#*coughs* anyway. gonna try to reach out to my gp

[amsterdamlouie]

Update: I'm positive 🤠

pov: when your mom has covid but she doesn't stay in her room

[the-omni-princess]

Burnt (Firefighter!AU)

Author: @the-omni-princess

Summary: Another late night at the fire house is interrupted when dispatch calls out a very familiar address.

Pairing: Bucky x Fem!Reader 

Word Count: 2.3K

Prompt: Firefighter Au!

Warnings: Established Relationship, angst, fluff, gambling (kinda), brief mention of death and its implications, fire injuries (not burns, but smoke inhalation), loss of property because of a fire

A/N:

Written for @sunmoonandbucky

and their #1.5kconstellationswritingchallenge :D 

love ya babe <3

Also, while I looked up codes and such, I am probably really wrong at some of these, so if you happen to know the Brooklyn FDNY codes/dispatch please let me know so I can fix it :D

-

[My Masterlist]

---

It was late, however, the bright lights of the firehouse kept Bucky wide awake. He took another glance at the clock on the wall, but only a minute had passed since the last time he looked. Time seemed to move as slowly as possible.

“I know your shifts almost over, but if you paid attention, you might actually win the game,” Sam taunted him, letting his cards fall in front of him, an 8,7,6,5, and 4, a Straight.

Bucky, being the only other one left in the game, smirked faintly, “Keep dreaming, Sam,” he placed his own cards down. Every single one had a red diamond that seemed to stare straight into Sam’s soul. A Flush. He reached forward, grabbing his prize, the best snacks of the week from each of the crew, from the middle of the table.

Sam groaned loudly just as Steve laughed. “Better luck next time, Sam,” he teased, earning him a glare from the man. He turned towards Buck just as he pulled open the gummy snacks, determined to keep his mind off the counting clock. “Don’t worry Buck, in two hours you’ll be clocked out and passed out beside your gal,” he nudged him with his shoulder.

“Snuggled up with the millions of blankets she owns,” Natasha joined in, already having folded out of the game before she could lose more precious pretzels.

“Are really suggesting that Barnes is immediately going to sleep when he sees his girl? Because I’d like to bet an alternative-“ Nat tossed a pretzel at Tony to shut him up, rolling her eyes as he yelped when it hit him square in the head.

“I’m exhausted, I will be happily passed out and snuggled against my gal,” Bucky gave Tony a pointed look, before sighing. He looked towards his phone, knowing you were probably asleep so late at night. He couldn’t help but hope you had texted him, despite having exchanged good night texts two hours ago.

He glanced towards the sofas, Clint had the tv on, captions on, volume low so the rest of them could hear the dispatch radio placed on the counter. The news jumped back and forth between stories, a robbery, a missing person, a cat stuck up a tree from yesterday. Most of the footage was old, making Bucky lose interest.

Just as he was about to turn back to a new game, Natasha already shuffling the cards behind him, the bright red headline of BREAKING NEWS caught his attention. A fire right up the street from one of the other stations. The frequency had already called out one of the other stations to a nearby fire, but it wasn’t bad enough for this part of Brooklyn FD to be called out. Looked pretty bad now though, the apartment building was on frame at a weird angle, and it was grainy footage from a cell phone, but the entire right side was streaked with red and orange flames.

“Dispatch hasn’t called it yet, but I have a feeling we’re gonna be called in for this one, up and at ‘em,” Bucky called, the others glancing at the tv before agreeing and standing, starting to get ready for the inevitable call.

Not two minutes later, as Bucky tugged the suspenders from his uniform on correctly, the call was ringing out across the station. “Dispatch to Brooklyn, 10-26, 10-23. 10-85 Brooklyn.” Occupied high-rise, three-alarm fire, Need for additional units.

Steve jumped to answer, calling out “10-04, 10-07?” Acknowledged, Verify address?

Bucky had already jumped into the truck, pressing the lights button on as Sam jumped in as well, Nat and Tony grabbing the other truck, turning on their lights as well. Dispatch gave out the address and everyone in both trucks tensed. Bucky went pale. Oh God, this can’t be happening.

“On our way,” Steve quickly closed the door and turned the sirens on, out on the road and dashing towards the address, not needing the GPS. Bucky was silent, fear and panic filling his eyes as he gripped onto the seat of the truck with one hand, and his helmet with the other. New York, the city that never sleeps, was determined not to let him get to his destination. Red lights meant slowing down to make sure opposing traffic knew they were coming, and every damn light was red.

Sam placed a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, hoping to calm him. “Maybe it-“

“Save it Sammie,” Bucky warned, eyes straight ahead as he tried not to over think. “Step on it, Rogers. Now.”

“Trying,” Steve muttered in response, only a block away and closing in. Steve had barley put the truck to park when Bucky pushed Sam out the truck, jumping out after him and ignoring his frustrated cry.

He looked around frantically, hoping the other units grabbed everyone already. Your neighbor and best friend Wanda recognized him instantly, already brushing off the police officer trying to ask her questions. She looked an utter mess, wrinkled, grime covered pajamas, her twin standing a few feet away getting oxygen from one of the EMTs, soot in his white hair. “Bucky! Thank God you’re here! She’s still inside, they said the fire started in her apartment.” She was frenzied, shaking as she tried to tell him. He nodded in acknowledgment, words lacking at the moment. He turned to the building, able to see it now. The flames were centered right by your fifth-floor apartment window. He felt his heart tighten as he tugged on his helmet, already rushing to join Steve and the others in running inside.

--

Coughing again and again, covered in soot, huddled in the bathroom, gripping onto Alpine. The poor white cat looked like a different bred all covered in soot. She purred in your arms, trying to comfort you as you stayed curled into a ball at the very corner of your bathtub. Trapped by the fire while in your pajamas, and there were no windows but a small slit in the wall. Alpine could probably barley squeeze through that and escape, but the lock had rusted months ago and wouldn’t open.

Now, nose buried under a soot covered pajama shirt to not inhale the smoke, Alpine under the same shirt to prevent as much smoke inhalation as possible, you couldn’t help but notice the true irony of your situation. The fireman’s girlfriend and rescue cat, dying in a fire. You felt like you were living in an irony.

Why did you decide to not move out sooner? Why did you happen to stumble into the bathroom in the middle of the night? Why didn’t you insist to the landlord that your faulty electrical lines in your bedroom should most definitely be replaced now instead of later? Was this really the way you were going to die? The fight had already left you once the fire had spread to right outside your bathroom door. Truly and utterly trapped. No windows, no doors, no way out. Since the fire was electrical, they had already shut the power off to the building. The only light was the fire being barley contained on the other side of the bathroom door. The heat radiating in the room from the mixture of the fire and the AC being off, and well, being on fire, was starting to make you woozy.

Coughing once more, you couldn’t hear the front door to your apartment being kicked down. God, you hoped Bucky wouldn’t blame himself. He always tended to do that anyway, and if you were going to die with any regrets, it would be how you died. That would haunt him for the rest of his life.

The door to the bathroom was suddenly axed down, making you jump faintly, gripping Alpine even tighter. Your eyes lit up at the sight of two soot covered, full uniform wearing firefighters standing at the door. One was already reaching towards you, the second was subduing the fire away from the door.

The one above you wrapped you in a fireproof blanket, helping you to your feet to escape. You stumbled, still holding onto Alpine for dear life; not that the cat minded snuggling into your chest, smelling your perfume instead of the smoke. The firefighter quickly caught you and didn’t waste a second in picking you up and making their way out the door. Everything was getting hazy, and you glancing around, it didn’t really set in that this was your apartment in flames. That was your favorite chair and curtains being burnt to a crisp. And Bucky’s favorite blanket on top of the chair, mostly ash in a neat little pile. You buried your face into the soot covered jacket of the person holding you, trying not to inhale to much smoke and to save yourself from seeing the destruction of your home.

The first thing to hit you when you were outside was how cool it suddenly was. The second was the oxygen. As you took a ragged breath, the cool air burned in your throat. The firefighter holding onto you rushed towards an EMT, but you caught a glance behind you. With everyone evacuated, they were starting to gain control of the blaze. As the firefighter holding you sat you on the edge of the ambulance’s open tail gate, you noticed the Brooklyn Fire Truck. The very one you had painted Brooklyn on in baby blue just last summer. One of the firefighters pulled off his helmet and mask, and you instantly recognized Sam. God that means Bucky’s here.

You coughed roughly, not fighting the paramedic who took Alpine to give her some oxygen, while another paramedic placed an oxygen mask over your face. You groaned lowly, the voice stuck in your throat felt like tar. You looked towards your savior, the firefighter. Considering how close you were to the FDNY, having gone to plenty of their cookouts and bowling nights, you most likely knew the person who saved you. Yet, you only cared to find him.

Taking a deep breath, you pulled the mask off just long enough to gargle out a “B-Bucky-…” while trying to get Sam’s attention. You needed to find him. He was a self-sacrificing idiot at times, just like his best friend, and would probably go back into the fire to make sure every single person and animal and even the hamster upstairs was safely rescued. The firefighter beside you quickly put the mask back over your nose and mouth, and despite the helmet and mask covering their face, you could practically hear the silent ‘Why would you do that?!’ from their body language.

You pulled the fire blanket closer to your shoulders, shuddering before realizing which blanket it was. It was the blanket you had gotten Bucky as a joke last Christmas, the one that was folded neatly on your couch when you went to bed. If the fire fighter knew what it was then that would mean-

Your eyes widened as you looked up towards your savior, who was pulling off his helmet and mask. You couldn’t stop the smile from your face as you took in his worried expression and your favorite ocean eyes. “Bucky,” you murmured.

Despite being muffled behind the mask, he heard you, and didn’t stop the relieved expression from overtaking his features. He threw the gloves off, placing them and the helmet beside you before cupping your face in his hands. “You had me worried sick, sugar. When the address came in, and then when Wan said you were still upstairs…. I don’t know what I would have done if I lost you.” He stepped in between your legs, careful to make sure you were still getting oxygen but were now safely tucked into his arms. You stayed quiet, nuzzling closer to him, with Alpine, who was perfectly fine just a little dirty, curled on your lap.

It stayed like that for a few moments, the red lights from the now quiet sirens lighting up his features, the oxygen starting to calm you; his arms wrapped around you, filling you with warmth. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he whispered into your ash covered hair, too grateful that you survived that close call then to worry about the new dirt on his face.

You took another breath, feeling good enough to actually speak again, you pulled the mask off again, “You know,” you rasped, “When I agreed to move in with you, I didn’t mean this soon.”

He chuckled faintly, holding you closer as you took more breaths from the oxygen. “Good thing most of your stuff is at my place now,” he took a glance towards your apartment, most likely a bad – if not total – loss.

“And thank god for insurance,” you muttered into the mask. He chuckled again, kissing your head and running a hand through Alpine’s fur. The cat purred, happily rubbing against the two of you. “I love you, honey,” he whispered softly, reverent, as if the entire weight of tonight’s events had finally settled on him.

“I love you more, Bucky Barnes,” you teased, grinning into the mask. And in the light of the emergency vehicles, your pajamas covered in dirt and soot and ash, he couldn’t help but think you were absolutely perfect. As you buried your face in his chest, ignoring the chaffing from his uniform, ready to fall asleep again, he couldn’t help but smile. And he couldn’t help but be grateful that the ring he was going to propose with, was locked in a fireproof safe hidden at the back of his closet.

---

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[readinglikechickensoup]

Hiya, I was wondering if you'd be able to do a spies in disguise fanfic. I can't seem to find any Walter X lance fics with angst. My prompt would probably be something like Walter taking a shot for lance in the field. Or something along those lines where Walter gets hurt trying to save someone. Thank you!!

I’m sorry this took so long. I had to wait until I could get my hands on the movie. I hope you like it. Feel free to shoot me another request if it’s not quite what you wanted. 

Words: 1,627 Warnings: Blood, violence, hospital, age difference (both are established adults)

The storm clouds were thick and grey like old fleece. Despite the climate control in the cockpit, Walter shivered and burrowed into his sweater and jacket.

 “Cold?” Lance asked, raising an eyebrow.

 “Only a little.” Walter’s teeth chattered together; he closed his mouth tightly.

 Lance checked the autopilot, then got up and rummaged in his bag, pulling out a heavy wool coat. He held it out expectantly.

 “But won’t you get cold?”

 “Nah. This is a spare.” Lance shrugged. “Figured you’d get cold. Now put it on.”

 Walter stood and let Lance help him into each sleeve. It fit like a glove. Buttoning it up, he looked into Lance’s smirking face. “How’d you know?”

 “You’re the size of my bicep, Walter. You’re always cold.” Lance patted Walter’s shoulder and went back to his seat. “You’re the genius, you know. You should’ve thought Scandinavia through.”

 “Yeah, yeah.” Walter flopped back in his seat. They were on a covert mission to neutralize enemy technology in the Norwegian mountains.

 Lance crossed his long legs and fiddled with his phone. If it weren’t for the drag of nerves that always preceded missions, Walter could almost believe they were home.

 Granted, if they were home they would be on the couch, Walter’s shoulder tucked into Lance’s armpit. Walter would struggle to read through the Journal of Materials Science, burning up everywhere their bodies touched. Whenever their eyes met, Lance’s would drop to Walter’s mouth, then quickly look away.

 Walter was admittedly very bad at social cues, but he couldn’t help the question that was burning a hole in his mind.

 It had been five years since they defeated Killian. Aside from solo missions and dangerous lab testing, they were rarely apart. Lance had even invited Walter to live with him.

 They ate together and defeated baddies together. Whenever Walter fell asleep over a project, he woke up in bed, shoes off, under a thick quilt.

 Whenever Lance couldn’t sleep, he let Walter sit by his bed, rub his back, and talk about science. Those mornings, he woke up tucked into Lance’s side, so warm and safe he couldn’t bear to get up.

 A few days ago, Walter wondered out loud if he should find his own place. Lance stalked out of the room and set the house on panic mode.

 Whoops, he said as thick steel covered the windows and outside doors. Guess you can’t leave.

 Walter had rolled his eyes then (like Lance could stop him from leaving if he wanted to), but it begged a question: what did it all mean?

 "Hey Lance.”

 Lance looked up from his phone. "Yeah?"

 "What…” He swallowed. “What are we?"

 "Uh. World-renowned spies on their way to gently kick some baddie ass?"

 Walter flushed.

 Lance peered at him. "How hard did you hit your head?"

 "Not hard." Walter twisted his hands together. Lovey landed on his shoulder and snuggled into his neck. "What I meant was...I'm not sure if we're friends."

 Lance's brow furrowed. "What are you talking about? Of course we're friends."

 "Yes. I know." Walter took a deep breath and looked into Lance's face. The warm brown of his skin and eyes. The cut of his cheekbone. "But are we...just friends?"

 "Oh." Lance rubbed the back of his neck. "I’m eleven years older than you.”

 “So?”

 “So, eleven years is a pretty big difference. You were still in diapers when I started high school.”

 “I was not still in diapers when I was three, thanks.” Lovey pecked at Walter’s cheek. He patted her absently. “I’m twenty-seven. My mom died when I was eight. I’ve been on my own since I was fifteen. I’m an adult.”

 “A young adult.” Lance sighed. “Walter, we’re friends. Why do you want to ruin our friendship for something that might not even work?”

 “Why would it ruin our friendship?” Walter demanded. “Isn’t romance just…friendship with benefits?”  

Lance choked, recovered. Stared at his hands. “I don’t know about that. But I’ll level with you. I’ve never had a friendship like ours. And I’ve never had a…a romance that didn’t end badly.”  

 “I’ve never had a friend, before,” Walter admitted. “Other than my mom, I mean. But I think this could be good. Love is always good. Why can’t you trust me?”

 "Because I...just...no."

 The GPS beeped, indicating they were almost above the drop zone.

 "Oh." Walter lowered his eyes, the old acid leaking into his veins. He read the situation wrong, again. Lance was trying to let him down gently. "It's me, isn't it? I'm too���too weird for you." He stood and shrugged on his parachute.

 Lance stared, mouth slack. “That’s not—”  

 "It's fine.” Walter tried to smile. Failed. “Time to do this thing."

 "Wait—”  

 "C'mon Lance. No time to waste." He leapt into the air, the wool coat taking the edge off the freeze.  

 ---

 Lance was in his element. He loved everything about missions—the cadence of fights, the rush of taking down a bad guy—even if he was throwing serious string instead of grenades these days. It felt better, after, anyway.

 Lance fired string at the woman manning the control desk. She splattered against the wall. A computer beeped to his right, the steady count down of a bomb or a launch. He took a split second to look at the screen: a bomb launch.

 He moved to the computer. Didn't see the woman yank her hand out of the glove that was stuck in the string and pull the gun from her pocket.

 Lance heard the bang crack through the air, and then he was on the floor.

 Only, he wasn't shot.

 Only, her bare hand was plastered back against the wall.

 Only, someone was on top of him. Someone with brown hair that smelled like pigeon feathers and chemicals.

 Someone who wasn't moving.

 "You okay, buddy?"

 Walter wheezed a breath, a hollow noise. A wrong noise.

 Forcing calm, Lance gently patted down Walter’s birdbone body. There was a damp hole in his coat, by his ribs.  

 No.

 Lance pressed the button on his watch to call the field medic, then the one for reinforcements.  

 Cradling Walter’s body in his arms, Lance rolled in a slow, smooth motion, depositing Walter on the ground. As his back tapped against the ground, Walter whimpered.

 “I’m sorry.” Lance unbuttoned Walter’s coat, unzipped his jacket. He pulled a knife from his pocket and cut Walter’s sweater open until he could see the gaping red mouth of the bullet wound in his side, going into a lung. Lance pulled off his jacket and pressed it to the wound as hard as he could.

 "You're going to be okay, Walter, do you hear me?"

 Walter smiled weakly, long canines poking into his bottom lip. "It's okay," he said, then muttered something Lance couldn't hear.

 Lance's heart beat hard against his ribcage. "What was that, Walter? Stay with me."

 A wheezing exhale. A too shallow inhale. Walter looked up at Lance with his bay-blue, gem-on-the-water eyes, color leaching from his skin.

 "Stay with me. Please," Lance begged as Walter’s eyes closed and his breath shallowed.

 ---

 It was the deep pain that finally pulled Walter back into consciousness. He blinked against the brightness of the overhead lights, throat scraped raw.

 What happened?

 "You were shot in your side." A nurse—Marlene Macon—came into focus. "The bullet fractured a rib, which pierced and collapsed your lung. You are going to be okay.”

 Oh. Oh. The mission. The gun. Lance.

 “What's your pain level?"

 "Lance?" He coughed weakly. "Is Lance okay?"

 "Right here, man." Lance stepped into the light. His normally immaculate suit was wrinkled, the white shirt brown with blood.

 "Walter," Marlene said, "your pain level?"

 "Two."

 Marlene crossed her arms, fixed him with a look not unlike his grandmother’s “I know you took apart the TV” glare.

 "Seven," he admitted.  

