#Dollar Tree Crinkle Paper

[crinklepakshred]

Shredded Paper for Packaging  – CrinklePak

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[two-red-lungs]

The Kids Are Alright (Eddie Munson)

Your first date with Eddie Munson is fine, as far as first dates go. You get pizza together: meet awkwardly outside the door at 7pm, hands sweaty, exchanging nervous, butterfly-riddled smiles. You eat. He can't stop moving in his seat opposite you, tapping his hands on the sticky enamel tabletop. He looks at you with big brown eyes. Wary, at first, then as the night goes on and it becomes clear this isn't some string-along joke, or a prank, with boyish glee.

But the second date is the one that really shines.

Eddie, in all his intellectual glory, takes you to the Dollar Tree.

It's late, again, and the D in the logo flickers in and out of existence. The air inside smells like cheap plastic, dust, and the urban sprawl of capitalism. This is a place that's usually... dead. A pathetic sort of dead, where dreams come to die, the cashier looks about five seconds from falling asleep, agonizingly boring elevator music plays over tinny speakers, and Hawaiian themed teacups are on sale for ninety-nine cents.

You think god, what the hell are we even doing here? This is hardly a dinner date, or the bowling alley, or makeout point, or any of the usual dates your friends always bragged so cooling about. But then Eddie looks at you over his shoulder, spins on his heel, and throws his arms wide. His outfit jingles.

"Welcome," he says with a glint in his dark eyes, "to the goddamn kingdom of imagination."

You should leave. God knows to anyone else at school this date could sound like a horror story, an uncouth, uncool, unladylike disaster. But there's something in those eyes. Something vibrant and alive and real. So instead of leaving you think, okay. Why not.

Best decision of your life.

He knows this place by heart, every white-tiled aisle under the buzzing fluorescents. And he's funny, too: you didn't expect him to be so funny. As you both slowly amble and push your squeaky-wheeled cart he picks up random shit, talking as he fiddles.

A fuzzy caterpillar cat toy becomes his moustache. He wraps a crinkled paper streamer around his neck like a boa and faints dramatically against some of the shelves. He scurries to the aisle next to you and pretends to walk down a staircase, disappearing from view: when his moppish head pops back up again, his wild hair flounces.

Huh. He smiles like the sun.

Eddie asks about everything possible, and god, under his stoner slang he's whip fucking smart. You crack a joke or a sarcastic reference and he smoothly returns it with equal emphasis, two tennis players on the court.

You check out picture frames. Eddie suggests throwing a little spraypaint on it, a little silver paint to light the edges, some weathering with sandpaper, and suddenly you've got yourself some primo decor.

"You like to paint?" You ask him, standing in the aisle, holding the shitty wooden frame. He's looking over your shoulder. You can feel his body heat, this close.

"I'm a big believer in, uh. Creativity, y'know?" His smile is big, toothy. Still nervous. Like as extroverted as he is, as big as his personality could be, the sting of a scoff or a sneer could still hurt.

You tell him that's cool. Something in his eyes softens.

God, you don't know how many hours you spend in that place, just talking and touching shit and discussing potential DIY projects and cool ideas. You talk comics, and music, and Hawkins social politics. He tells you about Tolkien. You tell him about David Brin. He likes David Murray, you like Siouxie Sioux. You both agree the autumn leaves this time of year make the Hawkins High look like its roof is on fire (and god, if only).

Your cart is full of bullshit you don't really need, bullshit full of promise and potential, and Eddie is letting you ride the cart with your feet on the front bar as he pushes it down the aisle at mach one speed. He splutters behind you, your hair in his mouth. He's laughing.

The total comes to 12 dollars even. The plan for the next date is to turn the kids bathtub toys you bought- ducks and dolls and dolphins- into zombies and mummies and other creatures with the shitty barely-opaque acrylics set you scored.

The sky is black outside, and it's raining. He asks if he'll see you again this week, and you say yeah, duh. The air feels like fireworks- like lightning, like a live wire. You think for a second that he's gonna kiss you.

Eddie pulls out a silver-plastic tiara from under his vest, nicked free of charge from the girl's section, and sets it on your head. It's cheap, pattern-punched plastic with pink plastic gems. It's perfect. He's made you a fairytale.

Munson bows, smiles again- the one that makes his eyes crinkle- and then he's off in his van.

He's so weird. He's so strange. You don't understand him.

You think you really like him.

[followthebluebell]

would love a list of low energy enrichment activities to try with cats. im always looking for more ways to be involved with my cat but she is 3 and very high energy and after a long day i often dont have the spoons to chase her around with a toy while she finds new exciting hiding spots to look at it from. this makes me sad :( i dont want her to be understimulated

Food-based enrichment:

Feeder toys are a favorite! But these carry the drawback of requiring cleaning afterwards, so calculate that into your spoons. Some of them are machine washable, so that may be an option if you've got a dishwasher.

Snuffle mats - another favorite, these also require the occasional clean but don't need to be cleaned every time you use them. You can make your own pretty easily. Or, hell, just grab a very cheap bath mat from a dollar store. Your cat won't know the difference.

Scatter feeding - literally just. Throw a handful of treats or kibble on the floor or down the stairs. Literally, that's it. Calculate clean-up into your spoons because cats aren't reliable vacuums. But it keeps them busy for a few minutes.

Toy based enrichment:

Get a cardboard box. Crinkle up some brown wrapping paper or whatever cheap paper you've got on hand and put it in the box. Congrats, you've now combined your cats two favorite things in the world: boxes and paper. For extra fun, add catnip (or silvervine or whatever your cat's drug of choice is), toys, or treats.

Ripple Rug: this is actually a specific product. It's literally a square of carpet or rug with velcro on the bottom that attaches to ANOTHER square of carpet or rug. It's fairly stiff. The idea is that cats can dive into it and make their own little tunnels. My cats LOVE it. You can probably recreate it quite cheaply using cheap rugs or carpet, tbh.

Cat crinkle mats: again, this is something fairly easily made at home. You get some cheap crinkly plastic and sew it into two old washclothes or something similar. Congrats. You now have a little mat your cats can sit on, bat around, and crinkle. You can also just buy them in multiple sizes. Many have catnip in them too.

Paper bags: cats just love paper bags. Be sure you remove the handles to make sure no one gets their head stuck. Most cats entertain themselves pretty well with bags.

Cat springs: those little plastic springs are a favorite, and so are those cheap rabbit-fur covered mouse toys.

