’t blame him,” the Director laughs, “waking up in this situation.”

           He approaches the foot of the table and Squee does his best to squirm away.

           “Hello, Squee C,” he says, “I am the Director, the head of the Supernatural Destruction Agency.”

           “Destruction?” Squee grumbles, “seems dramatic.”

           “You, my boy, are a…marvelous specimen,” the Director says, “your supernatural energy levels are the highest I’ve ever seen in a full human. They’re even higher than some paranormal creatures. You must be able to perceive things that most humans could never even dream of. I modified my mind and body to achieve sight like yours, and I’m sure you’re still stronger.”

           “That’s…flattering…” Squee comments uncomfortably.

           The Director smiles. “I was hoping to use this machine on the Antichrist, but I’m afraid it’s too risky. On you, though, it should work swimmingly.”

           He grabs one of the probes attached to Squee’s head, running his hand along the cord until it reaches a large rectangular device beside the table. It almost looks like a giant car battery with a screen on the side showing what appears to be energy readings.

           “This is a charger that siphons supernatural energy and converts it into electrical energy, to power devices,” the Director explains, “when we come across creatures with especially high natural energy levels- like yours- we attach them to the device and use them to charge our technology. It makes for a cheaper power bill, let me tell you.”

           He chuckles delightfully while Squee glares in disgust.

           “Now then,” he sighs contently, “you may feel some intense pain.”

           He pushes a button on the charger and a burning, white hot pain runs through Squee’s skull and radiates throughout his entire body. Screams rip through his throat as he writhes in his restraints. It feels like his brain is being sucked out through those tiny tubes.

           The Director and the doctor seem unbothered by the screams. She keeps an eye on his skyrocketing vitals while he watches the power levels on the charger rise with wide, sparkling eyes.

           “Look at this, Doctor,” he says excitedly, “we’ve never achieved power levels this high before! With this, we’ll be able to upgrade all our devices. Perhaps even power the entire facility!”

           “He is just one boy, Director,” Theresa points out.

           “One boy with tremendous power,” he argues, “think of it. We’ll be able to perfect our tracking process. Instead of scanning the energy levels of one area, we’ll be able to do individual beings. No more trial and error with capturing. We’ll know for sure what creature is giving off supernatural energy and neutralize them right then and there.”

           “Won’t…let you…”

           “What’s that?” the Director turns to Squee. He squirms slightly as he grits his teeth and glares at them.

           “I won’t…let you,” he snarls, “I won’t…be your…battery. I won’t…let you hurt…innocent creatures. You won’t…get away with this.”

           “I’m afraid there’s nothing you can, my boy,” the Director says, smiling pityingly as he pats Squee’s leg.

           The door suddenly opens and a lab assistant rushes in. “Director, sir. You need to hear this. It’s important.

           “Alright, alright, I’m coming,” the Director nods, “keep an eye on the boy, Doctor. Make sure he doesn’t die.”

           “Yes, sir,” Theresa nods as he leaves with the assistant. She continues to watch Squee’s vitals as the charger rips through his brain.

           I have to do something, Squee thinks. I can’t move, so I can’t write. But maybe if I focus really hard, I can still create something. Maybe if I focus…

           I need to make something, anything to destroy these machines and help me escape.

           Focus! I need to focus! And create!            The charger suddenly starts beeping, startling Theresa. She looks at the energy levels on screen in bewilderment as they light up red.

           “Wh-what?” she exclaims, “the power’s going up! It-it’s completely off the charts!”

           She looks at Squee and jumps back. “Wh-what is that…?”

           A black cloud is manifesting over Squee’s head, his eyes closed and face twisted with exertion. The cloud continues to grow and grow until the middle starts glowing red and orange, like fire.

           Theresa dives to the floor as the cloud explodes. It’s small, but the noise echoes through the whole facility.

           Theresa looks up at the destruction of the machines and Squee rising from the destroyed table. “What-what did you do?”

           He looks at her, swaying a little on his feet. “Well, I-I’m a little unsure, but I think I um created an explosion. So…that’s kinda cool.”

           Dusting himself off, he stumbles out of the rubble and heads for the door. “Anyway, bye.”

           He’s just about to leave but stops short. “Oh, wait a sec.”

           He looks back at her and she flinches from his dark glare. “Where’s my stuff?”

[romioneflufffest]

We Have to Quit Meeting Like This (or Six Times Ron and Hermione Used the Hospital Wing to Flirt)

Creator: hello-blue-roses Prompt: Hospital Room, 2:38 am Description: Six drabbles over six years.  First time writing fanfiction in almost a decade so apologies in advance for any errors! Rating: T

December 27th, 1992, 2:38 am

The first time it happened was Harry’s fault.  As with so many turning points in the pair’s relationship, he was both impetus and witness.  It was a few days after the Polyjuice debacle which had landed Hermione in the Hospital Wing in the first place.  She’d been laid up there for just over a day and was still in the process of trying to convince herself that this convalescence was a good thing.  Since arriving at school back in September, she had hardly had a second to breathe.  They hadn’t even made it through the start of term feast this year without problems arising.  And between Malfoy, the Chamber of Secrets, petrifications, and the highly illegal brewing of an advanced potion in the girls’ toilets, Hermione was feeling more than a little burnt out.

A few days rest couldn’t hurt.  

This was an opportunity to focus on herself for a change, instead of Harry.  She could stay in her pyjamas all day if she liked and start one of the books her parents had sent her for Christmas.  There was nothing Hermione loved more than spending time by herself.  At least, there hadn’t been before she’d come to Hogwarts.  Now, she couldn’t make it past “I have just returned from a visit to my landlord” without getting sidetracked.  Her mind kept getting stuck on what they’d learned a few nights before.  A student had died the last time the Chamber had been opened.  A student who had Muggle parents just like her.

Hermione wasn’t too worried about her own safety, there were rarely any times that she was alone without the boys to help watch her back, but what about the first years who barely knew how hold a wand let alone protect themselves!  Colin Creevey, two beds down, served as a constant, sobering reminder.

These thoughts, continually swirling about her head, made it nearly impossible to fall asleep so she decided to pass the time with research.  Though she’d never say it out loud, especially not within earshot a certain Weasley, reading ancient dusty tomes was not by any stretch of the imagination fun.  They were incredibly dull and tiresome at times, especially when one didn’t know what they were looking for, but it was a one of life’s necessities and proved to be remarkably useful more often than not.  Like when an overactive brain needed to be turned off for the night.  With a heavy History of Magic book propped on her lap, a quill at the ready, and a whispered Lumos, Hermione began the most soporific activity she could.

Quickly, she’d gone to that place somewhere between awake and sleep, where each minute feels like an hour and each hour a minute.  She would come to, unaware she’d nodded off in the first place, scribble down a few more words, and drift off again.  One of these bouts had her more alert than usual, whether because of genuine interest or circadian rhythms, she knew not.  As she lazily skimmed through yet another goblin rebellion, a noise came from near the door.

Hermione’s head turned so quickly that she pulled something in her neck, immediately wide awake.  Grimacing, she nonetheless readied her wand in a white knuckle grip beneath the blankets.  A few moments passed, the ticking the clock growing indistinguishable from her heartbeats.  Just as she was beginning to believe she must have dreamed it, there was shuffling from the empty bed across the row.  Her stomach jumped to her throat and she had to fight every instinct that told her to duck beneath the covers.  The heir of Slytherin could be back to finish off what he’d started and Justin and Colin were completely defenseless.  Raising a shaking hand, she managed to aim her wand towards the source.  Though Hermione was putting on a brave facade, she didn’t trust herself at all to attempt a spell in this state.  Was it a person?  A wizard?  Should she try to disarm them?  Was it Dobby or a ghost?  Would Immobulous work on a non-human?  Immobulous on a ghost suddenly brought Nearly Headless Nick to mind and Nick made her think of…

‘Peeves?’

Someone snorted near her left ear.  She let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding and let her body slump back against the headboard at the familiar sound.  The relief didn’t last long, though, when the realization that she’d been terrorized for no reason sunk in.

With a huff, Hermione snatched up one of her pillows and scooted towards the disembodied voice.  ‘You… prats…,’ she hissed, emphasizing each word with as hard of a swing as she could manage from her recumbent position, ‘…are the most…ir-re-sponsible’ She finally connected with her target who had dissolved into giggles at her hit.  His attempt to dodge her had resulted in the cloak slipping off, in the process exposing another set of legs, and confirming her suspicions.  He jumped onto the neighboring bed, dark hair even wilder than usual, and stuck his tongue out triumphantly.  She threw the projectile at him one last time for good measure.

This scuffle had given the other culprit more than enough time to sneak to the end of her bed and grab the end of the duvet.  The bedspread bucked and bounced in waves as the person continuously yanked it up and down again.  ‘Ronald Weasley!’ she snapped after getting a face full of bedding.  ‘Enough!’

‘Who is the Ronald Weasley you speak of?  It’s me, Peeves!’ he said, in a surprisingly decent imitation.  This sent Harry into yet another fit of laughter.  Spurred on by this reaction, an unseen hand began poking at her foot until Hermione trapped his hand beneath her heel, only letting up when he finally removed the invisibility cloak.

‘Ow!  Bloody hell, Hermione!  That was my finger!’  Ron cradled it to his chest, frowning.  ‘Look, it’s broken now, thanks to you!’  He proffered the slightly red digit as proof, gingerly flexing it as he did.  