 "I'll let the doctor know."

 Later, after more poking and prodding than he cared to remember, Walter was finally instructed to rest. Lance still sat in the corner, oddly silent.

 "You can go home," Walter said. "I'm gonna be fine.”  

 "I'm not leaving until I can take you with me."

 "That's not very healthy."

 Lance stood, quickly. "You almost died in my arms. That's less healthy."

 "This isn't a competition—"

 "Why did you ask me if we were more than friends?"

 Walter played with the threads in his thin hospital blanket. “I'm bad at reading social cues and wanted to be sure I knew what we were," he muttered.  

 The bed dipped under Lance's weight. "Is that the only reason?"

 A deep lava-like shame burned in Walter's heart. "It's okay, Lance. We don't need to talk about this. I know you don't want me like that."

 "Did I say that?"

 "I mean, not in so many words, but--"

 "Walter Beckett, did I say I didn't want you?" Lance demanded.

 "No."

 "No. Because I..." Lance took a deep breath. "So I got scared, okay? 'Cause this—this is like nothing I've ever felt before."

 Walter chanced a glance up and met Lance's eyes, warm and shimmering in the fluorescent lights. "What about our friendship?"

 Lance smiled, slow and curling. "I think we both know we're already more than friends. Question is, do you want to take this further?"

Hope fluttered in Walter’s chest. "Are you asking if I want to date you?”  

 "Well, do you?"

 "Yes."

 Lance leaned down and kissed him, soft and undemanding. Hand shaking, heart racing, Walter reached up and traced the hard line of his jaw.

 When Lance pulled back, he wore a smirk.

 "I love you," Walter said, wide open.

 Lance’s smirk softened into a smile. “I love you, too,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to Walter’s forehead.

[moonlit-jeno]

Love Sick

Chapter 2- Donghyuck

pairing: nct dream ‘00 line + reader

genre/warnings: zombie!au, fluff, eventual smut, angst. some graphic violence/ gore

words: 2.3k

summary:

“You’re telling me that I slept through the beginning of the zombie   apocalypse.” You deadpan, expecting at least one of them to break   character and laugh. All four boys remain grim.

masterlist | prev | next

They drive for hours, Jeno eventually switching with Jaemin so that he can get some sleep. They’ve only dared to stop once so far to grab a can of gasoline, the empty gas station far too foreboding for them to feel comfortable at. And then they’re driving again, through the dark streets, headed god knows where. There’s no cell reception and GPS isn’t working, so they’re driving blind. The map Jaemin grabbed is ancient and has been folded so many times that the creases blend in with the roads.

It’s early morning when Jaemin takes a right turn that leads them down a dirt road, with the trees growing thicker and blocking out some of the sunlight. Donghyuck shudders at the fear he gets from this place.

“Are you sure we should go this way?” Renjun asks, turning behind them to see how far from the main road they are.

There’s a nod from Jaemin. “Yeah, it looks alright. No harm in exploring.” Donghyuck snorts. Sure, they’re in a fast car with locked doors, but their eyes aren’t protected from the horrific sights around them. He’s still scarred from watching the guy bash his own head in an attempt to get to them, and he doesn’t want to add any more memories to that part of his brain.

The trees get a little thinner in one area, and Donghyuck has to squint to realize that there’s a house there. “Jaem, look.”

The car slows, Jaemin and Renjun leaning closer to get a better look. Jeno is snoring in the passenger seat, having driven for the majority of the trip.

“It’s fucking massive.” Renjun points out, and he isn’t wrong. The house is at least double the size of Hyuck’s own home. “Guess land out here’s cheaper.” It’s quiet as they decide what to do, the car humming idly. Donghyuck knows what they’re all thinking, what they’re all scared to say. They can’t stay in this car forever, and this house seems perfect. Isolated, huge, probably has running water and electricity. Of course, it only seems perfect from the outside. They have no way of knowing what’s on the inside. The place could be crawling with zombies- he cringes just thinking of the word- or it could have some people who don’t take kindly to strangers. He can only pray that it’s empty and that its owners don’t plan on returning.

“We should go in.” Jaemin murmurs, pulling over to the side of the road. Renjun hums in agreement, and Donghyuck hates himself for agreeing too. It’s the logical decision, but he feels sick to his stomach at the prospect of potentially running into a zombie. At the prospect of dying.

Hyuck reaches one shaking hand forward and nudges Jeno awake. He needs his sleep, sure, but he needs to be a part of this decision. He startles awake with a sharp inhale, looking around for a second before his brain fully wakes up.

“Well, shit.” Jeno coughs to clear his throat, laughing humorlessly. “Guess it wasn’t just a bad dream?”

Renjun doesn’t seem to have the patience for small talk. “We found a house. It’s pretty secluded, and we’re going to have to stop at some point anyways. Here seems as good a place as any.” Jeno blinks before turning his head and looking at the house. He shrugs. “I guess. Who’s going in?” Silence. None of them had thought that far ahead. “Someone should stay in the car.” Renjun points out. He doesn’t add the words “in case something goes wrong”, but they all hear them anyways.

Donghyuck considers it for all of one second before he realizes that a) it would leave him alone and vulnerable, b) he’s a horrendous driver, and c) he won’t be able to handle not knowing what’s happening to his friends in the house.

“Not me.” He says, meeting Jaemin’s quirked eyebrow with a stare of his own. “What? You’ve all seen my driving.” That at least gets him a snort and a ‘fair enough’ from Jeno. Renjun shrugs. “I’ll do it.” Another beat of silence. “Guess that means we’re going in.” Jaemin says, looking from Jeno to Donghyuck. “Guess it does.” He hopes his voice isn’t shaking as badly as he thinks it is.

Jeno mumbles a ‘fuck this’ and hops out of the car, Jaemin quickly following suit. Renjun pulls them all in for a quick hug before hopping into the front seat.

The walk up to the house is both the shortest and longest walk Donghyuck has ever experienced. He needs to know if it’s empty, if there’s something inside, but he also doesn’t. His day’s been bad enough already; he doesn’t need to add ‘being chased by zombies’ to the list of things that have happened to him.

They get to the front door, and it’s surprisingly clean- no peeling paint, the tiny windows at the top of the door clear of fingerprints and dust. Donghyuck looks to the side and finds some potted plants next to a pair of shoes. Jeno and Jaemin have noticed it too.

“We should knock?”  Jaemin tries to suggest. It comes out as more of a question, and he clears his throat. “I mean, it looks like there might be someone here. They might be more willing to help us if we’re polite?” Jeno shrugs. Donghyuck glances back to the truck, engine humming softly. Renjun’s looking out the window nervously. “Right. On the count of three?” “One.” Donghyuck puts his fist up first. Jaemin and Jeno follow hesitantly.

“Two.” There so much that could go wrong. Donghyuck’s never been good at running, especially not under pressure. He wonders if an angry zombie is enough to turn him into an Olympic sprinter.

Jeno’s in a fighting stance, probably subconsciously. A habit from all his years of picking fights on the streets, before he started boxing and found a healthy way to channel his anger. He wonders if Jeno would be able to throw a punch, or if all his muscles would lock up. Donghyuck knows what would happen if he tried it himself.

“Three.” They knock together, three hands on one piece of wood. His heartbeat is pounding in his ears, stomach twisting so violently that he has to lean against Jaemin for support. He expects the door to fly open, expects 10 raging monsters to come pouring out, expects to stare straight into the barrel of an angry farmers gun. He holds his breath.

Nothing happens. Jaemin, who’s eyes had been squeezed shut, blinks at the door in confusion, leaning forward to knock again. There’s no response. He tries the doorknob, but it doesn’t budge.

“Strange. Should we break in?” Jeno asks, jumping up on his tiptoes to try and peer in through the windows at the top. It’s useless, they’re too high.

Jaemin nods and Hyuck steps back, prepared to have to ram his full body weight into the door. But the youngest just kneels down, pulling something out of his pocket before setting to work.

“Are you- where did you learn to pick a lock?” Donghyuck squints, watching the door open. Jaemin stands back up and winks, pocketing his paper clip. “That doesn’t answer my question!” They’re all slightly more at ease after no mysterious noises have come from inside. But the fear is still there, curling and stabbing at his gut. “We should check all the rooms first, make sure there’s nothing hiding.” Jeno’s suggestion is logical, of course, but that doesn’t mean Donghyuck likes it. Especially since they’d decided to split up for this part, so he can’t hide behind Jaemin or cling onto Jeno’s hand. He voices his complaints under his breath as he creaks open a door, peering into it and seeing in relief as nothing jumps out. Three more doors are opened, all devoid of zombies.

They regroup in the kitchen, Donghyuck being the last to join. Renjun’s there, groceries lining the table and floor. “Jesus, how long did I take.” Jaemin shrugs. “Pretty long. But there was no screaming, so we figured you were alright. Find anything?”

“Nah. All the rooms upstairs are empty, I even check the closets. You guys?” Two heads are shaken at him. “One of the doors was locked so I couldn’t check it, but I figure it’s fine. Didn’t want to bust it down and find out that I was wrong.” Jeno tries for humor but misses the mark. For once, Donghyuck doesn’t make fun of him.

“I was betting that you passed out in fear.” Renjun pipes up, and Donghyuck sends him a glare that he hopes is scathing. He gets a smile in return.

There’s a glass of water on the table and Donghyuck’s sandpaper mouth decides hey, that looks delicious. “Where’d you guys find the water?” Silence. The other three turn to look at the glass, the plate next to it. Jaemin swallows thickly. “It was there when we got here. Probably the owners.” Hyuck frowns, walking over to the plate. There’s breadcrumbs still on it and he pokes them. “Seems pretty fresh.” “It’s probably from yesterday. Left, figured they’d clean it when they came back.” Donghyuck feels bile rise in his throat when he realizes that they probably won’t be coming back, because they won’t be able to. It makes him think of other people that might not be coming back- namely his parents- and he shuts down that train of thought before he starts crying.

There’s another beat of silence before Renjun’s standing, walking over to the fridge. “We should take stock of what food they have. I don’t know how long we’re gonna be here, but we should eat the fresh food first. If there even is any.”

Donghyuck’s brain momentarily short circuits- it’s only been one day since the entire world seemingly turned upside down. It feels like it’s been a year.

He’s pulled out of his thoughts by Renjun shoving a plastic bag into his hands. It has four containers in it, and the receipt stapled to the bag reads that it’s from yesterday. His stomach growls.

“Shit, when’s the last time we ate?” His appetite, previously repressed by hunger, makes itself known with a by twisting itself in pain, growling again.

“Too long ago.” Jaemin says, pulling out half a container of soup. “Lunch time?”

The four boys watch impatiently as the food rotates in the microwave, the loud buzzing taunting them. The seconds count down impossibly slow, until finally it beeps. Jeno’s out of his chair in an instant, straight up moaning when the door opens and the scent of Chinese takeout fills the air. “It smells so good.”

“It’s also mine.” That voice doesn’t belong to any of them. All four boys freeze, whipping around to face the source.

A girl stands in the doorway, leaning against the wall. She looks to be around their age. “The cops are on their way. Figured I’d at least give you a chance to avoid jail.” Renjun, always the sharpest, easily replies. “No they aren’t. The phone lines are down. Nice try, though.”

She frowns. “Shit. Are you here to kill me then? Or just to eat my food?” The way she asks the question is so calm, it’s as if she’s asking about the weather. Donghyuck can’t help his giggle. She glances at him and he quickly calms his expression.

“We’re hiding. We thought this house was empty, but apparently these three couldn’t do their job right.” Renjun motions to the other boys, and okay, wow. He feels a little attacked.

“I didn’t check one room because it was locked!” Jeno exclaims, exasperated.

They start bickering, and Hyuck turns his attention back to the girl. She’s wearing a shirt that looks like it’s three sizes too big, the hem reaching past whatever pants she’s wearing. Her hair looks like it hasn’t been brushed in about a week, and there’s smudges of leftover makeup around her eyes. She’s pretty- not the time to be focusing on these things, but whatever, he can’t help it- even though she’s half asleep and looks about ready to give up and go back to bed. The biggest yawn he’s ever seen leaves her and then she’s walking over to the counter, plopping down on it.

“Sorry, hiding from who? I’m going to tell you right now that I will not be happy if the feds come knocking down my door.” She swings her legs back and forth, the action revealing neon pink sleep shorts.

The four boys all share a look. Jaemin opens his mouth, then closes it, considering the options. Obviously they have to tell her the truth, but there’s not really a way to say it that won’t sound crazy. There’s no evidence to back them up. No internet access to show her proof.

They have a silent conversation for a while- consisting of a lot of furrowed brows and widening eyes- before Donghyuck has enough and leans back in his seat, turning to her. “Zombies.” She snorts. “Yeah, I’m sure. Honestly, if you would’ve said aliens, I would’ve let you stay. But zombies? That’s kind of lame, don’t you think.” Renjun rolls his eyes. “Believe me, I wouldn’t be hiding from aliens. They would be hiding from me.” It’s Jeno’s turn to roll his eyes. “Injun, that’s not helping.” “We’re not joking.” Jaemin says, glaring at the other two before turning his attention to the girl. “Believe me, I wish it was. And I know it sounds crazy, but we saw it happen right in front of us.”

“You’re telling me that I slept through the beginning of the zombie   apocalypse.” She deadpans, obviously expecting at least one of them to break character and laugh.

All four boys remain grim.

The smile quickly fades into a frown and she looks at them more carefully. Maybe it’s the fear and pain in their eyes at the memory of yesterday’s events. Maybe she can see through all of them, can see the horrifying images that are printed on the back of their eyelids. Whatever it is, she finally seems to believe them.

“You’re serious?” They all nod. “Shit.” She hops off the counter, walking over to them. “Pass me the food, you have some explaining to do.”

[thescatterbrainedwriter]