Cat race track toys: another favorite.

Cardboard cat scratchers: the cardboard ones require MORE cleaning because they leave little bits of cardboard all over the place, but it is kind of nice that you can just throw them out when your cat is done. Any scratcher is good, though. I've listed cardboard for ease of clean-up and because it's a very popular material for cats.

Cat tunnels: like bags and boxes, cats just love tunnels.

I'm not a big fan of laser pointers or robotic toys. I haven't seen many cases of light chasing disorders in cats compared to dogs, but it's an issue enough that I don't readily recommend them. I also don't really recommend robotic toys because a lot of them make noises that cats don't like. If your cat enjoys these things, congrats; I just don't find them universally popular enough to really recommend. But I had to mention them, because if I didn't, my notes would be full of 'but what about Product X!!".

I've tried to keep this list to low cost toys and activities. There are other things you can do, like installing wall shelves or getting a big cat tree, but these things are more likely to be expensive, either in terms of money, time, or energy. I wanted to focus on low cost activities that I felt were more accessible to disabled folks.

[jadeleechsupportgroup]

Rhapsody in Teal - 3

Rock, meet hard place. You can’t be out sick forever, but you have no earthly idea how you’ll make it through ten minutes of class without throwing up all over Crewel’s desk. You haven’t slept for more than two hours at a time in three days, and it’s turning you into the worst possible version of yourself.

On the morning of day four, you find a package on your doorstep. It’s a box, about the size of a basketball, wrapped in sky-blue paper. You carry it inside and set it on the kitchen table.

“Mrrr?” Grim’s nose twitches enough to wake him up. He rolls to his feet and stretches. “Snacks?”

“Not sure,” you mumble. You unwrap the paper and open the top of the box, carefully untwisting it from the complex series of origami folds holding it together. A card rests on top of a pile of crinkled paper strips.

I have enclosed some samples of other tea blends I think you will find enjoyable.

If you are feeling up to it, I will be going on a hike today.

Jade

“Not snacks,” you inform Grim.

He groans. “Yeah, I can tell. It’s just leaves. Booooring.” He meanders away to the kitchen.

You mull it over while you wait for the chocolate truffle blend to finish steeping. You feel like shit, and you don’t want to face people. But nature might not be the worst, and Jade doesn’t qualify as ‘people.’

The tea is really good.

You don’t have much in the way of outdoor stuff, so you throw on your gym uniform and shove a couple snacks in your backpack. You feel weird as you heave it onto one shoulder, but what’s the worst that could happen? The worst has already happened.

You’d be lying to say you aren’t afraid of a healthy percentage of these boys. They get into cafeteria fights over pasta, for fuck’s sake. You don’t want to see what they would do if they suddenly found out a girl was living amongst them. Even a girl who’s barely girl enough that passing for a boy hasn’t been all that hard.

A knock at the door interrupts your thoughts.

“Hi,” you say uncertainly.

Jade gives you a tiny wave. “Good morning,” he says. “How are you feeling?”

You don’t want to give him your life story, but you don’t want to lie, either. “Ish.”

“Fair enough.” His eyes land on the crumpled shreds of wrapping paper that Grim has taken to batting across the floor like a definitely-not-a cat. The tension in his face eases a little.

Was he worried about you?

“Shall we?”

You nod. “I’m probably not the fastest hiker, but I’ll try not to slow you down.”

“Oh, do not worry about that. I am not, either.”

It turns out that Jade is not exaggerating. He pauses to inspect most patches of dead trees and poke around in the undergrowth with a stick, but you don’t mind at all. It’s a nice, unhurried pace that gives him plenty of time to teach you about plants.

You rummage through your backpack and find a wayward notebook you forgot about, with a tooth-marked pencil wedged into the spiral spine. You flip past the latest page of harried notes and scribble a bit on the first blank sheet.

Maybe you liked drawing, before. Or painting. Or birdwatching. Or dancing after all. No muscle memory has kicked in, at all, for anything. You remember generic shit, like what dollars are vs thaumarks and that magic was more or less a fantasy in your world. You know what a car is and what a phone is. But anything specific went out the window.

Your eyes start to burn, and before you know it, blobs of water are landing on your doodle of the mushroom Jade is examining.

You give up on staying silent pretty much immediately. The book slides off your lap into the dirt as you use the sleeve of your uniform to absorb the evidence of your sadness. Then the wooden bench you’re sitting on bends (a little ominously) as Jade sits next to you.

“Sorry,” you say with a cough as you try to get yourself together.

“Please do not apologize.” The corner of a handkerchief enters your blotchy vision. It would be romantic if you weren’t such a goddamn mess right now. “You have been through quite a bit since your arrival here.”

You insist on using your sleeve as a kleenex as long as possible. “I can’t remember anything,” you mumble. “I can’t…remember anything about myself. Like, what I like. Stuff I’m good at. It’s all just gone.” Your voice starts to lose stability. “My friends. My family. Whether I even had one. Fuckin’ everything.”

You give up and take the handkerchief.

Jade remains silent, and you’re glad. There’s probably nothing he could say to make you feel better. Maybe you don’t want to feel better.

“Sorry,” you say again once you get your voice back under control. You sniffle. “I really like the tea you got me.” It feels even lamer aloud than it sounded in your head.

Jade emits a small laugh. “I hope I was able to guess some of your preferences correctly.”

“So far so good.” You take a deep breath that turns into a sigh. “I guess that’s one thing I like.”

“Then I believe you will recover the rest soon enough.” He keeps his focus on the dirt, the short, hay-colored grasses, and the dappled shadows from the trees overhead, but his fingers twitch a bit. Like he’s trying not to move his hand. “Perhaps you need to experience a variety of other things to trigger your memories.”

Good thing your face is already red. “Probably,” you admit quietly. “But…this is stupid.”

“Hm?”

“I’m kinda scared.” You pick up the notebook and shake some of the dirt off, hurriedly closing it before he has a chance to see its contents. “Like, of being bad at something. Making myself look dumb.” Apparently another thing you’re good at is being insecure.

“I doubt that you would,” Jade says kindly.

“Besides, I’ve got bigger problems now.” You roughly rub your eyes to stop them itching. “What am I gonna do? It’s only a matter of time before they all find out about me.” You draw your knees to your chest.

Jade mirrors your movements, though it looks a bit more ridiculous for him since he is so incredibly tall. “May I make a suggestion?”