‘It’s not broken.  You’re moving it just fine.  You’ve probably jammed it.’  

‘Same difference,’ he grumbled, plopping down beside Harry.

They lapsed into silence; Harry eyeing her eerily still fellow patients, Ron grumpily glaring into his lap, and Hermione trying desperately to regain her train of thought.

‘So…’ Harry finally started, ‘how are you feline?’  Ron guffawed loudly before clamping his apparently broken fingers over his mouth to stifle his sniggers.

Hermione sighed, ‘Look, if you’ve just come to pick on me-’

‘We haven’t.  I swear,’ Ron cut in, trying very hard not to smile.  Harry nodded along enthusiastically.  

She opened her mouth to ask them why on earth they were sneaking around the castle at a time like this when a light flicked on behind the door at the far end of the ward.  The two boys scrambled to their feet, quickly disappearing from view as Hermione threw herself beneath her blankets and tried to look asleep.  

June 7th, 1994, 2:38 am

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’  Ron hadn’t really meant to say it out loud.  He’d been staring up at the ceiling for over an hour, attempting to rest, but unable to partially due to his broken leg but mostly because of this niggling feeling of betrayal that he hadn’t been able to shake.  The question had been plaguing him ever since Dumbledore’s visit earlier in the night.  It’d finally become too much to bear and had slipped out, hardly above a whisper.  A few moments passed, and just as Ron was starting to relax, thinking he’d got away with it, he heard movement from his left.

From the sound of it, she’d turned over to face him but he was too much of a coward to verify and so he continued to stare at the dull grey stone as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.  He knew what she’d say if she was, in fact, awake.  ‘I don’t know how that’s any of your business,’ in that stiff, haughty tone she used when ever she knew she was right.  Her lips pursed, eyebrow cocked, challenging him to deny it.  God, it drove him mad.  She was so self-righteous and condescending and-

‘I wanted to.’   For a split second, he thought that he’d finally gone round the twist and imagined the small, tremulous voice.  It was the first time in the nearly three years they’d known each other that she’d ever sounded vulnerable.  And it was uncomfortable.  He’d seen known her to be anxious, uncertain, upset, sure, but this was different.  This was new.  It made his chest tighten up and made it difficult to swallow and he sort of wanted to cry.  Before he could attempt some ham-fisted consolation, she spoke again, a little louder.  ‘I’ve ruined everything.  We were finally becoming friends and then I had to go on and on about Scabbers and Buckbeak and the Nimbus 2000 and now this..’

‘What?’

‘I’m trying to apologize,’ she said, as if that clarified things.

‘No, what do you mean we were finally becoming friends?’  Even through the shadows of the dimly lit room Ron could see Hermione’s cheeks darken considerably.

‘Oh.  Well, it’s no secret, really, is it?’  At his lack of response, she continued.  ‘That you only put up with me because of Harry?’  He opened his mouth to say something, anything but once again she got there first.  ‘I just thought that maybe, after all we’ve gone through that we’d, you know, but I understand why.  I know I’m not the easiest person to get along with.’  When she’d finally finished, Ron could only manage to gape at the gasping, sniffling girl before him.

Finally, he managed to croak out the words, ‘You don’t consider us friends?’  Ron’s head was swimming more now than when he’d tried to understand the logistics of time travel.  His words seemed to break through whatever spiral Hermione’d got herself into, though, because she suddenly sat up in her bed.

‘You do?’  She wiped her face with the backs of her hands like a child and before he could second guess what he was doing, he’d shifted to the far side of his bed to make room for her. 

‘C’mere.’  At the word, she launched herself towards him, wrapping her arms around him, holding the back of his t-shirt in her little fists.  It didn’t take long for her to calm herself but neither one of them moved.  Finally, he mumbled, ‘For someone so smart, you’re really stupid sometimes.’  Her breathy laugh near his ear made his chest do that weird tightening thing again and he quickly pulled away, feeling his own face heat up.  

Hermione settled back so that her sock covered foot brushed against his hip.  ‘I think I’m just exhausted,’ she eventually sighed between shuddering breaths.

‘Well, yeah.  You’ve been living twenty-six hour days since September.  That’s to be expected.’  His attempt at a joke got a half smile before her face fell again.

‘I really did want to tell you,’ Hermione reiterated.  ‘Actually, there were a few times when I came close, but time turners can be dangerous and I thought I could handle it but it’s very overwhelming, you know?  They’re a lot of responsibility and then we kept getting in arguments and I was sure this would be the last straw.  I promise I wasn’t trying to hide it from you.  Professor McGonagall was insistent that neither of you could find out.’

Logically, this all made sense but Ron still couldn’t help butfeel a little betrayed.  She’d kept this from them for nine months.  And she’d had plenty of opportunities to come clean.  He’d confronted her on the impossibility of her schedule and her constant disappearing/reappearing act more than once.  Ron felt the bed shift as she squirmed and realized he’d yet to respond leaving her to jump to her own conclusions.  ‘I’m not angry,’ he said carefully, ‘I don’t want you to think I blame you but I still feel, I dunno, bad.”  What he wanted more than anything was to tell her that McGonagall should have never let a fourteen year old shoulder that burden let alone a fourteen year old whose best friend was mixed up in all the crazy bullshit that Harry was.  That sentiment would probably reopen the rifts they’d only recently mended, though, and he was so sick of the fighting.  ‘I’d have helped you if you’d asked.  I could have covered for you in class or done my own homework or brought you a snack.  I’m not completely useless.’

‘I’ve never thought you were.’  Ron finally glanced up to find her staring intently at a spot somewhere between their parallel legs.  He bumped his knee against hers, hoping she would understand all of the things he couldn’t put into words, all of the things he couldn’t confront yet.  Hermione sleepily smiled up at him before nudging him back and returning to her bed for the night.

June 25th, 1995, 2:38 am

‘I can’t believe he’s dead.’  The Hospital Wing had finally quieted down.  Ron and Hermione were sitting together on the bed across from Harry’s.  Other than the pile of gold and the low voices of Mrs. Weasley and Bill in the corridor, it could have been any average day.  Which made it all the more unsettling.  ‘I’ve never known someone my own age who died.’

‘Me neither,’ mumbled Ron, only half aware of what she was talking about.  You-Know-Who was back.  You-Know-Who was back.

‘…and the look on Mr. Diggory’s face-‘

‘Shut up for a second, would you?’ he snapped, dropping his head to his hands.  Surprisingly, Hermione didn’t hex him into oblivion and instead sat there waiting for him to elaborate.  ‘You don’t get it.  You’re not from here.  You don’t understand what this means.’  He sounded a lot harsher than he’d meant to, but he needed her to recognize the gravity of the situation.

‘Because I’m muggleborn?’ asked Hermione, like she was really trying to understand him instead of being annoyed or angry like she’d usually be at his clumsy words.  He nodded, trying desperately to piece his thoughts into some semblance of order.  ‘Then explain it to me.’

‘Death Eaters they- they’re not like the Slytherins or Snape.  They’re so, so much worse.  You saw how they treated those muggles.  That was child’s play compared to what they did in the last war.  They slaughtered whole families.  My mum’s brother’s were murdered.’  Her head snapped up to look at him.

‘I’m so sorry, Ron.’ 

‘Don’t be.  It’s not about that.’  He pulled his hands through his hair and turned his gaze to Harry’s sleeping form.  If he saw her face right now, he would lose it.

She took this change of focus as something else.  ’Harry’ll be alright.  He’s got Dumbledore on his side.’  The tone she used was one she usually saved for house elves and the tenderness of it made his heart clench even tighter.  ‘He’s got us, too,’ she said, slipping her arm through his.  ‘We’ll just have to support him now more than ever.  Remind him that he’s got people behind him, people that would follow him to the ends of the earth.’

Hearing her say that out loud seemed to break the dam and the flood of memories he’d been trying so hard to restrain came crashing to the surface.  Malfoy calling her ‘mudblood’, Bill and Charlie cornering him after the World Cup to reiterate how he need to watch out for her, her petrified in this exact bed two years before.

‘What are you doing this summer?’  Ron finally glanced at her, really seeing her for the first time that night.  Her hair was half falling out of it’s plait, her eyes bloodshot, but she was resolved.  And he knew that this plan was the right one.

‘Erm, I’m not sure yet.  Probably going somewhere with my parents.  Why?’

‘Well, Harry’ll most likely be at the Burrow again and you’re always welcome to, you know, come help me support him.’  

Hermione frowned and he was positive she’d figured out his ploy until she said, ‘But your mum hates me.’

‘Not anymore she doesn’t,’ he grinned, hoping beyond hope that she couldn’t see through him.  ‘C’mon, Hermione.  It’ll be fun.  And then you won’t have to spend your whole holiday worrying about boy wonder over there.’  

He didn’t know what he’d do if she said no.  Probably go mad picturing all the horrific things the Death Eaters would do to Harry Potter’s ‘girlfriend’.  His stomach was already churning at the thought of her leaving his sight tonight let alone traveling to God knows where with no way to protect herself.

He couldn’t tell her that, though.  She’d accuse of him of being overprotective and sexist and of underestimating her and they’d end up in a stalemate.  So for now, he’d just pretend it was for Harry.

June 20th, 1996, 2:38 am

‘Do you need me to go get Pomfrey?’ Ron asked, already halfway out of his bed.