Unexpected Karaoke

Part 2.

~~~

Emily laughed again, a bit louder than last time, when everyone began clapping once again. She covered her face in embarrassment but grinned wide. “Ok, alright. That’s it, I’m done. That was your last one,” she said still smiling as she stepped away from the mic amid the multitude of protests and complaints. “One more,” Harry called.

“What?” Emily asked.

“One more,” Harry repeated. “Just one more.”

Emily huffed a little annoyed. “I’ve already given you two ‘one more’s’,” she complained. “I was supposed to inspire someone else to come up too, not take the stage for myself.”

“Please,” Harry asked softly. Emily’s heart skipped hearing the pleading sincerity in his voice and seeing it in his eyes. Even Jessie was surprised at how genuinely insistent he sounded. The rest of the room started pleading as well, some even chanting ‘one more’ over and over. She puffed her cheeks and let out a long sigh before turning in her heels to return to the mic. “I’m too much of a pushover. That’s my problem,” she said playfully as the room clapped encouragingly. “Alright, last time GP,” she said as the little drone began playing happily again.

*Used to keep it cool*

*Used to be a fool*

*All about the bounce in my step*

*Watch it on the news*

*Whatcha gonna do?*

*I could hit refresh and forget*

*Used to keep it cool*

*Should I keep it light?*

*Stay out of the fight?*

*No one's gonna listen to me*

*If I write a song*

*Preaching what is wrong*

*Will they let me sing on TV?*

*Should I keep it light?*

*Is that right?*

Having completely given up, Emily puts her everything into this song, even creating minor illusions on the walls to enhance the atmosphere. Going along with the song, she makes it look like the room has suddenly levitated high into the air above the city while everyone stayed in their seats and treats everyone to a sensory trip.

*Way up, way up we go*

*Been up and down that road*

*Way up, way up, oh no*

*We gon' burn the whole house down*

*Watch me stand in the line*

*You're only serving lies*

*You've got something to hide*

*We gon' burn the whole house down*

*We gon' burn the whole house down*

Dropping the previous illusion, Emily brings everyone back to the room before giving the appearance the ceiling is on fire for a moment before ‘putting it out’ with a wave of her hand.

*Yeah, used to let it go*

*Walk into the show*

*Gawking at the tricks up your sleeve*

*Too good to be true*

*Fool, I'm in a room*

*Full of entertainers and thieves*

*Used to let it go*

*Woah, oh no*

The illusions cycle around again similar to the last set though rather than above the city, Emily makes it look as though they’re high in the atmosphere even going as far as to levitate everyone and thing in the room.

*Way up, way up we go*

*Been up and down that road*

*Way up, way up, oh no*

*We gon' burn the whole house down*

*Watch me stand in the line*

*You're only serving lies*

*You've got something to hide*

*We gon' burn the whole house down*

*We gon' burn the whole house down*

*Should I hang my head low?*

*Should I bite my tongue?*

*Or should I march with every stranger from Twitter to get shit done?*

*Used to hang my head low*

*Now I hear it loud*

*Every stranger from Twitter is gonna burn this down*

Lowering her voice, she gets close to the mic, voice trying to hide the anticipation of the final leg of the song, a mischievous smile on her face all the while. Harry and Jessie leaned over the table in excitement to see what it is she would do, everyone else in the room doing similar things though due to the lower volume.

*Way up, way up we go*

*Been up and down that road*

*Way up, way up, oh no*

*We gon' burn the whole house down*

*Watch me stand in the line (whoa oh)*

*You're only serving lies (yeah)*

*You've got something to hide*

*We gon' burn the whole house down*

The crowd, having been infected by her charisma, begin clapping in time to the beat of the song. After creating what looked like a fire ball in her hand, she snaps her fingers setting the whole room on fire including herself, her outfit changing from her green blouse and brown pants to a sleek black dress as she closed out the song.

*(Woah oh, yeah)*

*We gon' burn the whole house down*

Raising her arms with dramatic flair two large wings appear behind her wreathed in flame, even her eyes and hair seemed to glow from the display.

*We burn it down, we burn it down*

*We gon' burn the whole house down*

As quickly as it appeared, the illusions of her fire, dress and wings disappear leaving her and the room as they were before. Stunned silence followed and Emily just grinned. “How’s that for a finale?” She asked. After a brief pause a crescendo of applause filled the room lead by Harry and Jessie. Emily bowed and left the mic returning to the table Harry and Jessie were now standing at. “That was awesome!” Jessie exclaimed brandishing a bright smile. “How did you.....?”

“I made a field on the entire inside of the room and bent light to create the illusions,” Emily explained. Jessie mouthed the word ‘woah’ continuing to stare wide eyed at her. She smiled over at Harry and before he could say anything the young woman and her friends from before swarmed her with praises. “That was amazing!” One of the swooned. “Yeah, you were so good!” Fawned another. “Can’t you sing one more?” Pleaded the last one. “I.... uh.....” Emily stuttered in surprise unsure of how to answer. Jessie cut in and pulled her away by an arm putting her between her and Harry in order to put some protective distance between her and her now very enthusiastic groupies. “No, no, she’s done. Didn’t you hear?”

“Ugh, Jessie Wells,” scowled one. “Why do you always get to do everything cool?”

“Just lucky I guess,” she said smugly. “Now if you’ll excuse us, we have a date to get back to,” Jessie said pulling Emily toward the door with Harry following close behind. Before she left, the young woman managed to grab Emily’s other arm and stopped her. “Make sure you come back and sing for us again, ok?” she said hugging her arm making Emily really very uncomfortable especially with the eyes she was making at her. “I.... uh..... I can’t make any..... p-promises...” she stuttered slipping her arm free and pushing toward the door. Once they left and were a fair distance away Emily was finally able to breathe and took the opportunity to smack Harry’s arm. “Hey, ow!” He said in surprise rubbing his arm. “That’s for getting the whole place going, twice!” Emily scolded. Harry smiled innocently and shrugged. “You were really good!” He defended. Emily glared at him, slight smirk at the corner of her mouth as she tried not to laugh.

“Why don’t we head back to the lab?” Jessie asked trying to change the subject. “It’s getting kinda late and I’m sure she’ll be expected back soon.” Emily continued to glare at Harry, who had begun to get nervous, still trying not to laugh as Jessie slowly pushed her forward. “Yeah, suppose I should get back,” she agreed letting the smirk slip allowing Harry to relax a little. “You live another day, Harrison,” she teased. Harry chuckled following them with a relaxed pace, Emily and Jessie carrying on conversation all the way back to the lab. “I really appreciate you guys showing me around,” Emily said as they walked the empty halls. “I had a lot of fun.”

“I’m glad,” Harry said with a smile.

“We should do this again,” Jessie added. “Maybe we’ll run into your groupies again.” Emily cringed a little pushing her a bit. “No, I think I’m done with singing for a while. In public anyway,” Emily dismissed. “What about present company?” Jessie asked. She paused and pondered the question. “I dunno, might put me into an endless loop of ‘one more’” she teased. Harry sighed with a smile looking down at the floor. “Alright, lets get you back home before you beat me up some more,” Harry chuckled leading the way to the breach room. Emily and Jessie giggled following behind him and they made small talk all the way down. “Give me a minute and I’ll have you back safe and sound,” Harry said approaching the command terminal when they reached the room.

“Do you really have to go?” Jessie asked. “You really do make a great addition here.”

“I’ve been established on that Earth,” Emily replied. “I’m pretty attached and rooted there. Plus, someone has to play parent.” Jessie chuckled but sighed sadly. “You sure there isn’t anything, or anyone, that could convince you otherwise?” She asked hopefully. Harry coughed over hearing their conversation and tried to look busy to throw off suspicion. “Well, I do have a reason or two to come back again,” Emily said with a smirk. “Even if it is just for a short visit.”

“Yeah well, who knows,” Jessie shrugged. “Maybe one day you will stay.”

“Maybe, you never know,” Emily smiled.

“And, there we go,” Harry said clearing his throat as a breach opened. Emily and Jessie turned to see a swirling portal bloom before them, Earth 1 on the other side waiting to welcome Emily back. He stood up at the top of the stairs while Emily gave Jessie a hug goodbye. “Time for me to go,” she said sadly. “Yeah, even though you should reeeally stay,” Jessie tried pleading again but Emily just smiled. “Oh! Wait, before I go....” Emily said running to the stairs. “Harry, I have something for you!” Harry blinked surprised at her. “You do?”

“Yeah,” she smiled before pulling out a small device. “I brought you your own communication relay. And some replacement parts in case anything happens.” Harry smiled wide and laughed. “Ah, so you did!”

Emily nodded with a smile. “Now you don’t have to steal Jessie’s.”

“Yes, finally!” Jessie cheered from below. Emily glanced back with a smile before returning her attention to Harry. “I have a few frequencies already programmed in,” she explained. “Jessie is first and foremost. Then your Lab, then Earth 1’s lab, then Cisco....”

“Are you programmed in there somewhere?” Harry asked hopefully. Emily smiled raising an eyebrow. “After Cisco is me. You can get ahold of me even if I’m off world.”

“I can?” He asked

“You can,” she confirmed. “Just, try not to make midnight or later calls a regular or frequent thing? A girl needs her sleep.” Harry paused before laughing again. “That’s no fun,” he half whined. “But sure, I’ll try to do that only 5 times a week.” Emily pursed her lips crossing her arms and tapped a foot. “Kidding,” Harry recovered. “Not that often anyway.”

“Mhmm...” Emily muttered before turning around. Harry smiled innocently as she headed back down and gave Jessie one last hug goodbye. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he behaves,” Jessie said with a wink. Emily smiled and waved goodbye to Harry, turning on her heels she walked into the breach and back home.

The breach room on Earth 1 was dark when she arrived as it was quite late and everyone had long since left for home. Sighing deeply Emily made her way up to her accommodations, becoming aware of how tired she was as she got closer to her bed. Perhaps she would just sleep in her cloths tonight, it seemed like much too much work to change. As she rounded the corner with her room in sight she got a surprise call on her relay. Opening her holo-headset she was surprised to see Harry. “Harry, hey! What a surprise,” she said rubbing her eye.

He chuckled. “Hi, yeah, it’s me. Just wanted to.... test it out. You know, make sure it worked.”

“You doubt my engineering skills?”

“I— wha— no, I—“ he stuttered making Emily giggle. “I’m just teasing....” she said tiredly. “Was this a bad time?” He asked after a pause noting her sleepy voice. “No no, you’re fine,” she dismissed. “I just..... didn’t realized how ragged you ran me today. Haven’t gotten to bed yet.”

“Ah, I see. Ok....” he trailed off. Emily giggled tiredly. “Harry.... you still there....?” she asked after a long pause. “.....Yeah?” His voice cracked. “Yeah, I’m still here.”

“Ok.... well I have..... to get some sleep.....” she said in drawn out sleepy sections before yawning. “The team will be here in a few hours after all....”

“Ah...r-right....” Harry paused. “Goodnight then.”

“Goodniiiiiight Harry....” Emily trailed tiredly before flopping down on her bed. She fell asleep shortly after her head hit the mattress leaving her relay open, Harry stayed connected for a few minutes listening to her soft breathing. He hadn’t realized how long those few minutes were until Jessie walked by his door. “Hey, why are you still up?” She asked squinting from the light of the relay.

“Oh, uh, just.... testing the relay,” he stuttered. “Just making sure it works. That’s all.”

“C’mon dad, Estrata made it. You know it works.” Jessie said with a slight yawn.

“No, I did not,” Harry protested. “It’s new technology, something I didn’t make myself so I needed to test it.” Jessie just smirked mischievously at him. “You just wanted her to be your first call, didn’t you?”

“I— wha— no! That’s silly,” Harry tried denying. “Shouldn’t you be in bed??” Jessie rolled her eyes. “Sure dad, whatever you say. Goodnight, don’t stay up too late,” she said continuing on to her room. Harry sat in the dark trying to calm the embarrassment that was slowly trying to write itself over his face from having been caught. It honestly surprised him with how bothered being “caught” made him, had he really become that fond of her? He pondered the revelation and got butterflies, a smile appearing on his face. It had been a while since he felt remotely like this and it scared him. She had warned she could be ripped away at any moment through no intent of her own, if he did indeed feel the way he thought he did he wasn’t sure he could handle another loss like that. Still, he didn’t particularly dislike the feeling. He would have to take things slow and see, and under no circumstance let Jessie know. *She will never leave me alone about this,* he thought to himself. Pausing one last time he finally closed the connection and stood. “Maybe I’ll call her tomorrow,” he mused to himself shuffling to his room. “This will be interesting.....”

————————••••••••————————

~Fin~

Hope you enjoyed! Lemme know what you think! 🥔🎨

[hvlfwygod]

birthday | chase & ben

summary: shared weed, dreams, and a new discovery

Chase checked his phone at a rest stop and sighed at the combination of birthday messages and 4/20 messages and various other messages. He didn't have the Wifi to respond to them yet, and hadn't considered the fact that he wouldn't have service in Canada. He looked up at Ben as he tried to connect to the spotty rest stop internet for his GPS. "You know what day it is?" It was the first thing he'd said to him all day.

Ben was shivering. A sweater, coat, scarf, hat, gloves, and two pairs of socks, and Ben was still shivering. He had no idea how people lived up here, and he wished Chase would hurry up so they could go back into the RV. He was sitting at a table outside, trying to catch some fresh air. Chase had locked the doors, though, so he was stuck waiting in the cold. He glanced over to Chase when he was spoken to, frowning. His brow furrowed. "Um... Monday, April, oh. Four-twenty."

"Yes." Chase connected to the WIFI and tapped the table in between Ben. He took a few screenshots of directions and slid his phone back into his pocket as he started back towards the RV. "It's my birthday. It's four-twenty. We're going to a dispensary, and I'm getting high as fuck tonight once I'm done driving. Are you going to join me so I can actually stand you?"

Ben's frown deepened. He wasn't sure if it would be a relief or dangerous to get high in front of Chase. "Do you think it's a good idea to do that?"

Chase climbed into the front seat and turned the car on before responding to Ben. "I gave you an offer that you can choose to take." He held out his phone, unlocked, so that Ben could navigate for him.

Ben followed Chase into the RV. Once he was seated, he didn't remove any of his layers save for one glove, so he could use Chase's phone. He looked out the window. "You can do what you want." But he thought about it some more. They'd been on this trip for a few days that felt like forever, endless driving and alternated sleeping, Ben sitting up all night keeping watch. He was already stressed out, tense and getting tenser. He could stand to relax. Ben exhaled slowly. "And yeah, if you get some, I'll join you."

Chase hummed to acknowledge Ben, but didn't say much else. He put his glasses on so that he would strain his eyes less during the hours on the road. They made one stop at a dispensary and another for gas, but they didn't speak past asking when an exit was coming up or to skip to the next song. At one point, Ben told him to drive straight for the next fifty miles, took the pendant from Chase, and went to take a nap. At least when he was asleep, Chase didn't have to see him, sad and shivering beside him. When they stopped for the evening, Chase sat down in the back of the RV and began to roll a joint. "Do you smoke often?"

Ben was still blinking the sleep from his eyes when Chase started rolling. He was standing in the RV's small kitchen, brewing a cup of coffee. "A bit," he said. "It's been a while." He thought if he told Chase who he usually smoked with, he'd get hit, so he decided to leave that detail out. The machine beeped, indicating that his drink was done. Ben added a single packet of sugar before he walked over to the table.

Chase rubbed his eye and exhaled a sigh as he found a pencil in his pocket, packed the weed down a bit, and twisted the top of the joint shut. "Yeah, I stopped for a bit, since it made me tired, while the whole... thing was happening." It was somewhat weird that he could relate to Ben in a such a specific way, through shared experience, and he frowned as he began to roll a second joint, placing the first down on the table in front of him. "Anyway, that was my first time buying weed legally. Gotta say that I prefer Crooke."

The whole... thing. Just mentioning it like this put a strange weight onto the conversation. Ben nodded. "Yeah," he mumbled into his cup. "Same. I kept drinking, though, which was probably stupid.”

"Yeah." Chase almost laughed after he agreed with Ben. "I drank more, actually, after it started. I don't know why, just because I'm dumb as fuck, I guess." He ran a hand through his hair and shook his head as he searched his pocket for a lighter. He wasn't typically this... casual with Ben, but something about the fact that it was his birthday, and that he was missing his friends who had given him an Iris message from his own closet earlier that day made him feel somewhat sentimental. He put the joint between his teeth as he found his lighter. "Do you want to come into the bathroom with me? I think I'm gonna hotbox it."

Ben had the tiniest smile, almost pleased that he'd gotten more than a few words as a reply. Maybe a few days of near silence had made him crave conversation. He took a few gulps of his coffee while watching Chase finish the joint. The offer gave him pause, but ultimately, Ben nodded. "Sure." He finished his coffee quickly and stood to follow Chase.

Chase nodded and slid the door of the bathroom open. With just Chase inside, the bathroom was cosy enough. With the two of them, it was downright cramped. While he didn't want to be close to Ben at all, there was a level of touch that Chase was used to; he was practically always in contact with someone, and so the proximity, though not entirely welcome, was not suffocating to him. He lit the joint, took a few long hits, and then held it out to Ben as he exhaled. "Happy 4/20."

The conversation and close proximity was making Ben suspicious. Maybe he was so used to so much silent resentment coming off of Chase that Ben couldn't quiet feel comfortable when he behaved otherwise. Ben took the joint and slowly took a hit, trying not to cough. When it seemed safe, he took a few more. The bathroom went hazy. "Thanks, man," Ben said, handing the joint back. Already, he was feeling it, his mind starting to buzz.

Something about Ben's thanks sent a spike of anger through Chase that he hadn't expected. He took another hit to keep himself from commenting on it, and was calm by the time he exhaled. "Whatever. I haven't been high in so long." The bathroom was already full of smoke. "I miss my closet." Chase leaned against the wall, took another hit, and then held the joint out for Ben.

Ben should have declined, as he was already getting high very quickly, but he took the joint when it was offered to him. Ben put it between his lips and inhaled. "Your hotbox closet, right?" he asked. He couldn't tell if there was smoke coming out of his mouth or if that had already been floating in the air.

“No, man, my linen closet.” Chase laughed, unable to help himself. “Fuckin’ duh my hotbox closet.” He leaned back and closed his eyes, floating in space.

When Chase laughed, it was like a small pressure had been lifted. Ben hesitated, then laughed with him. “Yeah, yeah, of course.” He took another hit and watched the smoke swirl underneath the ceiling’s lights. “Did you get to talk to anyone for your birthday?”

Chase opened his eyes so that he would stop spinning and moved so that he could press his cheek to the wall. “Yeah. Iris message from the gang. I’m glad my legacy is living on in my absence.” He reached his hand out for the joint. “They said I should get high and talk to them later, but it’s hard to make a rainbow with no sun.”

Ben nodded, his hand floating up to pass along the joint. He blinked once, twice, while a thought moved in and out of his head a few times before he could put it to words. "You could record yourself right now and send it when there's wifi?"

Chase took the joint but didn't smoke for a moment. He blinked slowly and tilted his head at Ben. "That's... not a bad idea," he said skeptically.

Ben shrugged. "I have some good ideas.... Very occasionally." He chuckled to himself.

Chase snorted in response and took a hit from the joint. He slid down the wall to crunch himself up and take a seat on the floor of the shower. He pulled his phone from his back pocket and mussed his hair up. He exhaled a sigh with a cloud of smoke and changed it so that his nose was slightly less crooked. "Do you think the Canadian government is just selling all the weed they confiscated back when it was illegal?"