“Sure.”

“You may wish to…take control of the situation, as it were,” he says slowly. “Rather than continue hiding it until others find out at an unknown time.”

You give a sarcastic, humorless laugh. “What, like, waltz into the school dance in a dress? I can already hear the record-scratch now.” You laugh a little more until you realize Jade is not laughing with you.

“Since you mention it,” he says a bit sheepishly, “I was hoping for something along those lines.”

Now you really blush. “You were gonna ask me out?” You bite back asking why, assuming it’s because among the various fish in the sea at school, you are a fairly singular choice. The lowest common denominator of 1.

Jade’s mouth forms a smile. “I would still like to, if you would allow me the opportunity.”

“Oh. Uh. I mean, I wasn’t…gonna go,” you say, stumbling over your words. “I don’t like dressing up. I think.” You squirm uncomfortably.

Jade unfolds himself so his legs stretch out more naturally again. “You could think of it as an experiment, if you like,” he suggests. “A continued study of your tastes and hobbies to discover what suits you.”

Why does this make you want to smile so badly? “I don’t know,” you say. Then, after a substantial pause, “I’ll think about it.”

1 | 2 | {3} | 4 | 5

[bluiex]

a very merry scarian teacher au almost christmas special! mentions of grian working in a club / being a stripper bc i really liked that idea. y’all are so <3

with april turning five, christmas has become a much more exciting concept to the young girl. she hasn’t shut up about it, understandably so! first it started with begging to get a fake fireplace so they could put stockings near it, then the tree from the dollar store. even though scar himself said he’d buy them one, grian wasn’t one to take handouts! unless it was food.. even then it didn’t feel right. now it’s with april jumping up and down around their shared bathroom as grian is fidgeting with his makeup, getting ready for a shift at the club as his crotch goblin belts out christmas music. he gives her a pointed look once she climbs onto the bathroom counter to join him, starting to list off everything on her wishlist and the drawing they did today in school. grian stares at the crinkled paper in disbelief at the three adult stick figures and april’s own “self portrait.” he gives a weak smile, patting her head of curls and letting her ramble on while trying to fix his mascara. “do you think papa will visit for christmas ? he didn’t come to my party..” grian freezes, jaw clenching at the reminder of doc’s latest excuse on why he couldn’t show up to his daughter’s birthday party. the absolute lack of balls and audacity of a man, to miss his child’s birthday just stay out clubbing in another country. “maybe, sweetpea. you know your papa is a very busy man.” the words taste bitter as he lies through his teeth to the one true victim in this situation. it felt easier than the trauma of telling his daughter doc had never wanted to be around in the first place. it wasn’t going to take long for her to realize that on her own at this rate. “can you go get ready to bed so scar isn’t running around like a chicken with his head cut off?” he suggests, and with that she brightens up at just the very mention of scars name, dashing to her room. grian’s forehead thumps softly against the mirror with a tired sigh, eyes squeezed shut in a poor attempt to will the tears away. just the very thought of paying for christmas was already stressful enough, he’d find a way though. always will for his angel even if it means he has to go without eating at times, working even more shifts. adding doc into the equation though..? that was completely out of his control, slumping at the thought of doc being away in sunny fucking spain with some random hookup and living it up. the sound of the door bell ringing breaks him from the trance of self misery, pulling at the fabric of his crop top in an attempt to cover his binder as he rushes to answer the door for scar.

DOC MISSED HER BDAY?! *kicks him in the shins*

April deserves the world. And Gri plz let Scar get yiu a Christmas tree

[hearttinmyhandd]

escapade

Sitting on a mahogany dresser in my bedroom is a thick layer of dust, and a collection of incense and trinkets I’ve been collecting since I was fifteen. I can never seem to let anything go so long as it has a fraction of sentimental meaning to it– as is the box of incense collecting dust.

I never burn those things anymore. When I was a teenager and still living with my father, late at night I would open all of my bedroom windows, light all the candles I’d collected as Christmas gifts over the years, and light the little cones. My bedroom would fill with the scent of vanilla, driftwood, and something reminiscent of the western Pennsylvanian bonfires my grandma would host when I was a child. Quite often, the little purple box that held them would catch my eye and I would ponder; how nice it would be to light one today. I wonder if they would smell the same.

I never did. Something took hold of my wrists and throat when I began to think, “Just one won’t hurt.” And so I would think to myself, hurt what?

There’s no danger to my well-being from lighting incense. I treated the things as if I were a recovering alcoholic, and they were a fresh bottle of New Amsterdam staring at me from my dresser. But the fear.

This fear I experience, it takes control of my soul whenever I yearn for anything out of the ordinary. I can hear my mother’s voice nagging in the back of my head about the nasty smell of the smoke. If I think I’d like to take a walk after dusk, I hear her untrusting voice asking where I’m going so late at night. When I cry and plead for answers about why the world is so cruel, I see her eyes roll over in disgust and turn back towards the television.

It was a deadly sickness stripping me of my youth, day by day. Tiresome. I was a little porcelain doll sitting on my mother’s living room shelf. A nativity set. If she was the Virgin Mary, I was her sweet little baby Jesus.

A look wouldn’t hurt. I cracked open the aging cardboard box and peered at the little baggies of each scent. I'd long forgotten the scents, but there were cones colored forest green, terracotta, floral magentas and lavender. I examined the crinkling bags and whiffed each one, an intense earthy smell assaulting me like snorting black pepper. Stuffed between two bags I caught a glimpse of something I didn’t recognize. Faded white paper. I picked it up.

A cigarette. One, single little Marlboro cigarette between my fingers. A faded memory of a jaded youth. I recalled a night many years ago at an ex-boyfriend’s house, when a family friend had left behind a full box of cigarettes on the patio table. Little daredevil I was, I suggested we steal the box. Then that fear gripped me, and I reeled back and said we should just steal two cigarettes. At least I did it.

I must have stuffed it in here for safe-keeping. An emergency of some sort in which a cigarette is my only hope. I stuffed the rolled tobacco into the pocket of my jeans, carefully so as to not bend or break it, and grabbed my car keys.

There was this park right on the Indian river, hidden by a six-lane highway. My secret little happy place, though I never came here– the fear, you see.