‘There’s nothing more she can do,’ replied Hermione through gritted teeth.  ‘I’m already on the highest dosage of pain potions.’  He looked stricken at this so she attempted to assuage him.  ‘I’m fine, Ron.  Sleeping on my back is just taking some getting used to.’  

It was the third time that night that she’d awoken to searing pain in her chest after unconsciously flipping onto her side and, consequently, the third time Ron had too.  He’d been the one to rouse her on the first two occurrences saying that she’d started breathing funny and groaning but this time was enough to wake them both.

Ron had been offered a bed at the opposite end of the ward but for whatever reason, he’d vehemently refused.  This didn’t stop Hermione from feeling incredibly guilty about being such a hassle.  He needed rest just as much as she did.  Though he kept downplaying the extent of his injuries to her, she’d caught a few glimpses of the angry red welts on his arms when his wounds were redressed and saw him wince every time the unction was applied.  More than anything she wanted him to trust her enough to show weakness.  Did he think she’d tease him about it?  Or think less of him?  Or, as the nagging voice in the back of her head suggested, was she so terrible at this whole friendship thing that she’d misjudged how close they were?  

He startled her from this train of thought by dumping three or four pillows at her feet.  At her curious look, he sheepishly nodded towards the now pillow-less beds around them.  ‘Mum always made us sleep propped up when we got sick.  I thought it couldn’t hurt to try.’

Ron took her hands and gently pulled her into a sitting position.  Hermione had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out so as not to worry him any more.  He quickly set about arranging them, attempting to fluff the worn, old cushions and building a barrier of bedding along her left side.

‘There,’ he said after a few minutes.  ‘Hopefully that helps.  Thought this might stop you turning over.’  Ron rubbed at his reddening neck before looking hopefully up at her.

‘I- thank you.’  He just shrugged and moved to help her lay back.  She couldn’t tell if the warmth she suddenly felt was gratitude, fever, embarrassment, or some combination of all three.  Ron returned to his own bed and she attempted, once more, to fall asleep.

‘Hermione?’

‘Yeah?’

‘I’m really glad you’re okay.’  His voice was thick and somewhat strangled and she felt a lump forming in her own throat at it.

‘I’m really glad you’re okay, too, Ron.’

March 8th, 1997, 2:38 am

The first thing he said upon opening his eyes was, ‘We have to quit meeting like this.’  And she began weeping in response.  Not in the pretty, Scarlett O’Hara-esque way Parvati did or the teary-eyed-stony-faced method that Ginny favored.  No, Hermione Granger wept in earnest; crumpled, swollen, snotty.  She’d been too incoherent to explain any of what’d happened to him so he’d ended up hearing the story from Madame Pomfrey while she administered a checkup.  

Apparently, there were privacy rules surrounding patient’s confidentiality and Hermione had dutifully gone to leave but before she could stand, his large, freckled hand had clamped onto her knee, effectively locking her into her chair.  Madame Pomfrey had tried to argue about permission and protocol and Ron had reminded her that his recent birthday meant he was now ‘legally able to consent’ (he’d glanced sideways at Hermione to say the last bit with a smirk that she was fairly certain would power her patronus until the end of time).  Their little rendezvous was cut short, though, as that morning’s classes started fifteen minutes after he came to.

The next few days hadn’t allowed for any time alone with him, especially once word had reached Lavender of his recovery.  It wasn’t until Harry’s injury that she had an excuse to be there at all hours again.  After the emotional rollercoaster of her past week, it was unsurprising when she ended up dozing off between their beds late one night.

Hermione slowly awoke to a shuffling sound as Madame Pomfrey made her potion rounds.  The muffled exchange between the nurse and Ron broke through the haze

‘Didn’t I tell you to wake her two hours ago, Mr. Weasley?’

‘Well, yes, but you also tell us all the time how important it is to get a good night’s sleep.’

‘In your own dormitories, not in my infirmary.’

‘She isn’t bothering anyone.’

‘Clearly the matter is keeping you up, though.’

‘I woke up when you came in.  I’m a really light sleeper.’ 

‘Good try.  If she’s still here when I come back around at five I’ll be forced to give a detention, do you understand?  Students are required to be in bed at that time.  No exceptions, not even for prefects.’

Hermione listened to the footsteps recede before pretending to wake up.  They may have been on speaking terms, but there were a lot of things left unsaid between them and letting him know she’d overheard him talking about her was probably not the best place to start.  Not wanting to startle him, she’d planned on making a little noise but when she sat up from her hunched over position an embarrassingly loud groan escaped her.  Ron was up like a shot, quickly untangling his legs from the blankets and moving to the edge of the mattress. He reached towards her shoulder and hesitated, deciding instead to say, ‘You okay?’ in a gruff sort of voice that hadn’t been there moments before.

It was all too much for Hermione to take in at once and she forced her aching neck to nod since she didn’t trust herself to speak.  Ron swallowed loudly and said, ‘It’s really dark in here.  You’re going to have to move closer.’  

Her mind jumped immediately to a scenario she’d thought of a hundred times; one in the common room where she would announce she was chilly and he’d move closer with a smirk and offer to share body heat and- this was definitely not the time or place.  She adjusted the chair until they were knee to knee (or more accurately knee to shin) which was as much as she was willing to touch him for the moment.  Until there was some sort of apology, that was all she’d allow there to be.  She still had principles even if she was half in love with the guy.

‘What time is it?’

‘Just past 2:30, I think.  Pomfrey already came by and that’s usually when she does it.’

‘Right.’  They sat in silence, staring in the general direction of each other and Hermione wasn’t sure whether the darkness makes this easier or harder.  ‘I’m sorry.’  It came out abruptly, impulsively, fervidly. 

Ron nervously laughed.  ‘Er, isn’t that supposed to be my line?’

‘You nearly died, Ron,’ she choked out.  ‘You nearly died believing that I hate you.’

‘You should hate me.  I’ve been an arse to you all year.’  He ran his palms down his thighs and she had to suppress another groan.

‘Not any more than usual.’  She tried to say it light heartedly, to show him she didn’t blame him at all for the pettiness.  Nevertheless, he unexpectedly stiffened and the familiar feeling of floundering returned with a vengeance.  Ron was the one enigma in her life that she could not puzzle out.  Just when she was sure she had a grasp on him, he went and did something that turned her view of him on it’s head.  It was thrilling and terrifying and she was so pathetically far gone.

‘I’ve been awful to you, too.  And without good reason.  You, at least, thought I was insulting you.  I’ve been immature and overreacted to things that were none of my business.’  He began to interrupt her but she continued.  ‘You’re one of the most important people in the world to me.  If you’re happy, then I should be happy.’

‘I’m not happy,’ he murmured, slipping his kneecap to rest between hers.  The insinuation of those words seemed to hang in the air.  

‘Good.’  Thankfully, her voice sounded braver than she felt.  The ball was in her court now and dammit if she was not going to take advantage of it.  Her whole body was vibrating as she slowly nudged his legs apart and slid forward until her inner thigh was pressed against his.  They both froze, limbs interlocked and she couldn’t tell whether the labored breathing she heard was his or her own.  It was silly how affected she was but she could feel the warmth through his thin pyjama bottoms and she was beginning to get lightheaded.

Then his heel was tracing it’s way up her bare calf and the only thing tethering her to reality was the pain in her knuckles from gripping the seat of her chair like her life depended on it.  Ludicrously, it sort of did.  Because if she let go, if she allowed herself to touch him, it was over.  Everything they’d so carefully built up would come crumbling down.  There were far bigger things at stake than their friendship.  But they were only seventeen and she had waited so long and he was saying her name in that low, husky way and she was accidentally whimpering in response.

A loud snore wrenched through the silence.

Hermione tried to stand but with her legs still tangled in Ron’s, she only managed to end up in his lap. 

Harry’s bedsprings creaked and Ron’s arms tightened around her.  She buried her nose further into his hair as he rested his against her neck.  The picture of the two of them from Harry’s vantage point popped into her head.  Their position was beyond compromising.  She was practically straddling Ron, his hand dangerously low on her hip, her skirt bunched up between them.  They’d already been flirting with crossing that unspoken line but a witness to this completely accidental scene would validate it.  They could never go back again if Harry knew.  How would he look at her if he saw them now?  

This was wildly inappropriate, even before she tripped.  It was two thirty in the morning, her feelings were anything but platonic, Ron had a girlfriend, for god’s sake.  The whole room seemed to get hot and she twisted out of his grasp the second she was sure Harry was still asleep.

‘Hermione…?’

‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

May 3rd, 1998, 2:38 am

It was eerily quiet now that his family had gone home for the night.  Ron had never really slept alone.  He’d grown up in a creaky house with six siblings and a ghoul, roomed with four other boys all through school, and lived in a tent with his two best friends for the past year.

But there he was, in a private room in St. Mungo’s alone.  They’d crashed in the dorms immediately after the battle, but upon awakening, the three of them were summoned to an empty classroom to discuss everything that had happened with Kingsley and McGonagall.  Their reaction to the revelation of the Horcruxes was… less than ideal and after conferring with Bill about potential ramifications, it had been decided that Harry, Ron, and Hermione would need to be kept under surveillance for at least the next 24 hours as longterm exposure was “under researched.” (Ron was pretty sure this was just an excuse to keep Harry which made sense when you considered the whole human soul receptacle/literally died thing.)

Mostly, though, their admittance into hospital was because of safety.  They needed somewhere to recuperate without wayward Death Eaters, prying reporters, or hoards of onlookers.  St. Mungo’s was the best option until the Burrow could be secured.  