Ben gave a small, bewildered laugh. "Um, nah," he said, leaning against the wall, shoving his good hand in his pocket. The other he left hanging at his side, and he was hyperaware of where it was the whole time, fingertips colder than the rest of him. "I'm sure all the cops smoked that shit as soon as they took it. There was none left to sell."

Chase started recording and gave a smile to the camera as he made the 'hang loose' movement with one hand. He coughed at the joke as he took another hit, eyes watering as he wheezed out a laugh. "Fuck." He put his phone down and reached up to place the joint on the edge of the sink. He buried his face in his elbow as he coughed and shook his head. "Fuck," he repeated as he picked up his phone and shut the video off. "That was fuckin' perfect, thanks," he said with a laugh, not looking at Ben.

Ben was still, despite the high, on edge. He felt like Frank his first day in the apartment, treading carefully for every step, not entirely sure what was safe yet. When Chase coughed and laughed, Ben smiled but resisted the urge to do more. Would he get annoyed if Ben's voice was too loud in the video? Would he think Ben was laughing at him? It wasn't totally clear why Ben was so worried about this, but even now he couldn't totally relax. He waited until the video was off until he spoke again. "No problem," he said, smiling at the ceiling. "Is weed stronger in Canada? I'm really fucking high."

Chase closed his eyes and started floating again. “Fuckin’... maybe. I’m high as shit.” His leaned his head back against the wall and looked over at Ben, hair turning a blue-grey that matched the smoke curling off of the still-lit joint. “Could be the hotbox.” He inhaled, feeling lighter than before he walked into the bathroom, and rested a hand on his chest, smiling. “I forget what it’s like being high every time I take a break, y’know?”

Ben's eyes drifted over to Chase, watching his hair change color. He wondered if that was actually happening or if he was so high he was seeing things again. It felt a little too close to the sleep-deprived hallucinations of the previous week, and Ben looked away so he wouldn't dwell on it. "Yeah," he mumbled. "The last time I smoked was before I went to Boston. Which feels like," he blinked, "a lifetime ago."

Chase looked at Ben, eyes swimming. “Cyrus smoked me up right before we left.” He inhaled and then shook his head. “Wanna stay in here for a few more and then grab some hot cheetos or something?”

He wasn’t sure if this was a courtesy ask or if Chase was actually willing to carry on this conversation. “Really?” Ben asked, then immediately regretted it. He closed his eyes. “Stupid question. Sure.”

Chase snorted, almost agreeing with Ben, though he felt that leaving it unspoken was good enough. He pushed himself up to stand after a few moments with a small groan, and finally put the blunt out in the sink before shoving it into a shirt pocket. He pushed the door open and was hit with a blast of fresh air. "Wow," he said quietly, mostly to himself. He walked over to a cupboard where he'd stored snacks away from the last stop. "I'm gonna play music too."

"Go for it," Ben said, following Chase out. He paused, then decided to wait for Chase back at the table instead of hovering in the kitchen. Walking was strange and required a lot of focus, as was sitting back down. "We should listen to Circa Survive," he suggested, glancing back at Chase. "They're fun to listen to stoned."

Chase grabbed hot cheetos from the cupboard and two bottles of water. He put one of the bottles on the table before taking a seat on the floor. "Do you have any of their music? I don't."

Ben nodded a few too many times as he pulled out his phone. Once they'd realized that they were going to be without service, Ben had spent an hour using a rest stop's wifi to download as much music as he could. "Tell me if you hate it," he said as he let a song—Living Together— play. He put the phone down on the table and twisted off the lid of the water bottle.

Chase laid down on the floor, knees sticking up in the air. He ate a few cheetos as he tried to figure out if he hated the song or not. It wasn't something he'd think to put on, but he did like it. "This seems like the kind of music you'd listen to."

This made Ben laugh more than anything else that had been said tonight. "I mean... Yeah. Loud sad music? I listen to them all the time."

"Hm." Something about that made Chase almost request that Ben turn the music off. He ate another cheeto and stared at the ceiling. "I used to listen to shit like that. Now it's more... do you know Autoheart?"

Ben shook his head. "Nope. Do you have them on your phone?"

Chase nodded and pulled out his phone, waiting for the current song to finish before he put on Lent. "I love this song when I'm high. I feel like I can feel every note." He closed his eyes again. It felt nice to be talking to someone, even if it was the person he wanted to be talking to the least.

Ben paused his own music and leaned back in the seat, eyes closed while he listened. His head moved slightly to the beat. He never thought he'd be doing this with Chase, but he wasn't going to complain. "I don't know what I was expecting," he admitted when the song ended. "But I see what you mean. That was really cool."

Chase nodded, ignoring the spike of anger that ran through him as Ben spoke. He hated being angry, and wished that being high would stop him from thinking about how much he hated Ben fully, rather than just dulling it. "Yeah." He exhaled and ate another cheeto. "Where'd you put the pendant? I might sleep soon."

As if summoned by the mention of sleep, Ben yawned. "It's on the bed." He took a drink of water. "Maybe this was a bad call," he said calmly. "Do you mind if I play music until I come down? I might fall asleep otherwise."

Chase yawned when Ben did and rubbed his eye. "Cool." He sat up and ran a hand through his hair, not having considered that Ben would not be able to sleep until he was done. "Yeah, man, do whatever you need." He took the water from the table and turned it bright blue before he drank a bit of it.

Ben yawned again, then sighed when he realized Chase took and drank his water. He was suddenly, terrifyingly, very tired, but he tried to brush it off before his high slid into paranoia. He stood from the table and wandered back into the kitchen, grabbing a new bottle of water and finishing it in a few large gulps. He opened the kitchen window, too, hoping the fresh air might help. But the second the cold hit his face he shook his head and closed it. "Fucking freezing," he muttered. "How do people live up here..."

Chase frowned as he heard Ben yawn again and followed him with his eyes. "With lots of layers?" He stood so that he could go to the bed and grab the necklace, then sighed deeply. "Do you move much in your sleep?"

Ben frowned at Chase. What kind of question was that? “Not really, no.”

Chase sighed again and held the necklace up by its chain. "This is long enough to wrap around both our wrists... If you're tired." He frowned.

He blinked, then paused, waiting for Chase to add that he was kidding. When it didn’t happen, Ben blinked again. “I... that’s not...” He ran a hand down his face. “Okay, yeah, I appreciate it.”

Chase sighed again and nodded. "Whatever, I don't want you falling asleep and dying on me. If you move and break it I will kill you though."

"Sounds fair," he said. He hadn't even changed out of his sleep clothes before they'd started smoking. This was so strange to him, Ben almost started laughing. "Um, okay, whenever you want to go to bed."

Chase pulled his shirt off and picked the end of the joint off of the floor as it fell out of his pocket. He changed into something to sleep in before relighting the joint. "Yeah. You want another hit before we go?"

Ben busied himself with throwing out the empty water bottles while Chase changed. He double checked that all the windows and doors were locked, then returned to the bed as Chase was lighting the joint. "Yeah, might as well," he said. He took the joint and inhaled, then passed it back and sat on the bed. His left hand was still in the cast, so he rolled his right sleeve up.

Chase breathed out and moved to the bathroom to brush his teeth, putting the joint out in the sink again as he did. He returned, shook his head, and almost smiled as he put his wrist against Ben's to wrap the necklace around them. "Like handcuffs, eh?" He laughed to himself.

Ben snorted. "Or some fucked up bonding exercise." He paused. "Uh, thanks again." He leaned over to the light switch, extending his left arm so he didn't pull on the chain. "Ready?"

Chase bit back a comment about sleeping with his sister's ex but smiled to himself. "Uh..." He picked up the stuffed bear that Ellie bought him while he was in the hospital, and put it between them as he found a comfortable position. "Yeah, go ahead."

Ben flipped the light off and settled into the bed. He took after Chase and pretended that he was alone, that the weird pressure on his right wrist was nothing. But he was tired— sleeping in a moving vehicle while the sun was still shining could only be so restful— and the high carried him into sleep fairly quickly.

He was in the same starry dome, and Chase was by his side. With two of them there, the place seemed a little more alive. Like he could see better. He could make out the shapes beyond the sphere of protection a little more clearly.

Chase hadn't considered that when he fell asleep, Ben might be in the dream with him. He sighed and pulled his arm up to make sure that they weren't connected. Thankfully, they weren't attached in the dreamscape. "Gods." He exhaled and then squinted at Ben. "You lucid?”

Ben looked to Chase, wary. The last time he shared a dream with Chase had been a disaster. But they were safe, still, and he felt in control. "Yeah," he replied. "Lucid."

Chase considered his options for a moment, then acted before he could think about it too much and decide not to. He turned quickly and punched Ben in the face. He shook his hand out, somewhat satisfied. "Long overdue."

Ben idly wondered if the blow would leave a mark on his cheek in the waking world. He stumbled a bit, blinking rapidly. "What the hell?" He backed away from Chase, the guard that he hadn't realized he'd lowered snapping right back up. "Is this the reason why you wanted to do this?"

"No." Chase shook his hand again and turned away from Ben to look at the stars, stepping out towards the ledge. "The opportunity just presented itself, and I didn't get anything else for my birthday this year." He conjured a small stuffed animal so that he could hold it and thought about the couch in his house, then it appeared, and he took a seat.

Ben didn't want to be anywhere near Chase. He was dreaming, but he felt awake and cold and shaking, his heart panicking in his chest. He walked as fast as he could, and the stars stretched out seemingly endlessly. Ben glanced over his shoulder and Chase was still on the couch, a safe distance away. He closed his eyes and forced himself to calm down. Once he had the thought, it was like the stars took his fear in their hands and sent it away. Clearheaded, he kept walking. Shadows moved in the distance, now larger and sharper than before. Slowly, he got closer. He could see a row of boats docked, a string of colorful buildings, a lighthouse in the distance. And, an old woman, looking through him. Ben scrambled back, and was suddenly right beside Chase. He looked back at him, face serious. "I found something."

Chase sat back on the couch and watched the stars, then created bubbles that he watched float up and up and up. He wished that he could leave the pendant, go dream with Jesse or Koda or anyone, anyone that wasn't Ben. He almost jumped when Ben was beside him, and he frowned at him. "What?"

Ben took a deep breath. "I found her. And, I saw a lighthouse." He frowned. "It might be where we need to go. I was— I was still here, but I could see her and where she was."

Chase froze. He knew exactly who he was talking about, and shook his head. "No, no. She... Where is she?" He licked his lips and hugged the stuffed animal to his chest. "Was the lighthouse all stripey and weird?"

Ben nodded. "I... yeah. Yeah. I don't think she could touch me. We're still safe." He looked to where he had been standing. The vague outline of a town was beyond the veil. "I'm going to try to figure out where it is."

Chase shuddered and turned his head to where Ben was looking. "You think we can see her and she can't see us?"

Ben steeled himself. "I think so. She didn't seem to see me."

Chase frowned and stood, then started moving to where Ben had been. "Show me."

Ben kept a healthy distance from Chase as he guided him back to where he had stood. The town came back into focus, images shifting in front of him. Sometimes, the woman was there, sometimes it was a neutral view of a street, sometimes Ben thought he could literally see the place withering. It didn't make sense outside of a dream, he was pretty sure, but Ben knew this had to be the place they needed to go. "We just need a name."

Chase frowned at the images. "I've seen this before." He shuddered. "I saw this place in my dream." He swallowed back his fear and closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on what he was saying and guide it as he would a dream. A storefront showed up. Bonavista's finest fish. He pointed. "That's it. Bonavista."

Ben stared at the storefront and nodded. "Bonavista," he said, committing it to memory. "Okay, let's go before she sees us."

Chase shuddered again. "Fuck. You think she can?" He took a step back and shook his head, creating trees between him and the images, as though that might form an actual barrier between him and the hag.

Ben stayed several feet away from Chase as he walked, shoulders hunched, arms crossed over his chest. "I have no idea," he admitted. "But I don't want to risk it."

Chase nodded. "Yeah, good idea." He ran a hand through his hair and thought about this for the rest of the dream.

A few hours later, Chase opened his eyes and sighed. He blinked sleep from his eyes and reached over to unclip the clasp of the necklace, releasing him and Ben. He rubbed his face. "Bonavista... We have to look that up." He yawned and sat up. "Do you think we should use the thing to like... see what's up with the hag again?"

As soon as his wrist was free, Ben sat up and got out of the bed. He’d woken up before Chase and had laid there, waiting, for close to an hour. His face didn’t hurt and he was pretty sure there wasn’t going to be a bruise, but everything in his body still wanted him to get away. With nowhere else to sit, he stood awkwardly a few feet away, running a hand through his hair. “Are you going to hit me every time we do?”

Chase rolled his eyes. "No, but we can do it alone if you don't trust me."

Ben looked away from him, shaking his head. "It's probably... safer, if we check on her together. I guess." He shrugged. "Let's find a place with wifi and figure out where to go."

[procrastinatingnerd]

Test Results

A/N: Damn Jean, back at it again with the logicality fluff? You're damn right! I guess there's some light angst in this as well, I'm not really sure what counts as angst tbh. Anywho, I hope you guys like it!

Logan fidgeted in his seat. He was never the type to be nervous in a hospital, but he was also never the one they were there for. he felt something touch his hand, and looked over to see Patton giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Hey. It’s gonna be okay. If there was something to worry about they would have found it by now.” Logan gave him a small smile, and they were quiet for a few minutes, until Patton spoke up again.

“Weren’t we in this room the last time we were here?” Logan looked around, paying attention to the small details of the room. They were in the doctor’s office, and their doctor in particular liked to decorate his desk and the shelves behind it with various personal photos and medical awards. Immediately Logan was able to recognise the picture of their doctor, a man they could only assume was his husband, and their three children, all in matching halloween costumes. He gave a small laugh.

“You’re right. What was it we were here for? Your stomach flu?”

“No I think it was Deedee’s cough. You’d gotten worried it was something bigger, so we came racing down here. Missed our film at the cinema for it too.” Patton replied. Logan turned to him with an offended look on his face.

“I was worried? I only suggested the hospital because you were the one freaking out, googling symptoms he didn’t even have!”

“He’s 2, of course I was freaking out!”

“It was a cough! Children cough sometimes, it happens!” Logan said, his voice getting louder.

“Well you don’t have to shout at me about it!” Tears started forming in Patton’s eyes, and he shifted in his seat until he was facing away from Logan. The room was quiet again, aside from the muffled sounds of Patton trying to hold back tears. Patton’s anxiety when it came to their children’s health was always a contentious topic in their relationship. Logan knew it came from love, but Patton had a tendency to go overboard whenever someone in the household was ill. More often than not it always ended in a fight, something neither of them wanted to do, especially in front of the boys.

Logan carefully placed his hand on Patton’s shoulder. “Hey.” he winced slightly as Patton shrugged his off. Logan thought for a second, and continued. “Remember when Virgil was six?”

Patton turned around, cocking an eyebrow. “He was six for a whole year Lo, you’re going to have to be more specific,” He said, a bitter look still on his face.

Logan took a breath. “Okay, fair point. I mean when he first started showing signs of his depression. He looked slightly off once and you had us rush him to the GP.”

“Why would you bring that up, that day was horrible!” Patton raised his voice again, wiping tears from his eyes.

Logan put his hands up slightly in surrender. “At the time, yes, but look what came from it. If you hadn’t raced him down there, he wouldn’t have been diagnosed so soon, and he wouldn’t have his therapist. You got his the help he needed without even knowing he needed it.”

Catching on to what Logan was trying to do, a small smirk appeared on Patton’s face. “Has Virgil really been seeing his therapist for six years?” he asked, relaxing in his seat again.

Logan smiled. “I know, it’s gone by so fast. Next thing you know he’ll need one for adults.”

“No, don’t say that! He’s growing up too fast as it is!” Patton laughed, smiling at the thought of his eldest son.

“True, he’s only 12 and has both a boyfriend and a therapist. I didn’t have either until I reached my twenties!” Logan laughed along with Patton, and just as soon as their fight had started, everything began to feel okay again. Patton rested his head on Logan’s shoulder, and sighed contentedly. He stayed that way for a few moments, and then, all of a sudden, sat up with a jolt.

“Okay, Deedee’s turn! What wholesome memories can we dig up about him that also involve me being right?” Patton smirked. Logan gave a short laugh, and thought for a minute.

“Hmm, okay, how about his first week home? I had an emergency at the clinic and had to go in. It was your first time alone with both kids, and you said you left him in our room to nap for an hour.” Patton’s eyes lit up at the memory.

“Oh yeah! I was sitting in the kitchen with Virgil, helping him with his homework, trigonometry is the worst by the way, like seriously how do they expect 10 or 11 year olds to understand that? Anyway, we were working through it, and I suddenly felt that something was wrong.” Logan watched Patton fondly. He had heard him tell this story countless times, and every time Patton managed to tell it with the same dramatic look on his face.

“I don’t know how, but I knew I had to check on Deedee. So I get up, head into our room, and when I open the door I see Deedee has kicked his blanket onto the other side of his cot, and his cuddly snake toy had gone with it! He was on the verge of tears when I came in. I single handedly saved the house from a serious meltdown.” Patton finished the story with a quick pump of his fist, before adding, “Though he wasn’t ill when that happened, why bring it up?” he turned back to Logan with a quizzical look on his face.

“He didn’t need to be. My point is that you have an amazing sixth sense that tells you when something is wrong with the boys. And I’m sorry for doubting you all the time.” Logan pushed some hair out of Patton’s face, gently stroking his head as he did so. Patton began to tear up again, and pulled Logan into a tight hug. They stayed that way for what felt like forever, until there was a light knock at the door.

Their doctor walked in, and all of a sudden they were pulled back to reality, back to why they were sitting in the doctor’s office in the first place.

“Good to see you again gents, sorry for the wait.” Dr Picani said with a smile, and sat down at his desk. Patton squeezed Logan’s hand, both of them holding their breath in anticipation.

“So, we had a look at your X-Ray, Logan.” The doctor continued, “And you’ve got nothing to worry about. That bump on your head will do nothing but hurt for a little while.” Logan was the first to breathe again, before turning back to Patton with a smirk.

“Told you it was nothing to worry about.” Patton began to laugh, and gave Logan a playful shove.

[jaya-and-camryn]

Test Results

Camryn fidgeted in her seat. She was never the type to be nervous in a hospital, but she was also never the one they were there for. She felt something touch her hand and looked over to see Jaya giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Hey. It’s gonna be okay. If there was something to worry about they would have found it by now.” Camryn gave her a small smile, and they were quiet for a few minutes until Jaya spoke up again.

“Weren’t we in this room the last time we were here?” Camryn looked around, paying attention to the small details of the room. They were in the doctor’s office, and their doctor, in particular, liked to decorate his desk and the shelves behind it with various personal photos and medical awards. Immediately Camryn was able to recognise the picture of their doctor, a man they could only assume was his husband, and their three children, all in matching Halloween costumes. She gave a small laugh.