Past the tall green trees of this park, there was a boardwalk-like path surrounded by a plethora of Florida greenery. It was like walking through a tunnel of leaves and branches. Deafeningly quiet, the slightest sounds could be heard. A rabbit stepping on a fallen branch, squirrels foraging through leaves, birds chittering in between trees– and my heavy footsteps echoing down the walkway.

It took about five minutes to walk this wooden path, and I found myself jumping at every noise from the depths of the woods; peering behind my shoulder as if the fear were chasing me in a physical form. But I would not turn back. I was halfway there.

At the end of the wooden path of this park trail, you were given two options: to sit on a wooden dock facing the river and the million-dollar homes, or to walk through an opening in the fence towards a rocky clearing where you could stand on mossy and barnacle-covered rocks. This clearing was my secret spot. The trees were placed in such a way that one could never see you from the wooden path. You could see nothing, and nobody, except the river and the rocks. Except today, when I finally made it to the end of the path, there was a little black book laying in front of the opening to the clearing.

Lying perfectly on the ground, face up, this book laid staring me in the face. “Cause of Death,” read the title. It was as if someone had carefully placed it there like a booby trap. I felt as if I would pick it up and an anvil would fall from the sky and crack my skull open. It was so ominous I wanted to laugh. 

I stood there staring at the book, looking between the path back to my car, the dock, then back at the book. It was so silly. So, so silly, that the fear had materialized into an eighties-slasher style warning.

I ignored it.

I sat on the dock instead. Not the ideal scenario. I had a vision where I sat on the rocks with my feet above the water, smelling the river breeze out of view from the world. But the dock would do.

I sat and fumbled in my pocket for the single cigarette. I placed it in between my lips, but when I reached into my pocket, my heart sank. The lighter was in the car.

The whole thing at this point was surely a sign. Normally I would have kicked myself and pictured myself screaming, wondering if maybe this was truly ridiculous. A mother knows best, after all. I found myself indifferent today; try as I might, today was not the day. Simple as that. 

Despite my indifference, I ran as fast as I could from the rustling squirrels and my cause of death.

The next day I tried again. Not at the same park, but one a few miles down the road. This park was also along the river and arguably had a better view. But this park was not hidden, and thus was more likely to have people. My vision did not involve anything but me, my cigarette, the water, and the wind. It was meant to be beautiful.

Perhaps a sunny Sunday afternoon was the worst time to enact my vision. When I arrived, the parking spaces were near full and there were families enjoying one of the last days of summer in every corner. Simple as that. I rolled around the parking lot and pulled away.

On the third day, I was awake at eight o’clock for my bi-weekly counseling. I did not tell her about my cigarette escapade, but afterwards I felt an itch worse than ever to let myself go. Meditation is what she suggested. I had just the thing for that.

Like the park, I had a favorite beach where little to no people were ever seen. The beach access looks like a grass plot, not a parking lot, and it was sandwiched between two massive condominium complexes. When I was little, I was stung by a portuguese man o’war here. I should have been weary, but it made the place feel like my own. On the odd occasion there would be a crowd of beachgoers, but today my fingers were crossed.

I took nothing but a towel, water, and of course the point of this all. When I stepped up the boardwalk, I felt the fear try to creep into my veins and replace my imaginary muscle relaxer. It didn’t prevail for long once I peeked over the wooden stairs. No one was here. It was beautiful.

The air was salty and warm, but the breeze flowed through my blood like my lover’s fingers brushing softly against my back. The silence was like a blanket that had just sat in the sun. 

When I got settled onto my towel, I sat back in wonder at the serenity of the morning beach. I suppose I had never been so early. The occasional beach town resident would walk past without sparing a glance. I silently thanked them.

I fumbled with the lighter for a minute, the cigarette comfortable between my lips, but the wind was interfering like a spoiled sibling on your birthday when the cake comes out with the candles lit. Eventually my hands shielded the childish wind for enough time that the paper caught flame. And I sat there.

For a while. For a while I sat there. It was like my imaginary muscle relaxer was real. Imagination cannot even compete with reality. My mind had shut down. For the first time in my life, I had no thoughts. Only the wind playing with my hair and the bitter taste of tobacco in my mouth.

I had my ten minutes of quiet bliss. I spent my time watching the waves crash, pull back, then do it all over again. I laid back and let the wind blow through my ears. I dug my hands into the sand, reveling in the chill of it not having been touched by the sun. My heart beat slowed. I imagined my lover wrapping his warm arms around me and kissing my cheeks. Like a call to a prayer, the sun came forth and warmed my skin. 

And then it was over.

My first thought when coming back to reality: I understand how people get hooked on these things. 

I knew I would not get hooked, and I did not. A part of me thought that something would change after this. Like breaking a glass bottle of holy water. The bottle shatters and something incredible should happen, like God Himself should come down and kiss your forehead as if you’ve freed him of some sort of curse. Instead, the bottle just shatters and water goes everywhere.

I would go on and continue to move about life with the needle of fear pricking away at my back. To this day it haunts me and pulls me away from reality, on the opposite side of the spectrum from the cigarette. I feel it creep into my skin and veins when I light those incense late at night, and when I slip on my shoes to stroll through the suburbs. But no longer does it take hold of my throat.

[mallowstep]

(nature; nurture)

You know the truth of yourself in pieces.

* * *

You are three, sitting on your mother's lap.

"And you understand this is a life-long commitment?"

"Yes," she says.

"And Mothkit, Frogkit, and Hawkkit, do you want Feathertail to be your mother?"

"She is our mama," Hawkkit says, and the woman laughs.

"That settles it, then."

* * *

Growing up is not a balloon inflating, the way you once pictured it. It is a crab moulting over and over again, exposing its softest parts, in hopes it survives.

* * *

You are the first to go to kindergarten. Only by a few minutes, but still. That feels like it counts for something.

You kiss your mother's cheek, and then drop your bag. A man crouches down beside you. "And what's your name?"

"Mothkit!" you say, and he shows you where to put your bag. You glance back at your mother as you venture deeper into the classroom. She wipes a few tears from her eyes.

* * *

Unlike a crab, you cannot reabsorb what you lose. Your teeth are collected in a box, exchanged for a few quarters, occasionally a dollar. Your hair is swept up and thrown away. You go shopping, and now there are two sections you have to examine. One for you, one for your brothers.

* * *

Stormheart picks you up for school, and no one is waiting in the passenger seat. You all climb in, and you end up stuck in the middle.

"Where's Mama?" you ask.

"She's at home," Stormheart says. He glances back at you for a second, smiling. "She's just having a bad day."