There was a horrible sense of relief he felt at not having to go home.  It was awful and selfish because the rest of his family didn’t get to avoid this new reality.  George would never be able to look in a mirror without being reminded of his loss while Ron was locked away from the world with his friends and people to take care of him and the ability to suspend disbelief for one last night.  Harry and Hermione didn’t even have homes or families to go back to.

The last forty eight hours were too much to process.  Lying there, unable to sleep, he tried to catalog all of the major events, hoping that maybe, in doing so, it would start to sink in.  He kept getting stuck on one thing in particular, though.  He told himself it was the loose ends that were making it impossible to move past.  

It was all so stupidly familiar; this routine of dissecting all of his interactions with her late at night, of convincing himself that his reasons for doing so were perfectly rational, noble even, of seeing her the next day and having to pretend that he wasn’t consumed with her, that he didn’t dream of her touching him every night, that he didn’t notice every goddamn thing she ever did.

Unconsciously, Ron found himself staring at her door.  It had been closed since they got there and he’d assumed she’d fallen asleep again but now that the hall lights were dimmed for the night he could make out a faint glow beneath the doorframe.  

By the time that he realized that he had no idea what to even say, he was already halfway into her room.  Hermione glanced up at him quickly before turning back to the pile of papers she had strewn over the bed.  

The whole scene was absurd.  It was two am, they’d just defeated Voldemort, he had snuck into Hermione’s bedroom and instead of being surprised or even mildly interested, she’d continued taking notes.

He watched her working for a good minute before he said, ‘Are you planning on acknowledging me sometime today or…?’

‘Hello, Ron,’ she said, not even bothering to look at him.  He should have known that her way of coping would be throwing herself into something new.  With a sigh and a flick of his wand, the lamp turned on and he sat heavily in the visitor’s chair beside the bed. Hermione pointedly turned off the torch she had been using and faced him, glaring.  ‘Can I help you?’

‘What’s with the muggle lumos?’  Ron knew what a torch was and she knew he knew but sometimes she needed to be riled up to let her guard down.

‘I was making some lists for myself and needed a light,’ she said calmly, not taking the bait.

‘Can’t your wand do that for you?’  Hermione continued her unblinking eye contact.  ‘Where is it?’  She shrugged.  ‘Please tell me you didn’t do what I think you did.’

‘I didn’t.  It’s in the bottom of my bag somewhere.  I wanted to leave it at Hogwarts but I thought you’d be furious.  So I compromised.’

Prior to the battle, she’d all but stopped using magic.  He was fairly certain it was due to the wand, but he’d be lying if he said that it hadn’t crossed his mind that one day she would wake up and announce that she was tired of being a witch.  That she would decide to go to University and meet some nice, posh, upstart who could give her the world.  

Unable to think of a way to voice these concerns to her without sounding like a jealous prick, Ron grabbed the nearest sheet of paper.  Written in small, neat print was the word, “Australia” and suddenly the faceless man he’d been picturing was tanned and shirtless.

He cleared his throat and attempted to sound cordial.  ‘I hear it’s nice there this time of year.’

‘Yes, it’s supposed to be very temperate in the winter.’

‘How long do you reckon you’ll be gone for?’

Hermione dropped her head to focus on twisting a thread on her blanket.  ‘I guess that depends on whether I can reverse it or not.  And whether they forgive me if I do.’

’They will.  It may take a few weeks to get over but trust me, you’re incredibly hard to stay angry at.’  She rolled her eyes in that way she reserved just for him but her face flushed just the same.

‘You’re too charming by half,’ she joked.

‘So I’ve heard,’ he said, mock seriously.  As the conversation lulled, Ron asked as casually as possible, ’What about after?’

‘I don’t know.  I never let myself think that far ahead.’  He was well aware of what that euphemism meant having used a few times himself.  The three of them had become so good at tiptoeing around it all year.  The “I’m not expecting to live” quandary.

‘Well, let’s start small.  What’s the first thing you want to do when we get out of here?  It can be anything.’  Hermione stared at him blankly.  ‘I’ll start then.  I want my mum’s roast dinner.  For breakfast.’  She pulled a face.  ‘Your turn.’

‘I definitely don’t want roast dinner for breakfast.  That’s for sure.  Maybe currant scones.’

‘With jam?’

‘Of course.’

‘I’d like to play Quidditch.’  Ron leaned in, elbows on knees, chin in hand to await her reply.

‘Ride a bike.’

’See a concert.’

‘See a movie.’

‘Buy something useless.’

‘Eat sweets,’ she said smugly.

‘You stole that from me!  Fine.  Get Harry drunk.’

‘Oh my God.’

‘Get you drunk.’  He waggled his eyebrows as she tried not to laugh.

‘I’d like to see you try.’  Hermione crossed her arms as if challenging him.

This time it was Ron who guffawed.  ‘I seem to recall that you, Ms. Granger, have a certain weakness for wine.’

Now she was really blushing.  ‘It’s an affinity, not a weakness.  Weakness makes it sound like I’m a sot.’

‘Fine.  Then instead of getting you totally pissed, I’ll ply you with both wine and food.  Is that better?’

‘Much.  We’ll get Italian food so you can finally try pizza.’  The smile she gave him at the prospect made him dizzy.

‘Budge up,’ he said, banishing her notes to a stack in the corner before climbing into bed alongside her.  She flopped onto her back, laughing as she pulled him down with her.  They were the wrong way, sprawled across the middle so their legs hung off the end.

Her hand, heavy in his, gave him the confidence to ask, ’What about ten years from now?’

Hermione burst into giggles.  ‘Is this a job interview?’

‘You never know,’ he teased.  

She pretended to seriously contemplate her answer.  ‘Hmm… well, married to Zacharias Smith, obviously.’

‘Obviously.’  

‘And I assume running the Three Broomsticks since I’m Madame Rosmerta’s natural successor.’  Hermione motioned towards her modestly endowed bust.

‘We’ll be neighbors!  Romilda and I have plans to take over Madame Puddifoot’s!’ said Ron, finding that it probably wasn’t the best time to tell her that he was more than acquainted with her tits.  When she didn’t respond, he sat up on his elbows, ready to rib her for not having a comeback but instead he found her deep in thought, her dark eyes straight ahead.

Eventually she said, ‘I’ve always wanted a brick house.’

’Somewhere with ivy.  And hedges.’

‘Yes, and lots of windows.’  He could picture her there.  Curled up in an oversized chair, reading, while he listened to the wireless.

‘Harry’d live nearby.’

Hermione eyed him.  ‘Not too close.’

‘Of course not,’ he scoffed.  ‘Next town over at least.’  She nodded.  Ron felt her fingers find his again.  Emboldened, he added, ‘Maybe a dog.  So Crookshanks can have a friend.’

She moved to mirror his position, propping herself up.  ‘How big is this house?’

‘What do you mean?  A dog doesn’t need that much space.’

‘How many bedrooms?’ she insisted.

‘Depends on the amount of people living there.  It wouldn’t need to be like the Burrow or Grimmauld Place or anything.’  Hermione shook her head.

‘No more than three kids.’

’No more than two,’ he countered, wrinkling his nose.

‘Deal.’  

They both seemed to recognize the implication at the exact same moment.  Her body went rigid beside him.  His first instinct was to deny everything and claim he hadn’t meant it like that.  But what was the point anymore?  Hermione clearly at least somewhat fancied him, the room of requirement had proved that, now they were in her bed together.

‘Sod it.’  And he kissed her.

[theoddcatlady]

My sister dropped off my niece last night. I don’t think she’s coming back.

To clarify, I haven’t seen my younger sister Mara in a little over five years. She was a little over eighteen years old, a few months pregnant, and was determined to keep her baby. I told her exactly what I thought- I thought she was a goddamn idiot and that she either needed to give it up for adoption or I’d drive her to the abortion clinic myself.

We had a screaming fight before she stormed out, saying she was going to stay with her baby’s daddy and that they’d be a happy family together.

Like I said, it’s been five years. Five years and a lot changed. I tried contacting her probably a dozen times, but when she sent me a picture flipping up her middle finger, I got the message. I gave up. If she wanted to live like that, fine by me. She ended up blocking me on Facebook, she cut off both our parents, and I figured I’d never see her again.

When I heard the doorbell I thought that one of my friends stopped by to return a book they’d borrowed a few weeks back, they’d told me they were almost done and that they couldn’t put it down so I expected them to give it back any day now.

I opened the door and there she was. I didn’t even recognize her at first. She’d gotten a lot thinner and had dyed her hair black, but I recognized that cheap tattoo on her hand and the dimple in her right cheek. It was my baby sister.

And clutching her hand was a little girl with rosy cheeks, blonde curls, and my sister’s green eyes.

“Thomas,” Her face broke into a tired smile and she pulled me into a hug. I couldn’t respond. I just froze. She stepped back and smiled even brighter. “Ariel, this is your Uncle Thomas.”

The little girl waved and smiled. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Uncle Thomas,” She said in a chipper tone.

Ariel. Mara’s favorite Disney Princess.

I cleared my throat. “H… hi, Ariel.” I looked up at Mara. “Do… do you want to come inside?”

“I’d really love that, actually.” Mara walked inside. “I can’t stay long, but… oh man, when did you get ripped?” Even her laughter sounded tired.

“Uh, three years ago, I wanted to get in shape, do you want something?” I didn’t even know what to say at this point, in the light it was clear she’d been through some serious shit.