“You’re right. What was it we were here for? Your stomach flu?”

“No, I think it was Megan’s cough. You’d gotten worried it was something bigger, so we came racing down here. Missed our film at the cinema for it too.” Jaya replied. Camryn turned to her with an offended look on her face.

“I was worried? I only suggested the hospital because you were the one freaking out, googling symptoms she didn’t even have!”

“She’s 2, of course, I was freaking out!”

“It was a cough! Children cough sometimes, it happens!” Camryn said, her voice getting louder.

“Well, you don’t have to shout at me about it!” Tears started forming in Jaya’s eyes, and she shifted in her seat until she was facing away from Camryn. The room was quiet again, aside from the muffled sounds of Jaya trying to hold back tears. Jaya’s anxiety when it came to their children’s health was always a contentious topic in their relationship. Camryn knew it came from love, but Jaya had a tendency to go overboard whenever someone in the household was ill. More often than not it always ended in a fight, something neither of them wanted to do, especially in front of the girls.

Camryn carefully placed her hand on Jaya’s shoulder. “Hey.” She winced slightly as Jaya shrugged her off. Camryn thought for a second and continued. “Remember when Ruby was six?”

Jaya turned around, cocking an eyebrow. “She was six for a whole year Cammie, you’re going to have to be more specific.” She said, a bitter look still on her face.

Camryn took a breath. “Okay, fair point. I mean when she first started showing signs of her depression. She looked slightly off once and you had us rush her to the GP.” 

“Why would you bring that up, that day was horrible!” Jaya raised her voice again, wiping tears from her eyes.

Camryn put her hands up slightly in surrender. “At the time, yeah, but look what came from it. If you hadn’t raced her down there, she wouldn’t have been diagnosed so soon, and she wouldn’t have her therapist. You got her the help she needed without even knowing she needed it.”

Catching on to what Camryn was trying to do, a small smirk appeared on Jaya’s face. “Has Ruby really been seeing her therapist for six years?” she asked, relaxing in her seat again. 

Camryn smiled. “I know, it’s gone by so fast. Next thing you know she’ll need one for adults.” 

“No, don’t say that! She’s growing up too fast as it is!” Jaya laughed, smiling at the thought of her eldest daughter. 

“True, she’s only 12 and has both a girlfriend and a therapist. I didn’t have either until I reached my twenties!” Camryn laughed along with Jaya, and just as soon as their fight had started, everything began to feel okay again. Jaya rested her head on Camryn’s shoulder and sighed contentedly. She stayed that way for a few moments, and then, all of a sudden, sat up with a jolt.

“Okay, Megan’s turn! What wholesome memories can we dig up about her that also involve me being right?” Jaya smirked. Camryn gave a short laugh and thought for a minute.

“Hmm, okay, how about her first week home? I had an emergency at the clinic and had to go in. It was your first time alone with both kids, and you said you left her in our room to nap for an hour.” Jaya’s eyes lit up at the memory.

“Oh yeah! I was sitting in the kitchen with Ruby, helping her with her homework, trigonometry is the worst by the way, like seriously how do they expect 10 or 11-year-olds to understand that? Anyway, we were working through it, and I suddenly felt that something was wrong.” Camryn watched Jaya fondly. She had heard her tell this story countless times, and every time Jaya managed to tell it with the same dramatic look on her face. 

“I don’t know how, but I knew I had to check on Megan. So I get up, head into our room, and when I open the door I see Megan has kicked her blanket onto the other side of her cot, and her teddy has gone with it! She was on the verge of tears when I came in. I single-handedly saved the house from a serious meltdown.” Jaya finished the story with a quick pump of her fist, before adding, “Though she wasn’t ill when that happened, why bring it up?” She turned back to Camryn with a quizzical look on her face.

“She didn’t need to be. My point is that you have this insane mum sense that tells you when something is wrong with the girls. And I’m sorry for doubting you all the time.” Camryn pushed some hair out of Jaya’s face, gently stroking her head as she did so. Jaya began to tear up again and pulled Camryn into a tight hug. They stayed that way for what felt like forever until there was a light knock at the door. 

Their doctor walked in, and all of a sudden they were pulled back to reality, back to why they were sitting in the doctor’s office in the first place.

“Good to see you again ladies, sorry for the wait.” Dr Weisshart said with a smile and sat down at his desk. Jaya squeezed Camryn’s hand, both of them holding their breath in anticipation.

“So, we had a look at your X-Ray, Camryn.” The doctor continued, “And you’ve got nothing to worry about. That bump on your head will do nothing but hurt for a little while.” Camryn was the first to breathe again, before turning back to Jaya with a smirk.

“Told you it was nothing to worry about.” Jaya began to laugh and gave Camryn a playful shove.

[yaachtynoboat711]

Fonder Ch. 4

A/N: Aight so boom: I hope y’all are enjoying this series so far. It’s definitely pushing me out of my fluffy comfort zone. Thanks to everyone who I’ve annoyed had be my third pair of eyes and offered suggestions for these chapters. I appreciate y’all big time. Also, I apologize for the two-week gap between the chapters. I just started school after a semester break, so I’m trying to get adjusted and find my rhythm. Thanks in advance for being patient!

Word Count: ~2.9K (a hair lengthy)

Warning(s): Angst, slow burn, plot progression

Thursday, October 23, 2014, 2:19 p.m., Elements Natural Hair Boutique, Los Angeles

Since she was finally finished with the nearly four month long legal project, Yaa now had a little over a week left in sunny California to do whatever she wanted. Tonight was her self-appointed reward for knocking the project out of the park and earning more clients. The Los Angeles chapter of the Black Yale Alumni Association was hosting their annual fundraising gala. All the BYAA chapters hosted their events the same weekend, the Connecticut event being the flagship event. Around this time last year, Yaa was preparing her ensemble for the Black Ball, totally oblivious to the fact that she would meet her soulmate at the Ball. What a difference a year makes.

“So, who are you taking as your plus one tonight?”, her loctician Nadia inquired as she intricately palm-rolled Yaa’s copper hued locs.

“Matt.”, Yaa announced giving a smirk as she kept reading the latest issue of Essence Magazine. Nadia’s eyebrows went up as she smirked.

“Damn hussy. Speaking of exes, how’s it going with you and Island Boy?”

“Things are getting...better.”

Since her breakdown, Khalida had seen a therapist. Her therapist recommended that for her sake,it’d be best to talk to Winston and try to establish a sturdy friendship. They planned to meet the afternoon after the Yale gala.

“Word? I’m happy for you, sis. Even more, you deserve someone in your life. Shit, you got the personality, smarts, and the looks to have niggas running over each other to get to you.”

Yaa spent the time under the dryer to think about what her loctician said. Her deep thoughts were interrupted with an incoming FaceTime call from Matt.

“Hey, lil ugly.”, Matt playfully chided.

“Well, if it isn’t the NECKS big thing in football. What’s good?”, Yaa snapped back. Matt’s jaw dropped when he finally processed her insult.

“Damn, fuck you, Khay. Anyways, I called to see where we would get ready at? My house or yours?” She almost didn’t hear the last question because she was snickering so.

“Well, according to the GPS, it’s in Calabasas, so I’ll be coming to you. My makeup cases are in the car now and I’m picking my dress up on the way.”

Matt shook his head, “Say less, ma. You getting those serpents tamed for the gala, I see.” He thought that the funniest thing in the world. Before he could say anything else, she hung up. I ain’t got time for his no-neck having ass.

5:00 p.m., Calabasas, California, Matt’s House

Yaa was welcomed into Matt’s spacious mansion with the sounds of hip-hop bouncing off the walls and an excited Matt embracing her.

“You look like you getting ready to fight somebody.”, Matt commented as he took the garment bag from his ex-girlfriend’s arms. She wore her smaller black bonnet, along with a Tuskegee shirt, black yoga capris, and Birkenstock’s.

“And you look like you can’t change a goddamn pillowcase. I keep telling you to leave well enough alone, Griffith.”, she replied as she gave him the “Who gon check me, boo?” look. He shook his head as he led her upstairs to his bathroom.

——

The lion-like revving of Matt’s Karma Revero engine could be heard all along the winding Calabasas back road he decided to take to the gala. He effortlessly finessed the bends and sharp turns of the road in an effort to impress Yaa. He’d had the car for not even a month and was already showing off. He occasionally glanced at the meal that sat in his passenger seat.

“I think I already told you, but you lookin’ hella delicious, ma.”, Matt complimented.

“Why, thank you, Matthew. I try to be as fresh as you.”, she humbly replied.

He took her hand into his and smiled before kissing it. “What’s that perfume you got on? It’s intoxicating.”

“Your cologne.”, she stated bluntly. The two looked at each other and laughed obnoxiously.

“You never cease to amaze me after all these years, Khay. I’m gonna miss you when you leave.”

“Nigga, I ain’t dying. Ima be around when and if I can. R E L A X.”

8:49 p.m., Calabasas Country Club

If you didn’t know that this was an alumni fundraising gala, most would assume that it was an actual Hollywood event. The sound of camera shutters, camera people shouting at those melanated beings gracing the carpet, and the numerous interviews being conducted at the end of the carpet set the vibe of the night. Once again: Black Excellence.

Matt parked his car in front of the country club, he tossed the keys to the valet before reaching for his velvet maroon blazer. Before the valet driver could get in, he stopped him. “Hold on, boss. I got precious cargo in the passenger seat.” He ran over to Yaa’s side where he slowly opened her door. She offered her hand and he helped her out of the car, gathering her train with his other hand.

The BLUE carpet went up the moment Matt Griffith and his date walked onto the carpet. He held Yaa close to him by her waist as they went down the carpet once more as a duo.  She followed suit by tickled his side, causing him to laugh.

“You gon stop, ma’am.”, he warned as she joined in his laughter.

————

Winston was wary of bringing Michelle to the gala. Not because she wasn’t Black, but he was nervous Yaa would show up looking like God’s divine example of perfection. For the small amount of time Winston and Michelle dated, he never divulged the details of his previous relationship with her. For one, it still hurt to talk about the biggest mistake he’d ever made; and two, he feared Michelle would get extremely jealous. Truthfully, Winston hoped Yaa would be there; he wanted to talk and possibly get closure.

“Winston, is Lupita coming?”, Michelle asked shaking Winston out of his thoughts.

“Uhhh...last I checked, she should be here now.”, he replied.

“Is your mysterious ex coming?”

He throat tightened and palms began to sweat. “I doubt it; she’s in D.C. by now. Why?”

“I mean, from the little you’ve told me about her,  she’s a Yale grad and a traveler. Speaking of, why don’t you talk about her?”, she folded her arms in anticipation of the answer.

He probably wasn’t in reality, but he felt like he was sweating bullets. “It’s just that...the relationship could’ve ended on better terms.”, he sighed, “I just need closure, is all. I’ve been spending this time processing everything. I think I’m good now.” He was lying like all hell.

Winston felt a presence in the room. He and Michelle migrated around the venue talking and socializing with the other Black Yale grads. While in a conversation with one of his classmates and Lupita, he heard a laugh. Not just any laugh; the only vibrant, contagious social laugh he could recognize from miles away. Once again, it was her. He resisted the urge to look for her.  

Noticing her friend’s sudden switch in energy, Lupita turned around to see a foxy Yaa dazzling for all to see. She excused herself from the conversation and walked over to Yaa. She tapped her shoulder.

“Heyyyyy, Khalida!”, Lupita greeted with a grin and open arms.

“Well, hello there, Ms. Academy Award Winner! I’m surprised you’re not like polishing your Oscars or filming.”, Yaa joked as she returned the hug. “You look phenomenal, Peet!”, she twirled Lupita around to get a better look of her blue ensemble.

“Not as phenomenal as you! Wow, you know how to slay anything and I’m here for it!”

Matt cleared his throat. “You need a cough drop?”, Yaa asked in a sarcastic tone. He gave her a look.

“I’m sorry. I forgot he was here. Lupita, this is my ex, Matt Griffith, NFL star. Matt, this is the most beautiful woman in existence and Academy Award-winning actress, Lupita Nyong’o.”

After their exchange of pleasantries, Lupita took Yaa to the side to inform her that Winston was also in attendance...with Michelle. As much as it hurt to hear those words come from Lupita’s mouth, Yaa sucked it up and the two returned to Matt.

“We’re going on a field trip, Matt. Come along.” Lupita commanded. Matt agreed and followed his date with her train.

Winston wasn’t paying attention; he was walking around talking with Michelle. He accidentally bumped into Lupita.

“Peet, I’m so sorry. I was talking to Michelle and wasn’t paying attention to...wh-where I...was...going.”, his thoughts and heart rate began to speed up as he looked at the sight in front of him: his ex-girlfriend.

“Hey, Khalida.”, Winston said calmly.  

“Hey, you.”, she basically whispered in a sultry tone.

“You look...sublime.”

“Oh? Interesting word choice, Mr. Duke.” She raised her eyebrow and gave a faint grin. Poor Winston was intoxicated with Khalida’s presence once more—a drug that he could never get out of his system even if his life depended on it. His eyes were fixed on her, breath staggering.

Yaa’s dress was everything: it was a black, long-sleeved, sequined, floor-length curve-hugging gown with a dramatic “v” neck that accentuated her well-endowed chest. A haute Morticia Addams. Nadia styled her locs into a mid bun with a pinned bang.  

Michelle looked on as they conversed. It clicked—Khalida was the one that still had his heart. She wasn’t stupid; she could sense he was holding out in their relationship in more ways than one. Michelle cleared her throat loudly to break up the two former lovers’ sappy reunion.

“Winston, aren’t you going to introduce me to your...friend? ”, Michelle said with a slightly condescending tone, looking Yaa up and down with disgust. Yaa returned a rather unbothered stare to Michelle.

“Oh...of course, Winston began clearing his throat, “Yaa, this is my girlfriend, Michelle Lee, freelance journalist. Michelle, this...this is my...ex...girlfriend, Dr. Khalida Abdullah, Attorney at Law.”, he fought a smile.

Michelle grimaced. “Oh, a lawyer, you say? What kind of lawyer? Whose firm do you work for?”, she interrogated.

“I’m a civil rights attorney and I have my own firm with my partner and best friend from Yale Law.”

“Your own law firm? You look a little too young to own anything. How old are you?”

“Grown.”

“Did you even hear the quest—“

“— Loud and clear. I said I’m grown.” Yaa maintained her calm, yet petty demeanor throughout the unnecessary exchange. All the while, Matt and Lupita exchanged glances and silent snickers. Yaa was going to hold her own without hesitation. The Louisiana Reaper v. the bell pepper. “Winston, may I speak with you in private please?”

Winston looked to an upset Michelle that just waved her hand for him to go on. “After you, Dr. Abdullah.”,he calmly suggested as he motioned her to go in front of him.

Winston made sure to hold Yaa’s train. Winston became entranced as he watched his ex’s Spanx-less bottom switch from left to right. He felt a sweat come over him. Baby girl still had him sprung. They finally walked out to the balcony. The nighttime October breeze hit Yaa’s bare skin, sending goosebumps throughout her body. The bass still bumped even outside the country club. Even with the low lighting on the balcony, Yaa’s dress still sparkled in the moonlit sky. The two stood across from each other. A lot was on their minds and rightfully so. Four months had gone by without any sense of closure. The lack of closure was pacified with many questions, hypotheses, what-if situations, and many, many tearful nights on both ends.

“So uhh—“, the former lovers said in unison. They chuckled.

“You go first.”

“No, you!”

“No...you.”

“Dammit, Winston, somebody going first.”, Yaa said crossing her arms. “I just wanted to say that one, I miss you. Two, I’m happy for you finding Michelle. Lastly, LEMME FOUND OUT YOU OUTCHEA ACTIN YA ASS OFF ON PERSON OF INTEREST, MINI!”, Yaa hyped. She playfully punched his shoulder. There was a visible shift in her body language. She re-adjusted her posture and looked down at her dress. When she looked back up at Winston, he saw a rather stoic expression come across her face. “No, but...I wanted to just speak with you in private and I’m sure you’ve wanted the same. I miss you, Chris.”

Before he spoke, Winston offered his jacket to Yaa, an offer she accepted.

“I miss you more, Yaa.”, Winston replied quickly.

“The four months that we’ve had apart have had me thinking...a lot...a little too much. While the circumstances of our break-up hurt me more than anything, I don’t harbor any ill-will or harsh feelings towards you. I still care for and love you deeply.”

The admission gave Winston a temporary sense of relief. After four long months apart from the love of his life, it was definitely a relief to know that she didn’t want to push him over the balcony ledge. However, that feeling of relief was quickly replaced by the familiar void feeling in his heart—a void left by Yaa. He missed her more she would ever comprehend. He even missed her sarcasm and readings. By this time, he stood in front of her studying her stoic facial expression.

“I still love and care for you, too, Khalida.”, Winston replied.

“Which brings me to my next point”, she began. Winston’s brows furrowed in confusion, “This time apart has also given me the opportunity to contemplate our relationship from this point forward. My therapist...recommended that I reach out to you to establish something we never had—an actual friendship.”, Yaa explained. There was a steady pause and sharp exhale before the word “friendship” left her lips. It hurt her to see Winston with Michelle and even more to not be with him.

Winston blankly stared at Yaa. He saw, heard, and comprehended every word coming out of her Ruby Woo painted lips, but everything wasn’t registering.

“Friends?”

“That’s what I said. I believe we can work as friends and support each other despite our ending. You and Michelle seem like you all are getting into a rhythm and I don’t want to be your hindrance in your loving her.”

“Ok. Yeah...friendship? No problem.”, he noted dryly.

“Winston?”

“Yes?”

“Is that what you truly want? Because I don’t want to let our connection die.”

Winston shifted his weight and sighed before laughing. “Doesn’t want our connection to die...got it. Of course, we can work on a friendship.”, he remarked in a condescending tone. He was repeating that made him lose Yaa the first time. Yaa finally picked up the hints of sarcasm.

“Winston, I don’t know why you’re being condescending and cold towards me, but you need to stop. I just came to talk and try to amends with you and salvage what little we have left between us.” Yaa felt herself getting emotional and angry simultaneously.

Winston began pacing. “Oh, now you want to talk to me when it seemed easy to give me...give us up?!”

Yaa’s eyebrows flew up and her jaw dropped. Her heartbeat began increasing and her petite frame began to tremble—she was beginning to see red. Her mouth opened to snap, but it quickly closed to save his ego and feelings. “I don’t want us to end on this note...again.”, she mumbled.

“I don’t know what you from me, Yaa. This isn’t exactly easy so stop making it look like that.”

Yaa thought long and hard on her next statement. Being a known wordsmith, she had to craft what she was going to say to make sure it would stick with Winston. That and her anger was on 100, so one wrong move and she’d snap. She finally began to speak barely above a whisper but not quite at normal speaking level.

“What I wanted from you was to make sure the plane wasn’t still malfunctioned. But...I see that it’s temporarily disabled. Whenever you get your head and your ego out of your ass, we can talk. The number won’t change. Good night, Mr. Duke.”

She briskly walked back inside of the country club, fighting tears and the urge to break down once more. She wasn’t going to force a grown ass man to do right; Khadijah and Carrie taught her better than that. Once again, his mouth and his ego ran Yaa off. Fuck, whatever happened to doing better and winning her back? The second walk-out hurt more than the first. This time, he was actually angry with himself. Out of nowhere, his fist made contact with the concrete wall. He roared out in pain as his knuckles bled. Not only was his hand in pain in excruciating pain, but so was his heart. Both injuries could’ve been prevented had he just shut up. The tears burned and clouded his eyes as he cried hysterically.

Yaa returned to find Lupita and Matt deep in conversation, Michelle was sitting down at one of the lounge tables. Right away, Matt noticed his date’s rather bubbly and sweet spirit had been messed with.

“Khay, what’s wrong? Is everything alright?”, Matt placed his hand at the small of her back as he studied her visibly upset face. She was fighting back tears.

“Everything’s not ok. Let’s just go before I’ll need to dig Johnnie Cochran up from the dead.” Peet, I’ll text you whenever I can. Lunch is still on for tomorrow.”, she muttered in a monotonous tone.