You kick off your shoes at the door when you get home, dropping your bag on the kitchen table. Your brothers are slower, but you peek through the crack in her door before Stormheart catches up with you.

She's asleep, not facing you. Mistyfoot is on the other side of the bed, reading a book.

Stormheart scoops you up. "Come on, bug," he whispers. "Let's go play outside."

* * *

But your soft parts stay the same, just growing between each exchange. You ask her about your father many times, and her answers drift, circling around a truth you want her to finish. You slip into her room after having a nightmare, and find her sobbing. You make a family tree, and stare frustrated at the missing names.

* * *

You follow her out to the garden. Frogpaw spends more time out here than you do, but you're bored, and your mother is here, digging tiny troughs into the earth.

You cross your legs on the grass beside her. She smiles at you. "Are you going to stay out here?"

"Yeah."

"Do you want a hat?"

"No." The sun is warm, and you lean down, your elbows pressing into the dirt. "What are you planting?"

"Poppies," she says. "Do you want to help?"

You shake your head. Feathertail takes a handful of sandy dirt, and pours the bag of seeds onto it.

"Mama?" you ask, and she lifts her brow. "What's assault?"

Feathertail pauses what she's doing, and looks questioningly at you. "Where'd you hear that?"

"It was on a TV show." You fidget with blades of grass. "I wasn't really watching."

Feathertail sighs. "It's -- when you hurt someone," she says. "When you attack them."

* * *

But you are not a crab. You are a girl, and you are changing. Your father sends you a letter and asks you if you're a help to your mother. You grapple with the undeniable proof he's in prison, like she explained a year or two ago. You shoot up past your brothers over the summer, and have to buy new clothes. A new garment comes with it. Feathertail cleans a few things out of a room you can't think of as hers, and it becomes yours. Your soft parts move, find new places in need of protection.

* * *

Sometimes, you want to explain everything to Leafpaw, all in one breath. You want to say, My mother didn't give birth to me, but I know who did, and I was not wanted, except that I was, and my father believes I am capable of nothing, and my period has started, and I don't know what that means, and I think you are beautiful.

You don't say any of that.

* * *

But you are not a crab, so you find traces of your past exoskeletons, the ones that didn't fit. A shirt you wore five years ago. A diary you can barely understand. A folded piece of paper you do not open. They don't make sense with who you are, and yet, they are who you were.

* * *

Shadepelt teaches you how to use make up. Feathertail and Mistyfoot don't wear any, but she does, and she makes it look easy and fun and flawless.

It's much harder when you have to do it.

Hawkpaw and Stonefur arrive home when you are scrubbing it off in the bathroom downstairs. You don't come down here very often, and it is strange to think that this space is a part of your home.

When your face is clean, you trudge upstairs. The air is tense, Hawkpaw and Frogpaw staring across the kitchen table at each other, Feathertail watching them.

"I'm -- allowed to know," Hawkpaw says.

"What do you want to know?" Frogpaw says. "We know everything we need to."

"Maybe you do," Hawkpaw says.

You glance at Feathertail. Her back is to you.

You slide unnoticed into your room, and pull out the stack of letters from your father. You read them all once, exactly, and then add them to the stack you keep in your bottom desk drawer. There's no point in rereading them.

But you run your thumb over them, listening to the way the old, dried paper crinkles.

Frogpaw is asking the wrong question. It's why Hawkpaw wants to know that matters.

* * *

Freshman year draws to a close, and you think you are in your final moult. Leafpaw falls asleep on your shoulder on the way home from a field trip, and you hold hands as you wait to be picked up. You haven't outgrown any clothes in months, and your brothers are now taller than you. You look in the mirror, and realize this will always be the face that looks back at you.

* * *

There is always talk. You try to ignore the worst of it,

("Well, Hawkpaw is a creep," and, "I heard their mother doesn't love them," and, "Bet you can't wait to see your daddy,")

but that's easier said then done.

Leafpaw squeezes your hand. "They don't know what they're talking about," she says.

But they do. That's the problem. They're wrong, but they know what they're talking about.

A junior Mothpaw doesn't know sits beside her at lunch, in Leafpaw's space.

"You should move," Squirrelpaw says.

"No one's sitting here."

"Someone will be."

True to form, as soon as Leafpaw bursts into the cafeteria, she forces herself between Mothpaw and the junior.

The junior rolls her eyes. "I was wondering," she begins, "how you feel about the death penalty."

* * *

There are still old memories you revisit. Feathertail is hospitalized for the third time you can remember, and you log your hours for drivers' ed as you practice making the trip back and forth.

* * *

On Halloween, you take the bucket of candy Feathertail gave the three of you to share and sit on the back porch. Frogpaw and Hawkpaw keep stuffing their faces long after you've finished, and you feel like you're witnessing something obscene.

"I did some math," Frogpaw says. "We were born a month early." He throws a candy bar up, and it lands on his stomach. "Means we were conceived around New Years."

He throws the bar up again, and this time it lands in his hands.

"You ever want to throw a party? Just one. Make a bunch of food for dinner and sit around the table and call all the different dishes courses?"

"What the hell are you saying?" Hawkpaw asks.

"I think i'm just saying something," Frogpaw says. "I think I'm just hoping if I say enough things, I'll find the right thing to say.

* * *

You get your license. It says your name on the card, Mothpaw, daughter of Feathertail, and ask for permission to drive the car.

You don't have a plan for where you're going, and you end up in front of a cathedral.

* * *

The stress of junior year threatens to break you. College applications loom, your classes grow teeth, and you start to bicker with Leafpaw over petty things.

You read over the essay requirement for colleges, and think about what kind of essay you could write. Because there's really only one story worth telling, and it feels wrong, to type out all of your family to a stranger.

It makes you glad you started early. "My mother was fourteen when we were born," you write, and then scratch out. "My father is alive. We know who the other is. I've never met him," you write, and then erase. "I don't know who I am," you write, and then you keep writing.

* * *

At some point, you decide you don't believe. But. You keep coming back. There is something reassuring in routine. Your family doesn't ask where you are going, and you don't volunteer it. Sunday morning. There's some kind of peace, in having the time to sit and think and be.

* * *

"I think I've messed everything up," Leafpaw says. "I've gone about this all the wrong way, and now, everything is terrible, and this is all my fault, Mothpaw, I'm sorry-"

You kiss her, and then lean your forehead against hers. "We're both at fault," you say. "Besides. Maybe the honeymoon is over. We've got lives to attend."