Saying she’d gotten a ‘lot thinner’ is understating it. She looked skeletal, her once vivid eyes were now dull and too large, like they were ready to roll out of her skull. Her fists were all bruised up and she had a black eye that wasn’t quite hidden under thickly applied foundation.

“I’m fine. Really. It’s just been a bad week.” Mara gently pushed Ariel to the couch. “Sit right there, honey, okay?”

I’d never seen such a well behaved five year old in my life. Like a prim little angel, Ariel walked over to the couch and sat, her bare feet dangling a few inches above the floor. I turned back to Mara. “What happened? Where’s Bradley?” Just saying the scumbag’s name made me feel nauseated.

Mara’s gaze dropped to the floor. “He didn’t even see Ariel get born,” She grumbled.

“Oh shit, I’m so sorry,” I rested a hand on her shoulder.

Mara jerked away. “It’s fine!” She yelped before coughing a few times. She wrapped her bony arms around herself. “… It’s fine. I… found someone else to stay with… but I can’t… I can’t stay there… right now. Not right now.”

Oh god, what have you gotten yourself into, sis? “Well, you’re welcome here, Mom and Dad really miss you,” I said.

“Um...” Mara chewed her bottom lip. “… Can you do me a solid? Don’t tell Mom and Dad I was here. Really, it’d be great if you didn’t tell anyone. You work from home, right?”

“Most of the time,” I frowned, “Why?”

“… Can you please watch Ariel for a day?”

I looked at the tiny girl on my couch. My niece. “What will you be doing?”

“Don’t ask me that.” Mara shook her head. “Just… don’t leave the house. Don’t let Ariel near the windows.”

“Are you in danger?”

“Just- promise me. Please.”

At this point, I had two theories about why my sister was wigging out- either she had gotten in an abusive relationship and was on the run… or she had completely lost her mind on drugs and was a nutcase.

Either way, I knew I had to help.

“Sure. She can sleep on the couch, right?” I don’t have kids, I know literally nothing about caring for a kid.

Mara wrapped me in another tight bear hug. “Thank you so much,” She sobbed, nearly crushing my ribs before stepping back. “… I’ll be back tomorrow night, I hope. I love you, Thomas… and I’m sorry. You were right.”

With that, Mara slunk out the door and into the night, like she’d never been there.

This whole time, Ariel sat on the couch, her hands neatly folded on her lap as she kicked her feet back and forth. I coughed a few times before sitting next to her. “Sooo… when’s bed time?” I asked.

Again- I don’t know how to deal with kids.

Ariel giggled, and I saw more bits of my sister in her- the smile, the way her nose wrinkled when she was amused. “You’re funny, Uncle Thomas. Can I color?” She asked.

“I might have some colored pencils and paper somewhere…” Listen, I love that they make coloring books for adults nowadays, and I am completely in on the fad. So in about ten minutes, I had Ariel sitting at my dining room table with some paper and watched as her tiny fist clutched onto a bright pink pencil as she drew a shape that could’ve been a horse or an airplane.

I tried to fill the silence with conversation. That went as well as you’d expect.

“So, what’s your favorite color?”

“Pink.”

“Do you go to kindergarten yet?”

“I stay with Mommy. She’s taught me my ABC’s.”

“Do you have a pet?”

“We’re not allowed to.”

“Um, do you like snakes? I have a snake.”

That had her pause. She stopped her scribbles and looked up, her eyes wide. “Wow! You have a pet snake?!” She said with a gasp, her face lit up with delight.

“Yeah, his name’s Popcorn,” Finally, something I could distract her with, “Come on, let’s go see him. He’s in my room.”

Popcorn is a Corn Snake I adopted about a year back, a friend had to move and couldn’t take him with. Since then, he’s been my little buddy. Ariel squealed as I flicked on the light and ran to the other cage in my room. “Mice!” She pointed at the cage of small white mice wriggling around.

“Yeah, those are my other buddies,” I laughed as I walked up to the cage. “Come here, Popcorn...” I carefully lifted him out.

“Are we gonna feed him?”

I turned around to see that Ariel had one of my mice curled up in her hands. “Oh, honey, no,” I laughed, the mouse in question seemed content and it wasn’t like she was dangling it by its tail, “Popcorn already ate recently and uh, those aren’t the mice he eats. Can you put him back in his cage now?”

Ariel shrugged and gently placed the mouse back inside the cage. “Can I see Popcorn now?” She extended her arm expectantly.

“He probably won’t want to crawl on your arm, sweetie.” I knelt down and carefully lifted Popcorn forward. “He’s a bit shy, and-”

Popcorn naturally slid from my hand onto Ariel, twisting around her arm and I swear he never looked more content. My jaw dropped. “Are you a freaking Parseltongue or something?” I said.

“I don’t know what that means. But snakes like me.” Ariel leaned her face forward, slitting her eyes and staring at Popcorn, who flicked his tongue out a few times before slithering forward, crawling around her neck and hanging loosely there. “Father says it’s because they know I’m their friend.”

“Father? I thought your mom said your dad…  wasn’t around.”

Ariel looked puzzled before she bust out laughing. “Oh, no no no! Father isn’t my daddy, I don’t have a daddy. Father is all of our father.”

I felt an unpleasant chill go down my spine. “… What… is this Father like?” I asked carefully.

“He’s very kind!” Ariel grinned and nodded her head. “He reads from the Book every morning and makes sure that we all know right from wrong. One of my friends, her daddy is the Father but he’s not my daddy. He wants us all to stick together. Last week, he chose me for something really important!”

“What was that?” I had to know. What the hell had Mara gotten into?

Ariel glanced out the window. “… Well, I’m not supposed to say, but…” Ariel giggled and clapped her hands. “I’m going to be the Daughter!”

What. I had no idea what to say to that. “Really,” I found myself looking out the window as well, almost expecting someone to be there, “And what does that mean?”

“I have no idea!” Ariel removed Popcorn from her neck and handed him back to me. “I’m hungry, I’m gonna get something to eat,” She said before running out of the room.

I settled Popcorn back into his cage and gently ran my finger down his back. “I’m gonna kick Mara’s ass when she gets back,” I grumbled before heading back into the kitchen.

I saw Ariel peering into the freezer. “Do you want pizza rolls, Ariel?” It might’ve been close to midnight but I had no idea when she’d eaten last. “Or chicken strips?”

I heard a crunch and the sound of chewing. “No thank you!” Swallow. “I found something yummy!” Another crunch.

Frowning, I walked up to Ariel. “Honey, you can’t just eat something frozen...” I turned her around and the words died in my mouth.

Ariel was clutching my bag of frozen feeder mice in her hands, her mouth smeared with blood. A small frozen tail was sticking out between her lips. She swallowed and it vanished. “They’re a little cold, could you warm them up?” She handed the bag to me.

What the fuck? “Ariel!” I grabbed a paper towel and wiped off her face. “Jesus Christ, kid, you don’t eat mice!”

“Why not?” Ariel cocked her head to the side. “Popcorn eats mice.”

“Well, you’re not Popcorn, oh fuck, Mara’s gonna kill me…” I groaned and put the feeder mice back on the top shelf, she’d have to dig past the frozen bread to get it. “How about we have some pizza rolls instead?”

Ariel pouted and crossed her arms. “I don’t want pizza rolls,” She grumbled. “Can I go to bed now?”

I ended up just putting Ariel to sleep on the couch. I was done. That was my limit. Children eating fucking frozen mice.

I woke up about midnight to see her standing over the mice cage. The lid had been taken off and her head was cocked to the side. I almost sat up and asked what the hell was she doing when she opened her mouth and something long and thin fell out of her mouth, plopping into the floor of the cage. For a second, I thought she had Popcorn in her mouth, but a glance confirmed that Popcorn was chilling in his cage under his lamp.

Ariel’s tongue slowly felt its way around the cage, slithering about until it touched one of the sleeping mice. I don’t know why they were asleep, they were usually jumping around this time of night. Her tongue slowly wrapped around the mouse and lifted it to her mouth. It hung limply in its grasp until she brought it into her mouth. Then it jerked about and I heard it squeal before she brought her jaws down on it.

That crunch was one of the most horrifying things I’d ever heard.

Humming pleasantly, Ariel skipped out of the room and back to the couch. In just a few minutes I heard her softly snoring.

I didn’t get a wink of sleep the rest of the night.

Ariel’s been a normal kid all day but I can’t shake that image out of my head of her tongue just dragging that mouse to its doom. I counted them to make sure and one was absolutely gone.

But what’s worse is that Mara’s not come back. I’ve tried texting her but apparently her phone number belongs to someone else now. And I swear I’ve seen the same car drive past my house five times today.

I don’t know what to do.

And I’m scared of what I’ll see if I wake up tonight and see Ariel again.

[loveforpreserumsteve]

Call It What You Want (Trans!Steve and Pan!Bucky Modern Summer AU)

Twenty-One:

Steve laid in bed, awake. He wasn't sure how long it had been, but he was guessing it had been a while. Especially since Natasha's breathing was soft and even, and had been for a while. Steve turned his head to look at Natasha. She was sleeping the way that she always did, on her stomach.

Turning back to his previous position, staring up at the ceiling, Steve knew that he couldn't stay in bed any longer. So, cautiously, Steve climbed out of bed. Making sure not to move too much in hopes of not disturbing Natasha because, as a surprise to absolutely no one, she was grumpy when she didn't get enough sleep.