Matt found himself running after his date as she angrily walked out of the venue. The plane was totaled.

Tag List:

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[somethingjustsouthofbrilliance]

I Got You (Tony/Rhodey secret service AU) Chapter 3

For the purposes of this chapter, I borrowed a bit of dialogue from... well, you’ll know where I borrowed it from ;-) Anyway, I hope you enjoy.

Links to chapter 1, chapter 2

Tagging @jamesrhodey @supernaturalyloki @chanderefk @aimeeroot21 @markedplaces @mostly-marvel-stuffs @matre-dee @le-ephemere @lo-anlurui @savedbyholmes @kimmycup @typicalcampbell

Chapter 3

 The next time he runs into Stark it’s at the hospital in an ICU cubicle – a fittingly surreal diminuendo to a harrowing nerve wreck of a day.

 Happy.  Happy is in the hospital.  ICU.  Barely clinging to life after getting thrown halfway across the parking garage by a bomb that tore apart the presidential limo and damaged the nearby vehicles.  A bomb he’s pretty sure was meant for him. And James can’t process it, hasn’t even begun to process it, what with being whisked away from the scene by overeager agents and all but hauled down into the bunker while the police, ambulance and security stormed the scene.  And it isn’t until much later, until after things calm down a bit, his own minor cuts have been tended to, the scene is secured and plans are being discussed (nay, shouted) all around him about increasing security and possibly putting the entire White House on lockdown for the time being until the perpetrator is identified and neutralized, that he announces loudly and unequivocally that he will agree to whatever security measures they deem necessary as long as he can get to check on his bodyguard.  

 A cacophony of outraged worry meets his request, but he stands firm on that, he won’t budge. Because it’s Happy’s crumpled, bloodied form he sees whenever he closes his eyes.  Because he can’t help thinking that if he hadn’t stopped to answer his mother’s text, leaving Happy to go on ahead of him, he would have been the one spilling blood all over the floor of the parking lot.

 He has to go check on the man.  He owes him at least that much.

 Surprisingly, it’s Obadiah that comes to his defense, bringing up the point that another attempt in such a short time span is unlikely, that the perpetrator has probably gone to ground, waiting for things to settle down, that nobody would be expecting the president to be out and about so soon after this incident.

 It’s settled after that, and James spares but a cursory glance to his Chief of Staff, who shakes his head in disapproval before walking off to the side, phone glued to his ear, and then he’s off, huddled between two stone-faced agents in the back of a nondescript sedan on his way to the hospital.

 It’s well past visiting hours, but his office carries a certain clout and he is led through to the ICU without much hassle and directed by a sleepily flustered nurse to the room that has two security agents posted outside the door.  He nods to them as he approaches, motions for his own detail to wait with them, and walks inside, allowing himself the barest of hesitations to prepare for what he’s about to find there.

 The room is quiet save for the faint whirring of medical equipment, the comfortable semi-darkness broken only by the flickering of a muted TV screen on the wall opposite the bed. It strikes him as odd –having the TV on when the person for whom it is intended lies there so completely unaware of the world around him.  He reaches for the remote, intent on turning the useless device off.

 And whips around, nearly dropping the remote, when a slightly raspy and vaguely familiar voice calls on him to stop.

 “Leave it on, please.”

 The shadows behind the bed move, a human shape molding itself out of the blackness, stepping forth into the feeble light.

 “Stark?” he blinks, trying to reconcile the rumple-clothed hollow-eyed man before him with the sharply dressed confidence exuding professional that had sauntered into his office a few days ago.  “What–?”

 “Sunday nights. PBS.  Downtown Abbey,” Stark continues as if James hasn’t spoken, arms crossed with an almost defensive awkwardness on his chest.  He looks tired, drawn, a suspicious glint in the dusk-hooded eyes.  “It’s his show.  He thinks it’s elegant.”  There’s a barely audible catch in his voice, and Stark covers it up with a cough, hitches his shoulders up in a shrug that seems a bit too forced to be nonchalant.

 It unsettles James seeing him like this – so uncharacteristically vulnerable, so decidedly human.  He wants to say something, to reassure the man, to apologize for getting his friend hurt. But something in the way Stark holds himself, in the tension James can feel emanating from his body, stops him short.

 “How did you get in here?” he asks instead.  Because there are agents posted outside the door, and he can’t imagine them letting anyone in.

 “I have ways,” Stark replies enigmatically.  Throws an almost derisively disapproving glance in the direction of the door. “Your agents aren’t as good at their job as they believe themselves to be.  If they were, your bodyguard wouldn’t be lying here right now with a fucking tube down his throat.”

 James flinches at the barely disguised venom in the man’s voice, bristles at the unprovoked affront. “I’ve always been under the impression that secret service agents are the best of the best,” he counters coolly, hoping to rein the man in with his words.  Because, yes, Stark is upset, understandably so.  But that is no reason to take it out on his men.  

 It was, apparently, the wrong thing to say.

 Stark takes a step toward him, eyes flashing hot with fury.  Stabs a hand blindly in the direction of Happy’s bed.  “You just lost your best man, Mr. President!” he hisses, chest heaving as he sucks in a sharp breath, as if preparing to say more.

 And then he stops, steps back, blinking as though coming awake after a trance.  Snaps his mouth shut, visibly forcing himself to relax. A mask slides over his face – cold, calm, professional.  

 “That’s why I’m here,” he says simply, and James gapes at him, brow furrowing in confusion.

 “I’m sorry, I don’t–”

 “I’m taking the job, Mr. President,” Stark cuts him off bluntly.  “I’ve changed my mind.”

 James considers him silently for a long moment, trying to get a read on the man before him, to gauge what his motives might be.  He comes up blank.

 “Why?” he wants to know.

 Stark shrugs, looks over at the bed, seeming to study Happy’s slack face, half obscured by the breathing tube.  “Because that bomb was meant for you,” he responds, fury still thrumming a quiet beat through his words.  “Because this person, whoever they are, will try again, and if they succeed,” he points at Happy again, “then he went through all of this for nothing. And I can’t accept that.” He pauses, fists clenching at his sides.  Takes a deep breath.  “Whoever this person is, they made it personal now.”  He turns his gaze back to James, the dark, menacing intensity of it nearly causing him to recoil.  “And as far as I’m concerned, they’re already dead.”

 James swallows tightly, finding himself completely at a loss as to what to say.  On the one hand he’s thrilled to have this guy finally come around, especially now that these death threats he heretofore considered a mere annoyance, a product of someone’s sick imagination, have suddenly become all too deadly and all too real.  But Stark seems to be wound up so tight that he wonders if the man is even gonna be up to the task.  

 He is about to express his concerns when the door to Happy’s room opens and his Chief of Staff walks in, a small bag in hand.  

 “Ah, the ever-unruffled Agent,” Stark enthuses before James can even wonder out loud what Phil is doing here.  “Just the man I wanted to see.  Did ya bring what I asked?”

 Coulson nods, face unreadable as ever.  Opens up the bag to pull out a credit card, a flip phone and a set of car keys.  “Untraceable prepaid card,” he recites as if checking off items from some invisible list, “clean phone with new SIM card and no GPS tracker, and a car parked out back.”

 “Good boy,” Stark praises with a smirk, pocketing the items.  Pulls out his own cell phone and drops it into the bag still held open by Coulson. “Your turn, Mr. President.”

 James shakes his head, puts up both hands like a shield.  “Would someone, please, explain to me what the hell is happening here?” he snaps.

 Coulson cocks his head at him, throws a mildly disapproving gaze Stark’s way.  “You didn’t tell him?”

 “You interrupted me before I could… Agent,” Stark defends, winking at the man, and grins at Coulson’s exasperated eye roll.

 “I called Stark earlier, Sir.  Asked him to take over,” Coulson explains, and James thinks back to that moment in the bunker when he watched Phil walk away, phone pressed to his ear.  “He was already at the hospital, so it worked out.”

 “Take over how… exactly,” he wonders, scowling at Coulson’s bag.

 “I’m gonna take you to a safe house, Mr. President,” Stark cuts in, all business.  “This person that’s after you, they know your schedule, they know your itinerary, they have access to your office.  That leaves too many suspects that are in too close of proximity to your person.  Trying to protect you in Washington would be like trying to protect a bucket of chum in shark-infested waters.  I wanna increase your chances of survival.”

 “By making me go on the run.”

 “By making you disappear,” Stark corrects patiently, reaching his hand toward him. “Your phone, please, Mr. President.”

 “I got everything under control, Mr. President,” his Chief of Staff intervenes once more.  “The media will have a cover story – you’re taking some personal time in the wake of the tragic incident.  Vice President Stane will temporarily take over your duties. All you need to do is follow Mr. Stark’s direction and stay safe while we take care of things here.  The police and secret service will continue their investigation and we’ll hopefully have our guy behind bars or on a slab before you know it.”

 James gapes at the two of them, his head spinning from the unexpectedness of it all.  It’s madness, he thinks.  Utter madness.   Woodenly he pulls his cell phone out of his pocket, placing it in Stark’s waiting palm.  “How do you even… how do you propose we disappear? There are agents all over this hospital, I-”

 “The hallway and the stairway are clear,” Coulson interrupts, and Stark nods to him in approval as if he was expecting this exact response.  “The cameras will be down in exactly…,” he glances at his watch, “one minute thirty-two seconds.  The cameras at the parking structure will be down exactly 5 minutes after that.  You will have about 7 minutes altogether to get out unseen.”

 “This is insane,” James huffs out, feeling a stab of irrational anger at such definitive loss of control.  “You two, you’ve got this whole… this thing plotted out behind my back and you never even bothered to…”

  “All due respect, Mr. President,” Stark steps closer, pushing far into his personal space, “you wanted to hire me because you heard that I’m the best at what I do.  Right now you’re the guy with a large bullseye on your back and I’m your only chance of surviving into your next term.  So it’s up to you, Mr. President.  If you want to live, you come with me, you do as I say and when I say it.  No questions, no arguments, no complaints. If not, you walk out of here with your man Phil and you take your chances in the shark pool.  Understood?”

 James grits his teeth, struggling against a near-overwhelming urge to break Stark’s nose.  

 “Twenty seconds, Mr. President,” Coulson calls out, and James closes his eyes briefly, forces himself to exhale, to relax.

 “I don’t seem to have much choice at the moment,” he grinds out, admitting his temporary defeat. Takes a deliberate, threatening step toward Stark, bringing the two of them virtually nose to nose.  “But let me make something clear, Mr. Stark: I don’t like your attitude and I don’t like you.  And if you overstep your bounds with me one more time, I will not hesitate to punch you in the face.  Understood?”

 Stark flashes him a plastic-looking smile.  “I think we’re gonna get along great, Mr. President,” he asserts with enthusiasm that seems entirely out of place.  Heads to the door, pausing in front of Coulson.  “You take care of my boy Happy there, alright?” he tells him, and it sounds more like a warning than a request.

 Coulson, for his part, doesn’t bat an eye.  “You take care of mine, I take care of yours,” he deadpans and Stark grins in response.

 “It’s a deal.”  He grabs the door handle, motions to James over his shoulder.  “Mr. President, follow my lead.”

[yuki-setsu]

12 Days of (Lance) Whumpmas! - Day 4 [Strep Throat]

this is more of h/c than whump but i tried T__T this is so late too because i was out all day adlkfjaskl it’s 3am i’m tired pls forgive

also my first doing a modern college AU for voltron hhhHHH i like it 

part of the 12 Days of VLD Whumpmas hosted by @vldwhumpmas2017! check out more info on the challenge here if you want to participate!

Keith knew something was wrong when Lance hadn't messaged the group chat in 2 days. Usually, his phone could barely keep up with the amount of messages Lance sent in one go, but right now... it was quieter than it had ever been. Hunk chimed in once, being the first to note that Lance hadn't chatted in a while and ask where he was. Which was weird, because Hunk and Lance practically knew each other's schedules on a day-to-day basis.

But more importantly, the “Spectacular Christmas Bonanza” that Lance planned for days was supposed to be happening tonight. In 10 minutes. And he was nowhere to be found.

“Still nothing?” Shiro asked, setting plates on the table. Most of their living room was cleaned up in preparation for the party, so all that was left was for Keith and Shiro to wait for the others to arrive.

“Nope.” Keith huffed out an irritated breath. He drummed his fingers against his leg once before getting up and reaching for his jacket. “This is ridiculous. Do you think he's home?”

Lance, by some incredible coincidence, had managed to move into the apartment next to Keith and Shiro's, something he'd been elated to discover one autumn morning when they all left for class at practically the same time. If he wasn't home, then Pidge could probably track down his GPS or something.

Shiro shrugged. “It's worth a shot. I'll let the others in if they get here before you. Be careful.”

“I'm literally walking next door, Shiro.”

“And you forget the number of times you nearly slipped down the stairs at the apartment's main entrance whenever it was even a little bit icy.”

Keith pulled up his hood, hoping it hid the way his face burned up. “It wasn't that many.” He stalked across the room, Shiro's laughter trailing after him. “I'll be back. Shouldn't be more than 5 minutes.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets, pointedly taking care to walk down the main steps, more for his self-assurance than anything. They weren't that slippery. The winter winds bit at his face, and for the first time, Keith was grateful Lance lived so close because it was so cold.

He walked up the steps—carefully again—and pressed at the button next to Lance's name. Room 214. 15 seconds and no reply later, Keith was lucky that another resident chose that moment to use their own key to get inside, kind enough to hold the door open for him to step inside as well. Keith ducked his head, managing out a thanks before he jogged for the stairwell.

The second floor was tranquil, covered in old, brown carpeting that echoed Keith's every footstep. He reached Lance's door, trying not to knock too loudly and wake up the entire complex. Still no answer. But one glance at the ground was enough for Keith to notice the thin stream of light peeking out from under the door, which made it almost certain that Lance was home. The amount of times Lance had chastised both him and Shiro for leaving the lights on in an empty room whenever he came over was so high that Keith couldn't even keep track. No way Lance would commit the same crime.

“Hey, Lance.” Keith started, wincing at the loud way his voice echoed down the hall. “It's Keith. Uh, you remember the party's today, right?”

Through the door, he could've sworn he heard coughing, and Keith reached for the doorknob without a second thought. The door clicked open easily, and he took a moment to process that he could actually go inside. What idiot doesn't lock his door?

The coughing had died down by the time Keith stepped inside and closed the door, only to be replaced with a low groan. Well, Lance being down with the cold explained his absence. He could've at least messaged the group, though.

Keith stepped down the narrow hallway to Lance's room, whose door was ajar. Yet when he peeked inside, the room was empty, save for the messy bed. He glanced at the small jar of pills on the bedside drawer just as he heard another bout of coughing, wet and loud. Keith jumped at the noise, whipping around and tracking it down to the small kitchen. And that was where he found Lance, shivering and curled up on the ground. A dangerous mess of shattered glass covered the floor around him, and Keith just barely stopped himself from stepping inside the kitchen and onto a large shard. The bigger problem was the blood he saw on the ground.

“Shit, Lance. Don't move.” Keith breathed out, eyes wide. He scanned the kitchen for anything he could use to clean the glass up, only to come up empty. “I'll be right back. Hold on.” He ran for Lance's room, glad he didn't have to dig around too much to spot a small dustpan and sweeper. He worked fast to clean up while he tried to talk to Lance, who was barely coherent.

When most of the danger was gone, Keith set the dustpan aside and moved to get Lance off the ground and sitting against the cabinets. Keith could finally pinpoint the injury: a small but noticeable gash on his left hand, blood still slowly weeping out of the wound.

Keith leaned up and grabbed at a few sheets of paper towels before pressing it against the wound. “Lance, do you have a first aid box anywhere? Bathroom?”

Lance's eyes finally landed on Keith, eyes widening as if he just realized Keith was there. He nodded weakly.

“Okay.” Keith took Lance's other hand and used it to replace where his hand had been on top of the paper towels. “Try to keep some pressure on it to stop the bleeding. I'll be right back.”

Finding the kit was easy, the box sitting neatly on a shelf in the bathroom cabinet. He was glad Lance was pretty organized. By the time he got back, Lance was dangerously slumped over, trembling like he was sitting in the cold with no jacket on and not on his kitchen floor.

Keith ducked back towards the ground, hands on Lance's shoulders to guide him back upright. Lance groaned at the movement, eyes meeting his again. This time, a ghost of a smile touched his face. “Keith. Sup.”

Lance's voice was horribly scratchy and rough, but Keith ignored it. “Hi. Give me your hand.”

A slightly bigger smile. “You gonna propose or somethin'?”

If he weren't so worried, Keith might have rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

Lance offered his hand anyways, wincing as Keith cleaned out the wound and wrapped it with bandages. One problem down. He lifted a hand against Lance's forehead, surprised at the sudden heat that greeted him.

“That's some fever you got there. Is it the flu?” Keith asked, a frown touching his face.

Lance sighed, his head falling lightly against the cabinets. “Nah, it's strep. Sucks.”

Keith's eyes widened. Strep throat? What the hell, that was so much worse. Wasn't that contagious, too? Great. He thought back to the bottle of pills he spotted in Lance's room.

“You went to a doctor already?”

Lance nodded again before he jerked his head to the side, coughing violently into his elbow. It wracked his entire body, and Keith had to keep him from falling over again. “Earlier today. Wasn't this bad yesterday...”

“Alright, alright, no more talking. You sound like shit and your throat needs to rest.” Keith blew out a breath, running a hand across his face. “Let's get you to bed first.” He thought for a moment longer, and his shoulders slumped with resignation. “You probably can't walk, so I'll carry you.”

Lance's eyes flickered over to him again, playful. “Aw, really?”

Keith ignored him, shifting an arm underneath Lance's legs and another across his back. “I told you not to talk. I'll drop you if you do.”

Lance grinned lazily, but he obliged. Lance's constant trembling and the heat emanating from his skin had Keith's annoyance drifting away pretty quickly, though. He was surprised Lance could still joke around in this state.

After tucking him in bed and having him take another antibiotic—apparently Lance had been trying to get a cup of water to take the medicine—Keith finally stepped aside and fished out his phone. He already had 2 missed calls and 5 new messages from Shiro, each more panicked than the last. He glanced back at Lance, who was—wow—already asleep, and stepped into the hallway before dialing Shiro's number.

Shiro picked up after the first ring. “Keith?! It's been almost 20 minutes, what happened?”

“Lance is sick. Strep throat.”

Shiro sucked in a breath. “Oh man. Did he see a doctor already?”

Keith leaned against the wall, adjusting his grip on the phone. “Yeah. He just took medicine and fell asleep. Don't know what you want to do about the party, though.”

“Hold on.” There was muffled silence as Shiro shifted the phone away from his mouth, speaking to someone in the background. Keith easily picked out the responding voices as both Hunk and Pidge, which was no surprise. More rustling before Shiro's voice rang through the phone again, loud and clear. “They're fine with postponing. Lance had been the main planner for this party, doesn't really make sense to celebrate without him.”

Keith blew out a breath, somewhat relieved. “Alright. I'll just wrap up a few things here and head back.”

Once he hung up, Keith went back towards the bathroom, grabbing a small washcloth and wetting it under cold water. He figured he should do something about the broken glass, too. Maybe he could toss it on the way back.