And Leafpaw, inextricably, is part of that life. You can think of the essays you would've written about her. How her hair looks brown until it catches the sun, and then it shines like red glass. How she stomps when she is excited. How she links arms with you and says you're going shopping until you find your family Christmas gifts.

* * *

They invite you to a class, but it feels strange, knowing you don't believe. How do you say, I am here, and I am not, and I don't think you'd really want me.

You don't. You kneel down and offer a prayer to a god you don't believe in. Maybe it will catch.

* * *

Feathertail listens to you practice your speech.

"I'm so proud of you," she says. "You know that, right?"

You nod. She tells you this often, but something about her tone makes your throat catch. You've outgrown the days when Feathertail's arms could surround you, but even so, you start to cry when she hugs you.

"I love you," you say.

"I love you too," she says. She settles back onto the couch, wrapping her hands around a mug of tea.

This is the truth of who you are. This is what you will always fail to capture. How can you describe how the light streams inside at an angle that you've always known, one that makes the dust swirl through it? How can you describe the books on the coffee table, how each book has been read and loved, not merely thrown there for decoration? How can you describe yourself in any way but being there?

* * *

You meet your father's eyes. You know them. You have seen them in the mirror.

* * *

You hold your diploma in one hand, stopping for a photo. You were the first to enter kindergarten, you were the last to leave high school.

The excited chatter in the air is a reminder of what this day is. You have all bought your final yearbooks, signed names and numbers you won't remember in a few months. You're in it a few times -- Feathertail and Leafpaw delighted in hunting for your every appearance -- and you think, maybe it is okay if you are pieces.

There is something whole and solid that is made of them.

[itsbeaconhillsbaby]

city lights, pretty sights || tom holland x reader

a/n: hello again! so i was completely overwhelmed by the lovely response my first tom holland mini fic/imagine/blurb thing received from you guys. and i had a couple more ideas so decided to keep going and see what you all think. once again - i hope you guys are liking these, let me know if you are and if you wanna have a chat about anything tom related - hmu, I'd love to chat! 

word count: 1673 warning: none (that i can remember anyways) summary: wandering through nyc late at night still in your premiere outfits; pizza, piggy back rides and cute scenes

“What’s your thoughts on pizza?” 

You nuzzle closer into the side of the figure next to you, feeling them guiding and supporting you along the path as you walk together. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t holding on a little tighter than normal. Looking up to him you grinned, hair falling out of the loose style it’d been sitting in all night, the bouncy curls now framing your face, “I love pizza.” You could feel the presence of Tom’s security, walking a little further back giving you both some space, but still close enough that if anything at all happened, they’d be there to get you both home. You approach a tiny little hole-in-the-wall takeaway pizzeria, Tom pulling himself behind you, keeping hold of your hand as you walked through the tiny entrance. “Two slices of your pepperoni pizza please?!” you ask, grabbing a couple dollars from inside your bag and handing it over to the man. the place was empty. “Ay, 2 minutes!” You thank him and lean back slightly, now bracing yourself against Tom as he wraps both his arms around your waist and tucks his chin into your neck. sweeping a couple tiny kisses below your ear. “Have I mentioned how beautiful you look tonight?” he whispers, brushing some hair behind your ear with his nose. “Only every single time you’ve looked at me,” you laugh, “It’s not every day I have make-up artists and dresses delivered to me. But I think you’ll find it’s me who can’t keep her eyes off of you. You were amazing tonight, y’know?” He hums into your bare shoulder, your body vibrating against his touch. Tonight was crazy; and you still couldn’t quite believe that it wasn’t all just some very elaborate dream. You had been making breakfast a couple days ago for you both, spoiling Tom now that he was back in London fresh off his press tour. You had come into the bedroom to tell him everything was ready when he pulled you down onto the bed and into his chest, gently asking if he could bring you as his plus one to his premiere in New York. The days that followed were crazy. Some designers had sent some dresses once they were told Tom was bringing a plus one, all eager to be the first to dress ‘her’. It was overwhelming to say the least. You were brought back from your memory by a saucy pizza aroma, your stomach reacting after now realising how long it had been since you’d eaten. You’d been so nervous all day, and everything was so stressful this morning...this pizza couldn’t come faster. Aside from your rumbling tummy, there was another big reason why neither of you had wanted to go straight home after the premiere. You hadn’t looked at your phones yet. Nor did you particularly want to. You knew the media would have been chomping at the bit to release the photos and articles of Tom and his ‘mystery girl’ - you were making the most of your normality with him before it was all blown to smithereens. Before you could dwell on that thought any longer, two slices of thick NYC pizza wrapped in napkins atop paper plates slid across the counter towards you. Tom unwound his arms from around your body and you both grabbed your slices before giving your thanks and leaving the pizzeria with a jingle of the bell above the door. //// You finished the last few bites of your pizza, leaving the crust before throwing it into the nearest bin. The city lights were glittering, cars still lining the streets despite the late hour. It definitely was the city that never sleeps and you loved it here. Despite it being hot and sticky all day, a cold wind had picked up and the material of your dress wasn’t exactly the warmest. Tiny little goosebumps has appeared on your arms, the little hairs standing up straight. “You wanna head back? It’s getting cold,” tom asked, he shuffled himself out of his burgundy suit jacket and held it open for you to put your arms in before sliding it up and over your shoulders, enveloping you. “-Or we can call a car here?” he continued. You had stopped where you stood, just at one of the entrances to central park. “We can have a car come in about 15 minutes if you want to take a little stroll about the park, Tom?” His security guard had noticed the lack of movement and had come over to see if either of you needed his assistance. “That sounds great, thank you!” you called, refusing to let this day end just yet. “Thank you for today, the paparazzi and the media and all the shouting. It’s a lot to deal with. Would put many off, but you handled it like a complete pro. We did the right thing didn’t we?” Tom asked, keeping his eyes forward to the grassy path lined with trees. “Hey. Look at me.” You turn him to face you, the lamplights highlighting his eyes as they trained themselves onto you, “I knew what I was getting myself into, and no amount of press or media stunts are gonna ruin this. No way. We’ll deal with it - as long as you want to keep making these films, I’ll support you. through the good and the bad, right?” He shifts on his feet, slightly uncomfortable with the conversation. His lifestyle had gotten in the way of his relationships before, you knew that. and Tom felt deeply about the people he loved. It was partly why you loved him and a reason why you’d both agreed to keep you out of the limelight for a while. You knew he was giving you a get out of jail free card. A reason to leave if you needed it. “I’m in this. I promise,” you reassured him. Youu bring your hands up to his face, caressing his cheek slightly, brushing the curls out of his face with your hand, “Since when did you get so soppy anyway?” “What can I say...it’s part of the charm!” you saw that twinkle jump back into his eyes, his playful energy taking centre stage pushing the tiredness, vulnerability and fear to the back of his mind. You continued to walk through the park a little, still within eyeshot of the entrance, careful not to wander too far. Enjoying each other’s company in a peaceful section of this intense city. At that moment, in classic NYC style, the heavens opened up and a heavy rainstorm thundered into the ground. The pair of you started laughing, the rain catching you both slightly as you took cover under one of the trees lining the pathway. You noticed Tom’s security waving you over, your car was here and the stretch from where you were both sheltered under the tree to the entrance was fully open. “Right, hop on!” You look at Tom confused as he squats down slightly, his arms held out behind him. Gathering up your dress slightly, you grip onto his shoulders, count down from 3 and hop onto his back, wrapping your legs around his waist and linking your arms around his shoulders and neck, clinging on with your face pressed into his hair. “Go go go!” You burst out laughing as he makes a beeline for the car, the rain pelting down on the both of you, completely soaking the pair of you to the bone. Your hair whipped around your face and you could hear Tom laughing as he ran, you couldn’t help but join in. You closed your eyes, tilted your head up and let it hit you for a moment, you were by far the luckiest girl in the world. You’d reached the car before you knew it, Tom gently lowered you back to the ground as you hopped back off - keeping your dress off the ground in the hopes not to ruin it completely. Opening the car door and ducking your head in, you slid across the seats, Tom on your heels. “Well, that was unexpected.” Tom looked at you, his full curls plastered to his head - shirt dripping, and burst out laughing, “I love you but you look like a raccoon.” You playfully hit on him on the shoulder before bursting into laughter yourself, “Oh shut up. ” //// Tom was, as expected, trending on all social media the next day. Articles and photos of his past relationships and rumoured romances brought to the surface as your red-carpet photos together came to light. However, the press hadn’t caught the best photos of the night at all.