When Natasha didn't stir, Steve crossed the room and grabbed his charging phone. Luckily for Steve, it was almost time for him to take his T shot. So, Steve headed into the bathroom and internally groaned when the door creaked.

With the door shut and locked, Steve turned on the light and, a little too cheerfully, made his way over to the mirrored cabinet where he had placed his T and comfort assist syringes. Washing his hands, he tried to hype himself up. Even though he knew that this was what his body needed and even though he had been doing so weekly for the past four months, Steve still hated doing it.

Once his hands were dried, Steve took in a deep breath. Grabbing an individually packaged disinfectant patch, a syringe, and the small vial of testosterone. Opening the wipe, he carefully swiped it over the top of the vial before pausing. Suddenly, Steve couldn't remember which leg he was supposed to inject.

After a moment of consideration, Steve decided to just do his left and promptly pulled his shorts leg up to rub the wipe over his thigh. Once that was done, Steve tossed the wipe into the nearby trashcan and upcapped the syringe. Taking the small bottle of T into his hand, Steve poked the needle into the top and started filling the syringe with way more than he currently needed. But Steve liked to have enough liquid so when he pushed it back into the vial to get all the air bubbles out, there'd be enough left over in the syringe.

Having his correct dosage, Steve removed the needle and pinched his thigh to create more fat to inject himself. Sure, there wasn't a lot. But Steve made do with what he had. Taking in a deep breath, Steve jabbed the needle into his thigh and blew the breath out as he pushed the hormone into his body.

With teary eyes, Steve capped the syringe again and set it in the sharps waste container. Washing his hands again, Steve went through with the rest of his morning routine. His leg was still sore, but he knew that it was worth it. Steve knew that if he had to inject himself every day, he'd still do it. Gladly, he'd add.

Ready for his day, he quietly exited the bathroom and made sure to grab his current novel before exiting the bedroom. Keeping his steps light, Steve didn't want to disturb anyone else, he headed over to the breakfast nook where the mismatched kitchen table was. Turning on the light and sliding into the bench seat where he could stretch out his sore leg.

Getting comfy on the cushioned bench, Steve opened the novel and started to settle in for a good read. Partly in hopes that it would tire him. Even though he knew that it probably won't. Especially not in the middle of a coming-of-age romance where the characters were falling for each other even though they denied it to everyone, including themselves.

As Steve was caught up in the novel, the lights under the kitchen cabinets turned on. With furrowed brows, Steve looked towards the other kitchen entrance to find Bucky. Bucky was rubbing his eyes with his large hand, not noticing Steve yet.

Steve's brows relaxed as he took Bucky in. With Bucky's bedhead causing his brown locks to spring out in different directions, he instantly made Steve's heart stutter. With the way Bucky was only wearing a pair of navy-blue boxer briefs hanging lowly on his hips, revealing a toned torso that Steve would've never guessed he possessed, Steve's breath hitched.

A blush forming on the apples of Steve's freckled cheeks, Steve returned his gaze to his book. Although he would've liked nothing more than to just sit there observing Bucky, he knew that he had to let Bucky know that he wasn't alone.

So, Steve softly questioned, "Couldn't sleep?"

At that, Steve could see out of his periphery the way that Bucky froze in the doorway. Bucky's hand dropped from his eyes and he turned his gaze on Steve with quirked eyebrows before slipping a pair of black frame glasses on. Steve glanced up then, deciding that Bucky was unfairly attractive.

Bucky blinked a few times before heading over to the coffee maker and clearing his throat. In a sleep dripped voice, Bucky clarified, "I usually wake up early on Mondays."

"Why's that?" Steve asked, watching Bucky enter the mudroom out of the corner of his eyes.

A moment later, Bucky returned to the kitchen sporting a pair of fleece gray shorts and tugging on a plain white t-shirt as he replied, "Monster Movie Monday."

"Monster Movie Monday?" Steve repeated with furrowed brows, setting his book on the table.

"Yup," Bucky confirmed, grabbing a box of Trix cereal from the small pantry cabinet and a midnight blue ceramic bowl from the cupboard. As he started pouring the cereal, he explained, "Every Monday during the summer one of the local channels plays old monster movies from five to nine; a double feature of sorts."

As Bucky went to grab the milk from the fridge, he paused and turned to face Steve. With his brows in a deep furrow, Bucky asked, "Do you want something to eat? You don't have to have cereal. We have bread. I think we might even have cinnamon raisin. Or if you'd rather have pancakes, we have some pancake mix. And chocolate chips too, if you like to add those. It's no hassle at all, I can --"

"Cereal is fine," Steve interrupted. Blushing when his sleepy brain realized that it was rude. Sheepishly, Steve moved out from the bench and crossed the kitchen. His body practically thrumming from being near Bucky.

Bucky bashfully looked away and joked, "Well, you're in the right house if you're a cereal fan."

[caelestis-aurumxv]

FFXV’s One-shots: ‘When they sleep next to you’ Noctis ver.

—The food is ready!—Prompto said in a louder voice, interrupting your training with Gladio and Noctis.

—Ah, I lost again…—you said wiping the sweat from your forehead.

—But you have improved in an incredible way—Gladio smiled, placing his arms like a jug—Time before, you couldn’t dodge more than three consecutive attacks from Noct.

—It’s true, you’ve improved—Noctis smiled, rising from the ground and then reaching out to you.

—Sorry for the hit on the hip—you murmured, taking the hand of the king of Insomnia.

—Iggy! I want a double portion!—Gladio exclaimed heading toward the camp.

—Don’t worry, it wasn’t a very hard punch, but it caught me off guard—Noctis laughed, pulling your arm and drawing you to him at once.

—Should I take it as a compliment?—you questioned the boy, showing a smile on your lips and looking straight into his eyes.

               And then you noticed how the King placed his hand on your hip, creating an electric wave in you.

—…I-I’m sorry—Noctis apologized, releasing your arm and then your hip.

—A-Are we going to eat?—you were nervous, almost like him.

—Mh—he just nodded and walked beside you on the way to the camp.

               The evening dish was rice balls, it seemed little, but thanks to Ignis also preparing a few sauces to throw them over, it looked like a big feast. The moments together in front of the fire were always so intimate among the five, they could laugh, they could tell stories and sometimes even receive advice from others.

               The atmosphere was calm, Ignis were worried about removing the dishes while Prompto reviewed the photos he had taken during the day. Gladio was telling a story now and you listened carefully the words of the big man. However, Noctis seemed to be distant from the painting, the edge of the cup touched his lips as he lost himself in the landscape, rather… In you.

               He was analyzing your profile, which seemed delineated by the glow of the flames of the campfire, his eyes were looking at your eyes, your skin and your lips that were saying words of surprise at the feats of Gladio. Now, he was biting the edge of the cup as he checked you again and again, noticing how his palpitations changed rhythm; He couldn’t figure out what was so wonderful to see in you.

—Noct, could you give me the glass?—Ignis’s voice brought the boy out of his thoughts.

—A-Ah…? Which one?—Noctis asked, looking in front of his nose, noticing the cup—I-I’m sorry… here, thank you very much Ignis.

—Everything okay?—Ignis asked.

—Is something wrong, majesty?—Prompto asked in a mocking tone.

—I was… thinking only—Noctis responded by looking down.

—Can we help you?—you asked getting up from your chair.

—N-No, don’t worry…—Noctis rose suddenly from his seat and then placed his hand on his neck—I’ll go for a walk, I’ll be right back.

—Do you want company?—Prompto asked, looking at the boy.

—…Yeah, let’s go Prompto—Noctis replied.

—Be careful—Gladio told the boys as they walked away.

—Well, I will finish washing the dishes…—Ignis returned to the camp.

—I-I’ll help you!—You said a little late, you were still somewhat worried about the king.

               Usually if something bothered Noctis he would soon tell you what it was that had him uneasy, he had previously said it… He could speak clearly with you, but this time it seemed to be as if he had rejected you. It didn’t hurt you completely, but it kept you somewhat worried, even while you were cleaning the dishes along with Ignis.

—Don’t worry, it shouldn’t be very serious…—the light-haired boy said newt to you.

—I… I wasn’t worried—you lied, looking down, continuing with your cleaning of the dishes.

—Sure, whatever you say—Ignis smiled—Noctis just needs to talk to someone else.

I said I wasn’t worried, Iggy—you replied with a blush on your cheeks, leaving the last plate ready.

—Alright, alright… Do you want some hot chocolate?—asked the boy in glasses.

—Would you do that for me?—And at that moment you became a five-year-old girl.

               The footsteps of the blond boy were on a par with the blue-haired boy, both walking side by side. Prompto looked sideways at his friend sometimes, who seemed to take a breath to say something, however, he couldn’t thread any sentence.

—It’s about ____________, isn’t it?—Prompto asked bluntly.

—What a pity that is so obvious… —Noctis sighed, messing up his hair a little.

—I’ve seen how you look at her a few times, but dude, today you were seeing her directly—the blond boy sighed at the end—I’m surprised she didn’t feel observed.  

—… I don’t know what to do, you know?—Noctis asked, letting go a sigh.

—It’s complicated—Prompto pursed his lips.

—Very… —Noctis sighed, for the umpteenth time.

—But, you must be sure that, even if you get married, she will be loyal to you despite the years, as much as I, Iggy and Gladdy—the boy sought to make him feel better somehow.

—Yes, but…—Noctis bite his lips.

               And he kicked the grass.

—I won’t be able to approach her as I want—he murmured.