He tried to be careful when placing the washcloth on Lance's forehead, but his eyes still fluttered open at the contact. Any trace of his earlier amusement was gone, replaced with just bare exhaustion. It was kind of weird seeing Lance like that, and not a good weird. Keith didn't like it.

“Sorry, didn't mean to wake you. It's for the fever.” Keith said, straightening back up. Lance watched him wearily, but at least he wasn't talking like Keith had ordered. Seeing Lance so quiet was weird, too. Also not a good weird. “I'm gonna go back to my apartment to fill the others in on what happened, but I'll stop in a few hours when you gotta take the medicine again.”

Lance looked panicked at the prospect of Keith leaving, but relaxed a bit when he mentioned he was coming back again. He nodded, and Keith crossed his arms. Oh right, he almost forgot.

“And do you always not lock your door? It was unlocked when I got here. You know how dangerous that is?” Lance pointedly looked away, almost sheepish. “I'm locking it on the way out, so is there a key I can borrow to get in when I come back? I'll return it afterwards.” Lance glanced back at him, a silent question. Keith almost grinned at it. “Fine, you can talk. In as few words as possible.”

“Desk. Top right drawer.” Lance croaked out, grimacing at the way the words scraped out of his throat.

Keith fished out the key, tucking it into his pocket before he lightly patted the top of Lance's blanket. “Get better soon. We can't start the party until you're with us.”

Lance smiled at that, tired but genuine. He nodded, eyes already growing heavy. Keith made sure he actually fell asleep before quietly stepping back outside and towards the kitchen. He dumped the glass into a garbage bag and cleaned up the dried blood before washing the hell out of his hands and face. Then again, he'd carried Lance back to his room, so he couldn't be certain he hadn't already caught it. And on top of that, he was going back to Lance's apartment later. He'd probably need to stop by the doctor and get his own antibiotics tomorrow.

He disposed of the bag in the lobby before leaving the apartment, the cold air biting at his face like an old friend. He grumbled, so busy pulling his hood up that his foot caught on a patch of ice on the final step and sent him crashing on his butt. Nope. Shiro was never hearing about this.

[sachertortes]

Eeeee! For your prompts would you be up for a Logan(Wolverine)/Darcy Awkward meetings #5?

Yes!! For the incredibly lovely and patient @ragwitch, for whom this prompt fill is reallly late. I changed some things from the prompt but I hope you enjoy it anyways :)

Prompt: Awkward Meeting Themed, #5, ““I met you last night when you were drunkenly patting my dog in my backyard at 3 in the morning and when i asked you what the hell you were doing you slurred something about dogs being great and then you threw up on my feet and then fifteen minutes later you were passed out on my couch so that’s why you’re here right now also what the fuck is your name and why were you patting a dog in a stranger’s backyard in the middle of the night.”

Pairing: Logan x Darcy

Rating: T, for language.

He wakes to the tinkling sounds of the dog’s collar, to his happy snuffles. This wouldn’t be unusual, but the sound is coming from outside and he knows the old mutt doesn’t leave his warm pillow by the couch for anything but food and walks. The doggie door was installed as a precaution really, and he’d never even seen him use it. Until now.

Logan is up like a shot from the bed, shoving his feet into boots, and he extends his claws for good measure. He creeps, as slowly as he can, into the kitchen and looks out the sliding glass door.

There’s a girl in the backyard.

She’s…playing with the dog?

She’s a dark bundle of puffy parka and darker hair as she reaches into the mutt’s fur and pets him.

“Aren’t you a handsome, handsome pupper! You’re so great and cute and sweet!” she croons, and the damned dog just takes it ecstatically, his snout pointed towards the sky exposing his neck for more scratchings.

“What the fuck,” he says to himself, blinking a few times to make sure he’s not still dreaming.

The digital clock above the stove reads 3:14am and he has no idea what the hell’s going on.

He sheathes his claws – judging by her complete lack of self-preservation (a parka and jeans for a night in the mountains, playing with some random dog), she is definitely a civilian.

The mutt knocks her over in his exuberance and she laughs uproariously, pulling the dog down with her.

He slides open the door and glares at the intruder.

“Who the hell are you?”

She weakly pushes his dog away and shoves herself upward with what looks like great effort.

“Darcy Lewis,” she answers, slightly unsteady on her feet. “Whoa…Heyyy, muscles…” she reaches over with her index finger, poised to poke his bicep.

He steps away, giving her a speculative look.

“You on somethin’, lady?”

“Rummmm!” the girl declares, lips stretched wide into a smile. “Mon Capitan Mooorgann!”

“Jesus Christ.”

“We’re camping for Janey’s pre-wedding shenanigans,” she explains, tripping and slurring over the last word. “Can you b’lieve?! Camping?! I tol’ her we should get Avengers themed strippers but she said no.” Darcy pouts, plump bottom lip jutting out. “Wanna see Fury in a thong!” she giggles, and he nearly chokes on his own tongue.

“We’d better get inside, it’s cold as fuck out here.”

“M’fine! I’ll just go back to camp, sorry ‘bout wakin’ you, Sir Beardly Man.”

“It’s Logan. And you’re not going anywhere like this. You’ll get lost and die of hypothermia before anythin’ else.”

“Hey! I can make it back! I’m a stong, independent, woman who don’t need no – uh-oh.”

And then she vomits. Right on his shoes.

Then there’s a horrible lurching sound he realizes is coming from her, and she’s on her hands and knees on the pine needle covered ground and she’s puking again, just a millisecond after he manages to step away.

Not that the damage isn’t already done.

He looks down at his ruined boots. “Fuck.” He grimaces.

“Fuck,” Darcy repeats, voice croaky. “I’m so sorry, I – “

“Just - just get in the house alright?”

She takes his proffered hand and with some effort, ends up upright again.

“Sure you don’t have a lady or gentleman friend in there who’d be mad at me?”

“What? No.”

“You sure?  A big, brawny manly man like you?”

He leads the way, toeing off his boots outside the kitchen doors.

“Not for a long time,” he mumbles under his breath. To his horror, she hears it.

“Oh no!” she giggles, huge blue eyes slightly unfocused as she peers at him. “A dry spell, huh?” She stage-whispers, “Or…don’t tell me you’re a vir - a virge – “ Her brows furrow. “A Virginian?!”

He’s unable to help his burst of laughter. “I’m not a Virginian.”

She nods. “Okay. Oh, hey, is your buddy coming in?”

Logan lets out a short, high whistle and a ball of shaggy brown-black fur trots in after them.

Darcy smiles. “What’s your dog’s name?”

“Dog.”

She peers at him disgustedly. “You named your dog, Dog. Not even Spot, but Dog?” she asks.

He shrugs and begins leading her to the bedroom.

She uses his bathroom (“There’s ibuprofen in the medicine cabinet!” he calls through the door) and he gets an extra blanket, then lays it at the foot of the bed.

“Gets cold up here at night. Or early morning,” he tells her gruffly, when she ambles into the bedroom.

Dog pads in after him and sits by the door, tongue lolling out while he watches them.

Darcy sits on the bed and begins to toe off her boots and take off her parka. Underneath, she’s all soft mossy-green sweater and even softer curves. He looks away and begins to fuss at Dog.

“Alright, Lumberjack McScruff, tuck me in.” She wiggles expectantly under the cover.

He swallows.

“Ain’t tuckin’ you in,” he rumbles, and adjusts the plaid blanket at the foot of the bed so it’s covering her feet.

“Thanks, guy,” she says, already halfway to sleep.

He grunts and runs a hand through his hair.

Darcy pats the spot next to her in bed. “C’mere, buddy,” she says in a lilting, sweet voice and something in him clenches.

“He’s not allowed on the furn – “

But it’s too late, because Dog sees his chance and happily bounds up on the bed and stretches himself alongside the girl. If he’s not mistaken, when the mutt cranes his head to stare back at him it’s with two big, brown, smug eyes.

He scowls. “Fine. I’ll be on the couch if you need anything.” He turns to leave and thinks of one other thing. “Remember. Bathroom’s across the hall, please don’t puke on my bed.”

Darcy’s groan is muffled by blankets and dog fur from where they’re burrowing in next to each other. “I said I was sorry!”

He wakes up with the sun.

He pads to the kitchen sets up the old Mr. Coffee (“Yesss,” Darcy says when she wakes and sees what he’s made. “You’re a god among men.” And he raises a brow because no one can really think that, can they?). He sticks some frozen waffles that he forgot he had into the toaster.

They’re halfway through their meal when he looks at her, suddenly alarmed.

“When you were… “

“White girl wasted?” she finishes for him, stuffing an obscene portion of waffle and syrup and butter into her mouth.

He coughs. “Drunk. Did you happen to tell people where you were headed? ‘Cause…”

“Oh shit!” Darcy exclaims, and Dog, who’s back on his trusty pillow twitches his ears. She pulls out her phone. In a minute, she’s on the line with a woman who immediately screeches out a series of indecipherable exclamations.

“Nooo, Helen, no pterodactyl noises,” Darcy whimpers, and brings her free hand to rub at her temple. “My brain is trying to chisel its way out of my skull.”

They talk for a bit and then -

“I’m here with…Luke? I think?”

“Logan,” he corrects, taking orange juice out of the fridge and pouring himself a glass.

She pauses and turns to give him a very…thorough once-over, then her eyes round.

“Uhh. I’m pretty sure I’m here in a cabin with freaking Wolverine,” she intones into the phone and he nearly drops his glass onto the floor.

The woman on the phone chatters back excitedly and Darcy taps her foot. When she can get a word in, he gives Darcy directions (he’s not even a blip on a GPS) then she relays it to Helen.

“They haven’t left camp yet, so they’ll be here in ten,” Darcy says, tapping her phone off and taking a hearty gulp of the coffee.

“No problem.” He drinks his orange juice and licks the corner of his lip. “…Kinda nice talkin’ to another human, actually.”

“Yeah? You ever come back to join civilization every once in a while?”

“Nah.”

“You sure? Because I know where all the fun bars are and I’m pretty sure there a hot dude under that dead thing clinging to your face.”

“What’s wrong with my face?” He crosses his arms over his chest, and glowers.

She smirks at him, not at all affected.

“Absolutely nothing,” she replies, words dripping sweetness and he has to remind himself that he should bring the glass to his lips.

Eventually, the crunch of tires on dirt and gravel interrupt them.

Two sharp honks sound outside, and Darcy winces. “Helen, I’mma kill you,” she gripes, and zips up her parka.

Darcy then turns to him with two big luminous eyes and a wickedly sharp smile.

She takes a random piece of paper from her pocket and hurriedly scribbles something onto it.

“My number,” she tells him, pinning him with a look from under her long lashes that makes the skin on his arms tingle. “In case you need ideas for new dog names.”

He nods once, brusquely, and takes the slip of paper from her. He shoves it into his back pocket without even looking at it.

“Darcy! Come on!” the lady in the car calls out. “We’re gonna be late for Spa Day!”

Darcy leaves.

He goes back to his life for a while; takes Dog out for walks, makes dinner for one. Studiously ignores any communications from Xavier.

It’s two weeks later, and Logan is staring at himself in the slightly streaky mirror above his pedestal sink. The bare bulb flickers.

He angles his head to the side, takes a pair of small scissors and begins trimming.

She picks up after two rings.

Logan doesn’t even bother with a greeting. “Spot,” he begins, “is clichéd as hell.”

Darcy Lewis doesn’t miss a beat and he can hear the smile in her voice when she responds.

“How about Rex, then?”

“That’s okay.” He pauses, runs a hand over his newly shorn beard. “Was thinkin’ Captain Morgan, though.”

Her answering warm laughter alights sparks all the way up his spine.

[mmtions]

wedding: impossible (pt.2)

(pt.1)

michelle jones/peter parker - college/future fic (wip)

Against his better judgement, Peter has agreed to be MJ’s fake date to a wedding so she can usurp the bride, or something. Considering how much he’d like to be her not-fake date, he’s not really looking forward to it.

Despite all her apparent indifference to them both - and, really, most of her peers - MJ had become a close friend to Ned and himself. So much so that he freely told her his big, spider-themed secret. (She’s actually the only person he’s deliberately told, which is a milestone he’s not keen on analyzing too deeply.) 

She’d reacted pretty calmly, actually, only hitting him with a medium-sized Chimamanda Ngozi Adiche novel, rather than the special edition hardcover that was also in reaching distance.

So, they survived high school together, becoming an unexpectedly tight-knit trio (with absolute no parallels to Harry Potter, shut up Ned). They even survived the entry and violent departure of Harry Osborne from the group, which caused all kinds of angst for Peter, definitely revolving around the supervillainy rather than the whole dating-MJ thing, thank you very much.

And they’d even survived college applications together. Ned and Peter had been talking about MIT since they realised it wasn’t a fictional place on spy TV shows, and Harvard should consider itself lucky to get MJ as one of its alumni. It was a happy coincidence that they all lived within a twenty-minute car ride of each other, really.

None of this, however, explains why exactly Peter is currently on a ferry to Martha’s Vineyard, trying to make conversation with MJ that isn’t horrifically awkward.

He’d picked her up from her college dorm in the car guilt-gifted to him by Mr. Stark after the whole Infinity War mess, and most of the words exchanged during the whole hour-and-a-half trip had been about which radio station to play. They’re currently sitting inside the main ferry, a booth to themselves, looking out onto the passing waves. Peter’s already wearing his suit, the plain black one he last wore to graduation, but MJ told him that she’d change on the journey. (As long as she’s not expecting him to keep driving while she strips off in the front seat next to him, he’s perfectly happy with the plan).

“Hey,” she suddenly says, apropos of nothing. “Does this remind you of that time with the Vulture and the ferry splitting in half?” Because of course she’d gone into scary-research-mode with she’d first found out his double life.

“Um,” he looks around. The smell of seawater is stronger when it’s not filtered through a fear-sweaty mask, and the view isn’t quite the same, but, “Yeah, kind of, now you mention it. Thanks for that.”

She snickers. “No problem.”

And, well, he finds himself smiling, because he can’t help himself, and because this is their status quo, her making fun of pretty much every aspect of his character, and he didn’t realise how much he missed it even in the past week.

He readjusts his tie - although maybe he could just have taken it off for the journey - and of course MJ’s eyes narrow in on the movement. “I like your suit,” she says.

“Thanks,” he says. “May said I should match the tie to your dress, but you won’t tell me anything about it, so…”

Laughing easily, she replies, “Gold medal to Aunt May for remembering prom etiquette. Anyway, I’ve brought two dresses with me, and they’re different colours.”

“I’m sure I could have packed two ties,” he counters with a perfect poker face.

“Shut it, Parker.” She leans to teasingly shove at his shoulder. “Seriously, thanks for coming. I was considering Ned, but I’ve seen him on Dance Dance Revolution, and I can’t afford to lose an eye during the macarena, you know?”

He snorts. “Sure, happy to save you from that. But who turned you down before you considered me?”

He meant it as just a joke, ready for her to roll her eyes and say a cheerleader or her current debating rival, but as soon as he says it, he realises how desperate it probably sounded. He swallows, and prepares his commentary on the weather, when she frowns, a crease between her brows like every-time he says something stupid.

“I didn’t consider anyone else,” she says, and she actually seems sincere, which, honestly, has happened maybe five times during their entire friendship.

He rolls his eyes. “I’m joking, MJ, don’t worry.”

“Peter,” she says, and she puts her hand over his where it rests between them on the bench. “Seriously. You were my first choice.”

He casts his gaze anywhere but her face. “It’s okay, I’m here, you don’t need to-”

“Peter, I needed someone charismatic, and hot, and nice, and who I trust. Your waltz skills were a big bonus, I’ll admit,” and here, she grins, disarmingly casual, as if his whole world hasn’t stuttered a little bit at so many compliments coming from her mouth. “But I wanted you to come with me.”

“Uh,” he says, eloquently.

“I’m gonna go change into my outfit,” she says, abruptly, standing and edging out of the booth.  “Stay here. And try not to sink the boat this time, yeah?”

He shakes himself. “Not funny!” He yells after her retreating figure. She flips him off in response, and a mother shields her daughter’s eyes from the gesture as MJ stalks past them, duffel bag slung over her shoulder. Great.

While he waits for her to return, he nervously fixes his hair - and probably messes it up more - and considers texting Ned. Although what would he send?

(hey, has MJ been complimenting you recently? unrelated q: how’s that alien mind control detector coming along?)

He could maybe text May, but she’d get the wrong idea. Well, probably the right idea, but she’s always liked MJ, even more after the whole first semester mess that was his month-long relationship with Carlie Cooper. Even thinking her name makes the smell of burning strong in Peter’s nostrils, and he shivers. Bad mental path to go down, Parker.

He decides to just refresh Twitter, liking Pepper Potts’ (@CEOStarkPotts) tweet about fracking, and Mr. Stark’s subsequent reply about where he’d like to drill for oil, which he only likes out of courtesy because the actual mental image is bleach-drinking worthy.

He quickly finds himself then in a internet spiral, and he’s watching a Youtube restoration of a dug-up axe when there’s a cough from somewhere near. He startles, and looks up, and then thinks that maybe the ship did sink and he’s dead. Completely and utterly dead.

“It’s red,” he chokes out. At this point, it might be easier to just tattoo ‘giant dweeb’ across his forehead.

She rolls his eyes. “Cheers, Parker, consider your next opticians’ appointment postponed. Seriously, is it okay, or should I try on the other one?”

He shakes his head so fast he’s in danger of dislocating his jaw. He’s staring, definitely, but he doubts anyone would blame him. Because MJ - Michelle freakin’ “fashion is capitalism’s worst industry” Jones - is wearing this long red slinky dress that looks soft and shiny and amazing. “Nope, no,” he says. (Smooth.) “No, I think that one works. It’s, ah, you’re really - it looks good. Yeah,”

God, it’s almost the exact shade as the red on his suit. Don’t worry, Dr. Octopus, MJ is going to murder Peter Parker by just wearing spaghetti straps, you’re welcome.

She slides back into the booth, and tucks her hair - which is out of its usual ponytail and falling all around her face in all its wild glory - behind her ears. “Thanks.” Then the soft smile is quickly hidden behind a meaner grimace. “This’ll show Anna.”

“You still haven’t told me what your big problem with this girl is,” Peter points out, thankful for the distraction of conversation.

She sniffs. “It’s a long story. And I can only tell it when the sun’s down.”

He rolls his eyes. He has no idea why he likes her so much, honestly.

-

They follow the GPS’s directions and arrive at the hotel, a charming place with white stone and a long gravel driveway accented with pretty, flowering trees. Naturally, MJ pulls a face at it.

“This is so typical of her,” she says.

“It looks nice,” he rebukes.

They follow the signs to the car park, and Peter only takes three tries, amidst MJ’s laughter, to get it into the parking bay. They traipse to the main entrance, other guests mingling and following their path.

"Wait," Peter asks as they reach the lobby and join the queue of people for the reception desk. "We're staying here tonight?"

"Yeah," MJ replies casually. "The ceremony and reception are here, so."

"You booked the rooms?"

At this, MJ suddenly seems distracted by her fingernails. "Room. Singular. And, yeah. Least I could do for dragging you out here."

He's too afraid to ask the other question he has, which is promptly answered when they get up to their designated Room 342. It has exactly one double bed, right in the middle of the room, like it's taunting him.

"I-" he swallows. "I'll call reception, get them to send some more pillows so I can sleep on the floor."

"Don't be stupid," she dismisses, already chucking her bag onto the right side and popping the complimentary pillow mint into her mouth. "You can't help little old ladies cross the street if your back's as bad as theirs. We can share."

Right. They can share a bed. Sure.

"When does the ceremony start?" Peter asks, a little desperately as MJ sits on the bed and bobs a little, testing the springiness, which is not a turn-on, shut up.

"In half an hour, probably." She shrugs. "I'm not bothered if we turn up late though."

He narrows his eyes. "You want to turn up fashionably late to a wedding ceremony."

"I'm not saying I want to, I'm just saying I wouldn't be bothered," she counters, with a straight face, until she breaks and stands back up. "Kidding, kidding. Let's go. I think one of my cool cousins is here."

He frowns, following her out into the hallway and only just remembering to grab the keycard from the small table by the door. "How come your cousin is here? I thought you knew this girl from middle school?"