In amongst all the posed pictures, two slightly blurry but still recognisable photos were moving their way across the internet. One taken by a fan through the window and across the road from the pizzeria - of Tom cuddling you from behind as you leaned back into him dressed in gown and tux. And another, of you with your head back, hair wild, laughing and Tom carrying you on his back, floppy and curly hair, massive grin and eyes crinkling at the sides - taken by another fan, you suspected. As gorgeous as the media pics were, you knew behind them was stress and nervousness from both parties, and you couldn’t help the feeling in your stomach that someone had managed to capture both of you completely natural and free, enjoying yourselves and each other on such a monumental day for both Tom and for your relationship. You liked and saved both the pictures before hearing the click of your phone locking shut as you placed it back on the bedside table. Rolling over you curled yourself behind Tom before he shifted himself onto his back, arm sliding under your shoulders and shifting you into his side. You close your eyes as he presses a sleepy kiss to your forehead and you let yourself finally relax - completely and utterly content.

[userjoel]

[ drabble ♡ lingering stares & unexpected blushes ] ––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

[ prompt ] : “quit smiling at me like that. i can’t stop messing up my sentences when you look at me like that.” /// you help tom rehearse his lines for ‘far from home’ but he looks so cute standing there in his glasses and you just can’t help but stare

[ pairing ] : tom holland x gender neutral reader

[ warnings ] : tom drops the f bomb once or twice

[ word count ] : 1.5k

[ notes ] : i know how unrealistic it is for someone else to have access to a marvel movie script like y/n in this story when even the actors get fake versions sometimes but!! for the sake of the story pls ignore this minor inconvenience </3

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“And this...is Mr. Beck.” You dramatically enunciate, trying your best to make sure your voice sounds deep like Samuel L. Jackson’s.

And maybe your voice change was just that convincing, because Tom doesn’t seem even the slightest bit distracted by your acting skills. He continues to stay in character, his eyebrows knitting together instead in response to the line.

“Mysterio?”

“What?” You change your voice again to one that (you thought) might be more appropriate for Jake Gyllenhaal. 

Tom gently shakes his head, a shy smile appearing on his lips. “Uh, doesn’t matter. It’s just what my friends have been calling you.”

You’re currently lying on your stomach across the plush expanse of your living room couch, reading off the weighty packet of papers clutched in your hand as your boyfriend, glasses perched on his nose, paces back and forth in front of the fireplace not too far away from you. You’d glance over at him in between lines, noticing the way he’d sometimes lick his lips or run his fingers through unruly hair whenever he felt his next line slipping away from his memory.

It was common for you to help Tom run through his lines every once in a while, but today was a rare occasion when he didn’t need to be on set. The opportunity had you hoping it’d mean a chance to get his mind off of something other than work. But when you spotted the massive, bookmarked script sitting unattended on the kitchen island in the morning, you realized halfway through your coffee that that option was off the table.

So, here you were — now working through your second cup of the day — helping Tom do his self-assigned homework.

“You can call me Quentin.”

You squint for a moment to read the stage directions that follow before extending your hand towards your boyfriend, who catches the gesture from his peripheral. You raise an eyebrow, a serious look in your eyes to match the graveness of the scene. Tom notices, and you swear you could see the corner of his lips twitch up ever so slightly. But it’s gone before you could say for sure.

He closes the distance, gently taking hold of your outstretched hand before shaking it with a kind of firmness. You smile at him when your eyes meet. He doesn’t return it, but there’s a tenderness and twinkle in his eyes as they rest on you that you knew you’d never trade for anything else in the world. 

It feels like he holds both the gaze and your hand for a second too long. You have half a mind to pull him into the spot on the couch next to you, but you think better of it and let go.

“Um…” Your vision scrambles back to the script, trying to find where you left off. “Oh — Saw what you did with the tower. We could use someone like you in my world.”

“Thanks. Wait, I’m sorry. 'Your world?'” Tom doesn’t return to the same spot where he was pacing just moments ago. Instead he stands a few steps away from you, arms crossed in concentration, looking down at his feet or glancing outside the window from time to time.