—Sometimes, things don’t go as expected, but there are rapprochements—Prompto crossed his arms, looking at his friend.

—I didn’t plan this, besides, Luna is waiting for me…—Noctis said, looking up at the sky—I didn’t think I’d let my guard down…

—You didn’t let your guard down—Prompto said, in a serious tone—You never placed one, because it wasn’t necessary.

—What do you mean?—Noctis asked, looking at the boy next to him.

—We knew each other from high school, to me… She’s like a sister.

—And why didn’t the same happen to me?

—What was the first thing you told me about her, when I asked you?

—Ahg…

               And Noctis looked down and stayed like that for a moment.

—Can you repeat it to me?—His friend was waiting for an answer.

—I said… I had seen her before.

—You had always seen her, you were always aware of her presence, but you never talked to her… —Prompto corrected his friend’s answer, giving the other points.

—Until… I started training with her—Noctis sighed.

—Exactly, Lunafreya had known you since childhood, but she lived in Tenabrae, you didn’t have contact every day… Only when Umbra appears with the notebook—Prompto clarified.

—_______________ was there every day, maybe not next to me, but I could see her—the blue-haired boy murmured.

—And now you have her very close—Prompto nodded—Then, it’s normal for things to get out of your hands.

—What do I do?—Noctis asked.

—Well… you know that _____________ know your situation and why we are traveling to Altissia—Prompto said and then shrugged—And despite all that, he’s still here, next to you.

˜You say what… ?—Noctis asked, hoping his friend woul solve everything.

—Oh, come on…! Noct, you know what I mean!—Prompto exclaimed exasperatedly— _______________, she is always on the lookout for you, not because it is her job, not because it is part of her responsibilities, but because she takes care of you, because she is aware of you.

—….Because we are friends?—Noct asked.

—SHE LIKES YOU, DUDE!—Prompto raised his arms, waving them.

—I don’t think so…—Noctis didn’t seem convinced.

—Sure, then explain why her never want to change seats when I propose, or the time she didn’t sleep just to heal you all night, do you remember that when you woke up she was there, holding your hand? Remember! Even...! When she helped you with your exams, studying late at home…—Prompto said, taking the boy back a while.

               That time..

               It was as if you could never forget that night, you and Prompto were in Noctis’ apartment. Ignis had left food made so you could eat throughout the night. The next day there was a Biology exam, the better subject-matter of the king of Insomnia was History, because it was what he had instilled since childhood, but as you knew about cures, you could help both boys to pass their exams.

—Guys, I can’t get any more on my head…. —Prompto said, making a yawn—But I must say that thanks to ____________, I hace understood the functioning of life and the body.

—Hahahahaha, is that the kind of answer you’re going to use to release you?—you asked, looking at the blond-haired boy.

—Please?—they boy asked, pleading.

—Fine, fine… you’re free—you said laughing.

—Noct, can I use your bed?—Prompto asked with a smile.

—Woah, this is how your friend leaves you with no place to sleep…—Noctis said in an ironic tone, without taking his eyes off the book.

—Sure!—And then Prompto disappeared from the living room to enter his friend’s room.

—And that’s how Prompto leaves us—you murmured, looking toward the door, then looking in the direction of the boy—Aren’t you sleepy?

—Well, just a bit, but I want to understand… —and then the boy approached you showing a certain page of the book—This part, after that, I think I could sleep peacefully.

—Oh, wait… It’s better if I make some kind of map with concepts—you said, taking your notebook and then starting to write while looking at the page Noctis pointed at—You can read it while.

—Okay—Noctis was reading, looking sideways as you were making a map.

               But there was something that made him uneasy, he could feel the smell of your perfume from near, he could even feel the heat that your body emanated, which he didn’t hesitate a second to support his own body on you. It felt almost like being with her mother again, where everything was quiet, where she murmured as she read and Noctis tried to fall asleep.

—Then… —you began to say, turning to see your partner—well, well…

               The boy had fallen asleep leaning on you.

—I’ll have to explain it tomorrow…—You whispered, trying to find a way to accommodate both of you, so the boy will be more comfortable—Noct… Let’s go to bed?

—Mh, I don’t want to go mom, I want to stay with you… —Noctis muttered that and you felt your chest clench.

               Youdidn¿t ask anything else, you were both sitting on the couch, Noctis was practically lying on you, so it was only left to drop to the side and he would follow you.

               It was a good plan and you carried it out.

               The next day, the lights came softly over your faces, giving a warm feeling. The boy’s eyes slowly opened, noticing a blurry figure in front of him, he blinked a few more times. He was going to use one of his arms to rub his eyes, but his hand was not directly touching the sofa. There was your waist, being affirmed by the hand of the by, his other arm rested under your neck and your hands lightly touched the chest of the future king of Insomnia.

—I-I Fell asleep…—Noctis whispered.

—So I see, but you slept very well—Prompto muttered, sipping a cup of coffee.

—What…?!—the boy exclaimed, but lowered his voice immediately, not wanting to wake you up.

—I woke up for breakfast… you have to be ready in a little while to leave—Prompto looked at his partner from the back of the chair—I would arrive at the first recess in your place—the boy made a move with his eyebrows.

—And why would we do that?—you asked, rejoining in the sofa.

—You were awake!—They both screamed.

               A smile formed on the boy’s face when he remembered that morning that he woke up next to you, they were already going back to the camp next to his friend, the fire of the campfire had already been extinguished, there was no one outside, so the other should be inside.

—I will sleep next to Iggy—Prompto said, with a smile as he entered the tent.

—Should I sleep next to Gladio?—Noctis didn’t seem very convinced, entering the tent and noticing that the big man was sleeping next to Ignis, next to Gladio were you and then there was an empty space—N-No… Prompto.

—Good night, dude—Prompto said, entering his sleeping bag.

               The king of Insomnia leaned on the sleeping bag, without opening it, looking for another blanket to cover himself at that moment, but the blanket felt much heavier. He wasn’t turning your back to you, he had decided to lie down in front of you, watching you rest peacefully, just like the other time about three years ago. Your lips looked more pink, softer and more delicious for the boy.

               They say when they forbid something, you crave it more. Exactly that he was feeling until you stretched your arm in your dreams, almost touching the boy’s face with your hand. Noctis hesitated for a moment, but after a while he rested his cheeks on your hand, you made a small smile in response and the boy’s cheeks turned red. He clenches his lips making a line and held his breath.

—Why can’t you be mine…?—Noctis whispered, looking at your face tenderly, bringing one of his hands close and touching you cheek, you just reacted to accommodate a little more.

—Noct…—you whispered.

               His eyes widened, it seemed that you were still asleep, however, due to previous experiences the boy knew that there was a percentage of changes that you were awake.

—….________________—He pronounced your name.

—Do you feel better?—you gathered enough courage to open your eyes, meeting the boy’s eyes that glowed in the dark, almost like something magical.

               The boy’s eyes trembled, he pressed his lips tightly and shook his head. Suddenly he broke the distance that remained between you and hugged you tightly, clinging to you.

               Your heart clenched like that time, but this time you felt a little sob, instead your pursed your lips, hoping that the tears would not overflow from your eyes. The question he had whispered a while ago looking at you had brought everything afloat, you knew why he was distant, because he was always watching you, because he always tried to touch you with his hands, now everything made sense… And a certain part of you would have preferred it not to be so.

—I-I’m sorry… —Noctis whispered, taking distance from you, looking at you and seeing how you were crying now.

—I’m sorry for complicating your life—you said painfully in your words.

               Those words pierced his heart tightly, seizing his senses, leading him to approach you to kiss your cheek, wiping the trail of your tears with his kisses, causing a pain in you and his chest as well.

—____________, I really want to kiss you—whispered the king of Insomnia.

—Everything will go to hell—you said, shaking.

—I’ll find another way to be with you… —the boy whispered.

—Noctis…—you said without looking at him, your lips were trembling.

—I’ll find a way to be with you at the end of everything—the boy said, you shook your head, now staring at him.

               Your actions said not to do it, they begged it not to come near, but your heart was beating wildly, your lips were open, inviting him to come closer. From pressing them to silence from tears your lips were red and the boy could finally taste how soft they were, confirmed how much he wanted them and confirmed that you felt the same as him.

               The grip on your face on your part attracted you more to his body, his hand on your side left you frozen for a moment, but your lips corresponded to that kiss that would lead them to suffer a little more in life. You trembled at the feeling of emptiness that caused Noctis lips to leave you and without saying anything your body approached the king’s looking for more heat.

—Can you be mine…?—the boy whispered in your ear, hugging you tightly.

—… I’ll be yours forever—you nodded with a few sobs, taking refuge in his arms.

               You both hoped to have a solution soon, as you kissed you managed to calm down the sobs gradually, finally managing to fall asleep, you in his arms and he feeling like your heart was beating. This would be a painful adventure.

[kumeko]

of fate and choices

A/N: written for the BigThreesome Zine.

Summary: The mark on her neck was no stronger than the tattoo on her thigh. The choice was all theirs, was always theirs.

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Monday

 Mirio liked mornings the best. He’d wake up in a mess of limbs, with Nejire spread out all over the bed and Tamaki curled up in a small ball. Her hair spooled all over them, a blanket, while Mirio’s hand kept Tamaki from falling off the edge of the bed. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he curled his arms around both of them for a quick hug before leaping off the bed.