"Yeah, we went to middle school together," MJ agrees, and perhaps Peter should know not to be fooled by her casual tone by now. "But she's my aunt's daughter."

Peter stops. Like, he actually stops walking, right there on the patterned carpeting. "So, your cousin.”

She mockingly shudders. "Gross. I try to pretend we're not related."

“This is your cousin’s wedding,” he says slowly, the horrible truth dawning on him.

She stops at the elevators just in time to give him a side profile of her rolling her eyes. “Yes, if you want to be pedantic, I guess.”

He swallows. "Exactly how many of your family members are going to be down there?"

She finally halts as well, and turns to look at him, raising an eyebrow like he's the one being ridiculous. Then she twists her lips, thinking. "Hm," she says, and he waits with held breath. "Only the ones on my mom's side."

Yep. He's going to die.  

He throws his arms in the air. Possibly he's being very dramatic, but come on! "MJ! Are you kidding? This would have been vital information before we got here!"

Something weird and undefinable flickers across her face. "Would you have not come if you knew?" she counters, which is really beside the point.

"Of course I would've come," he says, immediately, because it's the truth. If MJ asked him to come as his date to a wedding between a disapproving Steve Rogers and Electro, he would've turned up with his shoes shined. Regardless, he thinks he has the right to be a little thrown. "You're seriously going to introduce me to your whole family as your boyfriend? To get revenge on your cousin?”

He at least expects a little contrition from her. But instead, the elevator doors slide open with a small chime, and the corner of her lips are curling, like she’s daring him to do something. “You up for the challenge, Spider-Man?”

God help him. His head rolls back in defeat, and she slips into the elevator. He has a split-second to decide: and then he’s darting forward to slide in before the doors shut. 

She looks up at his entrance, as if maybe she hadn’t been all that sure, and he shoves his hands in his pockets. “Fine, I’m in,” he says, and his smile is met by one of her own. “But you have to tell me the story behind your hatred of Anna, and I get to tell everyone you cried at the ceremony.”

She bites down on her bottom lip in that way she does whenever she wants to laugh at one of his dumb jokes but is too proud to. “Deal.”

“And,” he adds as she presses the button for the lobby, because something feels different, and he’s still sparking from the sight of her in that dress. “You have to strongly imply I’m the best you’ve had in bed.”

He’s expecting her to laugh straight in his face. But suddenly her expression is… different. Before he can work out exactly what’s going on, the elevator doors are opening again, and she’s striding away.

He takes a deep breath, and readjusts his tie one last time. Come on, Spider-Man, he thinks, and follows her. 

thanks for the amazing response so far!! I think this is going to be my last update on tumblr - I’m going to finish the rest, and then probably post the full thing as a one-shot on ao3. hope you enjoyed this next part! 

[yourplayersaidwhat]

We had just finished our first quest, where none of us really were experienced DnD player, and I did some feeble attempts at solid DM'ing. The goal of the quest had been to find an antidote for a farmer’s son who had gone into a magical coma.

(ps: due to an inside joke, Winnie the Pooh is in the party like, just there. Christopher Robin is the farmers son who fell ill. The party coloured winnie the pooh neon pink. I don’t know why.)

DM: You reach the farm. You don’t have to roll shit to figure out these peeps are poor. They have a cow and a goat in a small pen that don’t look too hot. Oh, and there’s a donkey tied by the door to their shedlike home.

Elf Ranger: guys i think these peeps are super poor.

Half-Elf Cleric (only good aligned partymember): oh my god really????

DM: just as you say that, the door creaks open, and a thin, a bit aged man peeks out, and when he sees you, his eyes go wide and he steps fully outside, and he says “Are you the ones my daughter sent to- have you found it? Did you find the antidote for my son?”

Half-Elf Cleric: Hello we are here to speak to you about Jesus Christ- I mean, Njord. That’s my deity, right?

Elf Ranger: Yeah, the word of Njord.

Dward Fighter (whose alignment is sorta fuzzy): Yeah we got some antidote dude but uhh time cough up some gold pieces, aight

DM: So- these news fills him with both glee and fear. He sinks down on his feet-

Half-Elf Cleric: What was he on before

DM: -His knees. He sinks down on his knees, and he brings his hands together in your typical prayer like- he’s begging you. “Please, we have… nothing.”

Tiefling Warlock (Chaotic Neutral): sad trombone

DM: “Please, I- I have but one son, he and my daughter are- we won’t be able to do the amount of work- we need him!”

Tiefling Warlock: “Shall we move on, my fellows?”

DM: As you guys speak about this, Winnie the Pooh slides down from /Half-Elf Cleric/’s shoulders, where he’s been perched, and sort of waddles forward, past the begging father, and into the house, to join Christopher Robin.

Half-Elf Cleric: AWWWWWW

Dwarf Fighter: Ey he didn’t swipe the antidote from us, did he?

DM: No- no, you still got that.

Tiefling Warlock: I would’ve Eldritch Blasted his ass if he had.

Half-Elf Cleric: I think we should just give them the antidote.

DM: Like- just to clarify: the antidote is not like- a valuable thing. It’s just this one specific conconction for this particular- you won’t get more cash out of this anywhere else, nobody is gonna run up to you and go “oh, my father is in a magical coma and needs an antidote that-!” like. It’s literally worthless except for these people.

Tiefling Warlock: But we won't have to help someone pro bono.

Half-Elf Cleric: *annoyed sigh* I don’t give a damn about money.

Everyone except her: *horrified gasps*

Dwarf Fighter: … well, you guys do got a nice ass-

Everyone: WHAT

Dwarf Fighter: the donkey. You got a nice donkey.

DM: You… want the donkey.

Half-Elf Cleric: IS IT EEYORE

Everyone: YES we want the donkey.

DM: … The man looks at the donkey and then at you, and he goes “I- If it is a trade between the life of my son and my donkey, it’s- then it’s yours.” And- and Eeyore looks up at you all-

Everyone: YES IT’S EEYORE

DM: -and he goes “I figured I was going to get sold anyway…”

Half-Elf Cleric: AWWW

DM: and the farmer goes “AAA” cus he didn’t know he had a talking donkey

Dwarf Fighter: eyy hasn’t he seen Shrek talking donkeys means cash

DM: yeah well that doesn’t matter now cus he’s giving him to you guys

Dwarf Fighter: right you are

DM: and the man unties Eeyore and he sighs deeply and he goes “this surely won’t make things easier for us… but in exchange for my son… *sigh*”

Tiefling and Dwarf: oh stop moping around jesus hell

Half-Elf Cleric: EYY if I have a ‘set of commoners clothes’ can i give them to them cus they look poor right

DM: I guess

Half-Elf Cleric: EYYYYYYYYYYYY

DM: but then you’d be naked

Half-Elf Cleric: NÄÄÄIJ in that case fuck it you don’t get shit i’m sorry i tried

DM: -and you just start taking of your clothes to give them to the man, but you realise halfway through what you’re doing and you get dressed again

Tiefling: cover yourself, woman

DM: so- let me get this straight. You guys literally have a box on wheels that you pull along with you, and it is filled… with the golden heads of a pair of statues AND YOU WANNA TAKE THIS POOR FAMILYS DONKEY.

Tiefling: survival of the fittest, honey *grabs rope with Eeyore on the other end*

-they go inside and give Christopher Robin the antidote-

Christopher Robin: what the fuck

DM: And the family all rejoice at the awakening of their son, and they turn and thank you, and they’re in the middle of hugging you all when the farmer murmurs “They… they took the donkey.” and the whole family just. Goes quiet-

Dwarf Fighter: fucking tattletale?

DM: - and the mother sort of sinks down on her chair and she whisperes “How will we surviv-”

Tiefling: Oh for fucks- “look, woman, if you don’t shut up I’ll Eldritch Blast your ass-”

Half-Elf Cleric: “HEY WHAT”

DM: The woman gasps loudly and pales-

Dwarf Fighter: “Yo what’s the problem don’t you want a talking donkey”

Half-Elf Cleric: “I meant the whole threatening to KILL HER actually”

Tiefling: “I wasn’t threatening her, I was just stating a fact”

DM: That if she wouldn’t shut up you’d kill her?

Tiefling: It’s a very known fact.

DM: Winnie the Pooh is looking at Christopher Robin with such glee; it’s really indescribable how happy he’s looking, and he’s hopping around happily and he’s climbing up on the bed to give him a big old hug, and Christopher Robin, he goes- “What the- could you guys like take the bear away from me.”

Everyone: “WHAT”

Half-Elf Cleric: “Isn’t he like with you?”

Christopher Robin: “Wh- no? I just went into the woods and he just came up to me, and I found this ruin and he just followed me? And then I got stung by something and that’s all I remember? Could you like take him away he’s a bit creepy. And why is he pink?”

Half-Elf Cleric: “Well uhh he’s yours now. You don’t have a donkey anymore, so-”

DM: And this sorta comes as news to him cus when the father told the fam he had just woken up so he was a bit disoriented so now he goes “Wh-Why is-? What happened to our donkey?” And the father, he goes “Well, son, it was their demand to give you the antidote… and-”

Tiefling: “By the way… can we get this transaction on paper?”

DM: - and the boy turns to you incredulously, and he goes “But-! You can’t! We need that donkey, without it we’ll die!”

Dwarf: “You’re young and strong, boy, time to saddle up.”

Tiefling: “You got a bear now.”

DM: - And Christopher Robin starts to cry too, and he goes “You might’ve saved our lives, but you’ve killed our family-”

Dwarf: “Anywho, gots to go.”

DM: So, you go to leave the shedlike home, and the athmostphere is next to devastated-

Dwarf: “Okay, okay, I ain’t okay with this. We go here and save your life, and you guys are devastated? Really?”

Tiefling: “I agree entirely. Ungrateful runt.”

Cleric: “I-”

DM: “And Chrisopher Robin slams the door in your face.”

Cleric: “No, I was- I was gonna whisper to him "I didn’t want this, I wanted to let you have it for free-”

DM: -Okay, so you whisper that, and he just stares you down, and he shakes his head, and tears are falling down, and he just spits out “You’re just as bad as them for letting it happen anyway,” and he throws the door shut in front of your face after doing that.

Cleric: “GODDAMNIT”

DM: okay so like just to state- like, you guys are super welcome to just. give them something on your own accord, like, out of your own pocket, you picked up som gold in that temple, so if you want to-

Cleric: I WANNA GIVE THEM 100 GP

Tiefling: WHAT “NO, NO, DON’T” ok so I try to pursuade /cleric/ not to do it.

DM: You- you can’t roll to make another player do stuff they don’t wanna do.

Tiefling: Okay, uh “Hey, /cleric/. Don’t do it.” There, you’re pursuaded.

Cleric: … yeah, nah. I give them the gold.

DM: So- you hammer on the door and you shout “I GOT GOLD FOR YOU” or something like that, and Christopher Robin opens the door, and once he sees the gold you’re extending, he- he is so happy. He takes the gold and he goes to hug you, and the entire family comes out and does the same, they can buy like 3 donkeys now i dunno how GP works in dnd yet uhhh so-

Tiefling: Fuck this, I eldritch blast Christopher Robin.

Cleric: NO YOU DON’T i stand in the way.

DM: -Fine? Uh, roll an attack roll.

Tiefling: Twelve.

DM: You miss. You hit the ground.

Tiefling: … don’t I hit the house at least?

DM: NO YOU- WHY DO YOU WANT TO BURN THE HOUSE DOWN

 Cleric: WHY WOULD YOU STILL ROLL WHEN I WAS STANING IN THE WAY- YOU TRIED TO KILL ME

Ranger: All of this for a donkey

DM: Nah, dude, you got the donkey. This is because /Cleric/ gave them 100 GP

Ranger: Oh okay

Dwarf: Yeah, but they’re super ungrateful. Bastards.

Cleric: Yeah but we can’t KILL THEM for that??

DM: so the family, they- after the attempted murder, they run back into the house. 

Dwarf: Did they take the gold?

DM: Yeah.

Dwarf: Rat bastards.

DM: Does /Tiefling/ want to keep his spree of 'teaching people some manners’ going or?

Tiefling: Nahhh. But he does cast sleep on /Cleric/ cus he’s pissed.

Cleric: haHA i’m a half elf and I can’t be magically put to sleep!

Tiefling: Nvm then I’m tired.

DM: So- you guys walk away from the house, and just for a moment you hear the door opening and then quickly closing-

Ranger: No

DM: -and you turn, and- Winnie the Pooh has been tossed out of the house.

Dwarf: THIS IS WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT when Njord taketh a donkey he giveth thee an illuminescent bear, and they just TOSS HIM OUT

DM: - and Winne the Pooh sits on the ground very- very sadly. Had he had tear ducts, he would cry a single tear. He is on the ground-

Ranger: Still pink?

DM: Still pink.

Cleric: :’(

Ranger: ugh FINE let’s take him with us.

DM: You go and pick him up, and he is so happy. So, so happy.

Dwarf: what are we, collecting Winnie the Pooh characters?

DM: He’s on /clerics/ shoulder again-

Tiefling: Can’t we put him on Eeyores back?

Dwarf: Can’t we put EEYORE on WINNIE THE POOH’s back?

DM: You put Eeyore on Winnie the Pooh back, and you now have a donkey on top of a bear on the ground. They are not moving.

Cleric: Oh dear.

DM: And Eeyore sighs and goes “I knew I’d be too heavy”

Everyone: “AWWWWWW”

[sneezingpotatoes]

The Road Trip [Part 3]

4 hours had passed since the two switched positions; Yuko couldn’t help but occasionally glance at the sicky, who was slumped down in his seat, arms folded, head buried down into himself, with a hat that he previously grabbed from the back seat, covering his face from view. Yuko could hear his faint, shaky, and congested breaths over the soft hum of the engine and heater; he had turned off the radio just to make sure that his companion was still alive and breathing. Every couple of minutes, Harima would give a weak groan and wetly cough into his hat, making Yuko cringe each time. The sound of him suffering made his stomach churn with unease; he couldn’t stand seeing and hearing him sound so horrible. “Uh, Harima… You awake…?” The boy asked out of both curiosity and nervousness. He wanted to stop by an approaching pharmacy or gas station, whichever came first, to pick up some medicine for the poor guy, without him noticing.

The man responded with a stuffy-sounding groan and sniffled onto his curled index finger, only to return back to his peaceful slumber.

The boy smiled, understanding that he was still fast asleep. “You’re not gonna like this, but… I’m just looking out for you… And I also just have to pee…” He whispered, typing in a gas station onto his GPS.

 After a quick five minutes of driving passed by, his GPS instructed him to turn left, and announced that he had reached his destination. Obeying the GPS, he slowly pulled into a parking space as carefully as possible as to not wake up Harima. While opening his door, a feeling of nervousness stirred in his gut; He knew that his companion was still asleep, but he gave him one last glare to be sure, before leaving the car and headed into the gas station to quickly perform his tasks.

 Yuko hadn’t even been gone two whole minutes before the man already noticed the car had stopped moving. “Yuko…?” Harima mumbled while lifting the hat off of his face, only to realize that he was only by himself in the car at a gas station he had never heard of. He scolding himself for knowing that this would’ve happened regardless; It was just in the kid’s nature. He swiped his left coat sleeve underneath his swollen nostrils and stepped outside of his car, allowing the cold winter air to brush through his short black locks. “Guess I should fill up anyway…” He muttered, bringing his groggy voice fully out of retirement; An itching sensation crept up on him, triggering a violent, wet sounding coughing fit into the warmth of his scarf, as he placed the gas pump into the tank. He could feel a lot of concerned stares on his back from other commoners filling up their gas tanks as well. “I guess winter isn’t for everyone!” Yelled a random lady as she got in her car and drove off. Harima cursed underneath his breath at the lady as he wiped his nose in his scarf; Do I really sound that bad? He thought.

The cool air really did seem to be getting under Harima’s skin, as he could feel his nose start to run more heavily than it did before, and he knew his index finger wouldn’t be enough to keep the mucus at bay anymore. He pinched his nose shut, having a wave of relief cover him at the clicking of the gas pump. The man quickly closed his tank and paid for the gas, only to see Yuko rushing to the car from the corner of his eye, returning with a brown plastic bag. “Yuko…!” he yelled, enraged, but his voice cracked and gave out mid yell, sounding more raspy than full.

Yuko had the look of a sad puppy with his tail between his legs. “Listen, I can explain—!” He began, only to suddenly be interrupted by Harima lifting his finger, signaling for him to wait a second. He already had his right hand hugging his left shoulder, the crook of his right elbow promptly in front of his face, ready to catch the sneezes he was about to pitch.

“I have tihh! … sn-sneehh… sneEKGSschiih! H’NKGSschiihsh!! W-whahh- eh? W-what’s in… t-the… ba’ekk-chhiihsh!! ‘KGSscht!” The man could feel all the wetness he was trying to hold back, splattered all over his arm. He helplessly pinched his nostrils shut as he tried to prevent anymore sneezes from attracting more attention from the other commoners filling up their gas tanks; he could see them giving him harsh looks full of disgust and repugnance.

The teenager blessed him and pulled out some long tissues that he snagged from the men’s restroom. “… Here, I grabbed these for you… You look like you could really use them…”

Harima gratefully accepted the tissues Yuko handed him, and blew his slightly ticklish nose. A big wave of mucus rushed out into the thin tissues, bleeding out into his hand, causing him to grimace; He could hear the teenager wince at the sound over his loud nose blowing. “Thangks, Yuko…” He congestedly muttered through the hand full of tissues, feeling embarrassed that the boy had to witness his mess.

Yuko opens the passenger door, urging for him to take a seat. “Don’t worry about it.” He consoles, trying to hopefully take away the anger and hostility Harima still had against him for disobeying him.

The sick man weakly sits back down into the passenger seat, using Yuko for support and closed the door, hurriedly trying to get out of the cold weather and escape the uncomfortable stares on his back. His body was already starting to feel achy from the cold shards of wind. The relieved teen starts up the engine and pulls back onto the highway, tossing Harima the bag. Harima looked into the bag, only to see a box of Dayquil pills, a bottle of water, and about two more long sheets of tissue crumbled up on top. He sighs at Yuko, seeing how Yuko hadn’t picked up something he would want for the road trip, like a pack of smokes or at least a bag of teriyaki flavored jerky.

The innocent teenager decided to break the uncomfortable silence that somehow broke between them. “So… How are you feeling, Harima…?”

He pushes the bag onto the floor of the car, frantically rubbing at his leaky nose. “Ughk…” A moan is released from Harima, as he anxiously tries to kill the prickling in his nose. He could feel his own muscles starting to tense up against his will as his eyes fell shut. “IKGSchuh!! ‘Kisschiihsh! …T-Tickl’isscht-ugh! S-so tihh… t-ticklish…” Each sneeze would scrape the back of his throat and made him release an exhausted moan as his body trembled from the lack of heat; He buried his wet face into his scarf out of habit, attracting the attention of the teenager.

“Yuck!” The boy blurted out, not being able to stop himself; He instantly regretted the shameful outburst. The remembrance of Harima using his scarf as a tissue the entire trip, and him snuggling most of his sneezes into it made him squirm in his seat. How could he still be wearing that mucus-infested piece? He thought to himself. Yuko’s stomach flipped out of guilt. He knew that Harima couldn’t help it, but being a witness to his messy acts just made the boy cringe intensely. “… There’s a few extra tissues in that bag, you know…” He tried to inform the sicky without sounding punitive.

Harima fell silent; He understood how gross he portrayed himself as, and if he were Yuko, he’s sure that he would’ve reacted the same way. The man grabbed the last few tissues from out of the plastic bag and tried to quietly blow his nose and mask the liquified sound, only for him fail, creating a damp sounding blow. The teenager tried his best not wince at the sound and cleared his throat instead, hoping to offset the sound. “M’sorry…” Harima mumbled through the handful of tissues. He gave his nose one last wipe and stuffed the used tissues into the cup holder. “I see that I’m grossing you out beyond the max.” The helpless man quietly sniffled to himself, beginning to remove his scarf, and then his coat.

The teenager felt full of remorse; why did he have to say that?! “N-no, it’s okay! You’re not feeling well, and that’s totally normal!” Yuko scratched his head, nervously, trying to reassure Harima. “Everybody’s different!” He bit his lip, feeling anxious, hoping that he hadn’t hurt the sick man’s feelings. Harima’s head was leaned against the cold window with a blank expression, his glassy eyes were gaping out, watching the iced road. His body had a slight shiver now, since he removed his coat and scarf, and his arms were folded, in an attempt to provide him at least some body heat. The man only groaned in response to innocent teen. “Here…” Yuko muttered while reaching behind him, eyes still locked onto the road. “You can… Use my blanket…” Without thinking, he gave Harima his fuzzy orange blanket, not caring about germs being spread. He figured this was the least he could do for him. The sick man willingly wrapped himself in the soft blanket, feeling instantly relieved and was unspokenly thankful to the boy for lending him his blanket, despite his condition.