“Mornin’?” Groggily, Tamaki sat up. Swaying slightly, he stared at Mirio for a long moment before falling back onto the bed. Nejire didn’t react, sleeping like the dead as usual.

“Morning!” With a broad grin, Mirio pecked his husband’s forehead before getting ready for work. His spouses didn’t have to leave yet, but he still had to drop Eri off at pre-school. And make breakfast.  And pack her lunch.

And maybe he should have set his alarm a little earlier, he was going to be late at this rate.

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” he chanted as he tossed on his clothes. They were a little loose and it was only the infinite belts he wore that kept them from slipping right back off him. Nejire liked to open the buckles one by one and see just how many it’d take before he was naked.

But that was a thought for neither here nor there and Mirio was definitely going to be late.

“Nejire…made lunch,” Tamaki muttered, his voice thick with sleep. He was staring up at the ceiling, a hand covering his eyes. It was still too bright for him.

“Really?” Mirio stared at Nejire in surprise.  She was already taking over the space he had left, her limbs sprawled ungracefully over the vast majority of the bed.

“I supervised.” Tamaki rubbed his eyes slowly. “It’s edible. I made sure she didn’t use anything too strange.”

Which was a little sad, because Mirio did like the strange new combinations Nejire always found. However, it was probably better if Eri didn’t suddenly realize she hated the taste of eggplant, plum, and acai stir fry. Even if they all followed the purple colour scheme.

“I love you.” Mirio pecked both of them once more before running off to wake up Eri.

Yeah, Mirio liked mornings the best.

-x-

Tuesday

“Is that your soulmate’s symbol?” Ochako leaned closer to see symbol on Nejire’s shoulder. “A sun? How cute!”

“It is, right? It totally is!” The weather had picked up recently and Nejire had started sporting less and less fabric as each day passed by. Unfortunately, Tamaki stopped her from going any further than a tank top and shorts. Still, there was always tomorrow. One of these days, he’d slip up. Besides, it was her fashion line! What did it matter if she wore almost nothing? It was hot!

“What’s your symbol?” The new temp was curious. Nejire liked that about her. Well, she liked a lot of things about Ochako but curiosity was at the very top of the list.

“A tornado!” Nejire grinned. When they first met and her symbol had etched itself on Mirio’s wrist, he didn’t really believe it was hers. Apparently she had seemed too thin, too small for something so disastrous. “A big one.”

“Ahaha, I can see that.” Ochako chuckled, nodding her head. Another thing she liked about the newbie—she realized instantly that a tornado was the perfect fit.

“Oh, wait, wait!” Halting immediately, Nejire pulled up the left side of her shorts slightly. “Look at this one too.”

“Huh?” Perplexed, Ochako stared at the fluffy cloud on her thigh. “A tattoo?”

“It’s for my other soulmate.” The second Tamaki had said yes, she had gone to the closest tattoo parlor. “Isn’t it pretty?”

Ochako’s confusion didn’t clear but Nejire paid her no mind. Summer was great, she could show off both symbols so easily now. Maybe she’d wear shorter shorts tomorrow. She could even pick out the ones Tamaki liked—there was no way he could object then.

-x-

Wednesday

The restaurant’s bathroom was empty when Tamaki entered it. Approaching the sink, he splashed the cool water on his face. Despite how long he had been working here, he had yet to get used to the kitchen’s heat.

His bangs were dripping when he looked up in the mirror. They were starting to get long—he’d have to get Nejire to cut them later.  As he pushed them to the side, the cloud on his neck caught his eye. It was still there then. Good.  Tracing the pattern with his finger, he sighed with relief.

He could still stay with them, then.

-x-

Thursday

“Mirio!” Deku waved as Mirio slid into the fire station.

Panting, he looked up at the clock—7:59. Puffed up with pride, he high-fived his partner. “Made it!”

“Good thing too, Yagi was already preparing your punishment.” Deku gestured behind him, to the office where Fire Chief Yagi was watching them with a slightly disappointed expression.  “I’m glad you got here on time!”

“I couldn’t keep setting a bad example for you!” Mirio frowned as they headed to the change rooms.  Unbuttoning his shirt, he nodded sagely to himself. “Just like Yagi, I have to give you an ideal to reach for.”

Deku blinked before settling into an easy smile. “You do that enough at work anyways!” Opening his locker, he stared down at Mirio’s wrists for a moment before biting his lip. “Could I ask you something?”

Ah, that question. It had been a few months since they had become partners—the longest anyone had waited before asking. “Go ahead.”

“…How did you know?”

Surprised, Mirio stared at his junior. “Huh?”

Deku flushed a deep red, his fingers pushing against one another as he clarified his question. “You have two soulmates, right? How…how did you know?”

Not the question he had been expecting, but Deku was always full of surprises. Proudly, Mirio showed the tornado and cloud imprinted on his wrists. “With Nejire, we happened to be in the same classroom and we just…clicked? It was almost instantaneous but she’s never had patience anyways.” Mirio chuckled, remembering how quickly his wife had searched the room for him.

“I see…” Deku had a little notebook out, his pen already scribbling away. Mirio snorted—even now, his junior was so serious. “I hear it burns a little when it changes.”

“Yeah, just a little.” Fondly, he traced the cloud he got after seeing Nejire’s. “Tamaki…he took a little longer but there was never any other choice.”

“Never?” Deku looked up at those words.

Mirio repeated firmly, “Never.”

“Do you think I’ll have to wait long?” Deku stared at the palm of his hand, at the rabbit etched on his skin. “I keep looking but it never changes.”

“Hmm…well, sometimes people never find their soulmates. It’s a huge world, right?” Mirio gestured at the wall, in the direction of Yagi’s office. “Chief never found his but he’s still happy with his husband.”

“That’s true…there are cases like that.” Deku took a deep breath before lifting his head.  A determined look in his eyes, he quickly returned to changing. “Thanks!”

-x-

Friday

Tamaki’s hands hovered hesitantly over her spaghetti straps. Nejire could feel the warmth radiating from his palms, see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. His throat had been dry all evening, ever since he spotted her and Mirio coming down the stairs. Even drinking three glasses of water at dinner had done nothing to quench his thirst.

His fingers trembled. Staring up into his eyes, she saw age-old fear and doubt cloud his sight. Swiftly, she reached up and cupped his cheeks, pulling his face down for a kiss.

“Hey, listen to me.” Pulling away slightly, she pressed her forehead to his. Sometimes, touching Tamaki was touching glass; she was afraid he’d shatter. Mirio was better at handling him than she was. Her touch had always been too abrasive, leaving behind bruises and wounds whether she meant it or not.

But Tamaki was important and for Tamaki, she would try. Keeping her voice soft, she continued. “I chose you.”

“Wha—“ Tamaki tried to step back but she kept her grip firm. “It’s not…it’s not that.”

Nejire wasn’t going to play the game, not today. “I chose you. I still choose you, choose this. So does Mirio.”

If there was one thing she had never understood, it was this need to follow soulmates. To be bound to them. If Mirio hadn’t been her match, she still would have picked him. If someone else had been her soulmate, she still might have rejected him. The mark on her neck was no stronger than the tattoo on her thigh.  If only Tamaki could see that, could understand that. The choice was all theirs, was always theirs.

“Hey, hey listen.” She closed her eyes, listening to the sound of him breathing. His heart was faster than a rabbit’s, she was certain of it. Opening her eyes, she stared right into his. “I love you. We love you. Did you hear that? Did you?”

His ears went red and had this been any other time, she would have bitten them. She still might, after all of this. Tamaki froze at this confession, his hands resting on top of hers instead of pushing her away.

“I love you,” she repeated. Even though he didn’t respond, his fingers didn’t shake this time as he reached for her shoulders.

-x-

Saturday

“Mama?” Eri poked her head into the bedroom, clutching a stuffed unicorn tightly. Tamaki looked up from the book he was reading and Nejire put down her Switch. “Daddy?”

“Another nightmare?” Tamaki asked, closing his book.

“Yeah…Papa’s sleeping?” Eri  shuffled nervously at the foot of the bed, looking down the entire time. “I...”

Nejire was already patting the space between her and Mirio.  Tamaki watched in horror as she started to roll him towards the edge of the bed to make more room. “Want me to fight your closet?”

Eri’s eyes were round as saucers as she considered it. Clambering up onto the bed, she snuggled next to Nejire and nodded rapidly. “Please!”

“Alright! Mama’s going to be a monster hunter tomorrow!”

-x-

Sunday

“And they all lived happily ever after.” Tamaki glanced over at his adoptive daughter. She looked so much like her father, even when she was asleep. Quickly, he removed the finger puppets they had all made one rainy afternoon, setting them back into Eri’s playbox.

After kissing Eri’s forehead, he quietly closed the door and returned to his—to their room. The lights were low, with Nejire and Mirio curled up to each other, fast asleep. They had left space between them, space for him.

They always left space for him. The extra toothbrush when he first started dating, the mug in the cabinet, the drawer they cleaned just for him. Tamaki’s right hand curled around his neck, covering the cloud.

Even if he met his soulmate tomorrow, there was nowhere else he wanted to be.  This was home, they were home. Crawling into bed, he pecked both of them lightly. “Me too,” he mumbled, remembering Nejire’s words the other day. “Me too.”

Her eyes snapped open, arms already pulling him down before he could retreat. “I heard that!” she half sang, her voice thick with sleep. “I heard that!”

If there was one saving grace, it was that Mirio hadn’t heard it. Yet. Nejire would definitely tell him tomorrow.