“There are multiple realities, Peter. This is Earth Dimension 616. I’m from Earth-833.” You find it slightly more difficult for you to refocus. The brief moment you shared earlier has made you lose the flourish you’d been previously putting into your recitations, the lines come out more monotone.

And you know. You know you should be helping him practice his lines for this very, very important multi-million dollar movie, but there were far more pressing things at hand for you.

Like how cute your boyfriend looked.

He’s dressed simply; a buttery-soft white t-shirt and a pair of dark green sweatpants. But it’s less about that and more about how he looks all together — the glasses; the curls of his hair; the way the fabric of his sleeves clings to his muscular arms; how he seems to fidget when he senses you staring at him for a little too long.

He’s doing it now: Tom doesn’t look up at you, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other instead. But with a pleasant chuckle of disbelief, he’s back to being Peter: “I’m sorry — you’re saying there’s a multi-verse?”

You smile and bite your bottom lip when you notice the sudden transition in character, head craning to the side a bit as you continue to look at him, trying to catch his gaze. It’s obvious he knows what you’re doing, and it’s beginning to get to him. He can feel your gaze heating his skin up; the rosy tips of his ears betray his otherwise external nonchalance.

How could you not love the effect you had on him? It felt that much more special because he seemed to get worked up over random little things you usually didn’t even know you were doing. He could look so put together on set and in his element, but one innocent look from you was all it took to break his character.

“I thought that was just theoretical. I mean, that completely changes how we understand the initial singularity. We’re talking about an internal ��”

“Eternal.” You gently correct him, the small smile never faltering from your lips.

Tom finally glances up at you, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “Fuck. I always get that bit mixed up. Uh — right. So it’s — I mean, that completely changes how we understand the initial singularity; we’re talking about an external —”

“Eternal, babe.” You giggle, sitting up slightly as your eyes take a look at the script. “It’s the eternal inflation system? Whatever that means.”

“Bloody — eternal. Eternal eternal eternal.” Tom’s eyebrows knit together in frustration as he repeats the words to drill it into his memory. You continue to watch with amusement from your front row seat. It was always fascinating (and maybe just a tiny bit attractive?) to see him switch from his English dialect to an American one so casually. One saw little use for movies when you were dating a talented actor.

“Darling?" Tom's voice snaps you out of your daze.

“Hm?”

“I love you, y’know that, yeah? I love and absolutely adore you for being a godsend and helping me run through my lines… but you’ve got to quit smiling at me like that.”

You tuck your lips between your teeth for a moment to vainly try and stifle the smile, eyes widening with feigned innocence and confusion. “Me? Smile? I have literally never smiled at you in my entire life, Thomas.”

That makes him chuckle, shaking his head as he finally gives in and sits down by your side, his body sinking into the couch. You can’t help but laugh too, turning face him.

He cocks his head slightly, softened eyes fixated on your lips. “Mm… See what I mean? That smile. Right there.” His thumb and index finger carefully grab your chin as his voice lowers. “I can’t stop messing up my sentences when you look at me like that.”

And suddenly, it’s your turn to forget what to say next. You blush under his stare.

Your boyfriend’s eyes glimmer as they look into yours. But they disappear behind closed eyelids as he draws you in to gently kiss you.

The soft petals of his lips don’t linger against yours for too long, but the physical affection remains in the way his forehead leans against yours. Against the silence of the moment, you feel him draw in a breath to say something, and you swear it's gonna be some romantic one-liner. But instead he says in a Queens accent: “We’re talking about an eternal inflation system. And how does that even work with all the quantum… It’s insane!”

“Did I get that right?” One eye peeks open for confirmation.

And just like that, it's back to business. You hum, pulling away from him to grab the script from the coffee table. Your eyes quickly scan the page. “Mhm! And then Mysterio says… Don’t ever apologize for being the smartest person in the room.”

“All in a day’s work.” Tom chuckles, and you can tell by the way his shoulders relax that he’s done — for now. His arms wrap around you as he falls back on the couch with you lying on his chest. “Eternal inflation system, initial singularity, quantum… Y’know sometimes, I wonder what would’ve happened if I auditioned to be Groot instead.” 

“Hm,” you purse your lips in thought. “Well, you’d certainly make a very handsome tree, I can tell you that much.”

Tom feigns a delighted gasp. “You mean that?” 

“Of course, I mean look at you. It’s obvious you were born to play the part.”

“Ha." You watch the way his eyes crinkle as he entertains the idea. "Honestly, you’re gonna be the reason why I turn into a big diva one of these days,” He mumbles as he leaves a peck on your nose.

“Don’t get so ahead of yourself, champ.” The corners of your lips turn up as you reassuringly pat his chest. “You might want to start improving your line memorization skills before you start thinking that far ahead.”

Tom groans as he tosses his head back, his eyes screwed shut. “You hurt me, baby. Really. You do.”

“I love you too.” You giggle as you sit up to straddle his waist, and you pick up the script one final time. “Now, do you want to run that last line by me again?”

[awanderingdeal]

Maybe you could write o’knutzy date night and them just being so fucking in love?

Hi Anon! This one kind of wrote itself and it's a bit random, but I quite like it? I hope you do to!

CW: food

Let me know if you think I missed any content warnings.

Rating: G

Credit for Leo, Finn and Logan go to @lumosinlove

"Did I win?" Logan asked, tearing his helmet off as he stumbled from the Huracan.

Rashid, the tall, wiry brunette who had been saddled with the job of making sure that he, Leo and Finn were given the VIP treatment gave a small chuckle. "Yeah," he nodded, "You definitely got round the fastest."

"See, this is why we don't let him drive," Finn scoffed. "Zero self preservation."

"You're just a sore loser."

Finn pushed Logan out the way, taking the spot in front of bemused looking Rashid. "Can I go again? I mean we're already breaking our contract just being here, why not risk death, huh?"

Rashid glanced his watch, his forehead crinkling slightly in the centre before he managed to school his features into a smile. "Er, yeah, I'm sure -"

"Hey, no, it's okay. We've been here way longer than we should have been already," Leo interrupted. "Let me apologise for my bo-," he paused, clearing his throat quickly. "Let me apologise for my teammates. They're athletes. Can't help being competitive y'know?"

Rashid waved his hand dismissively, "Don't worry about it. Trust me you're very well behaved by the standards we see in here."

Logan winced internally, figuring those standards were probably not too high. "Non, we are sorry. If you can show us back to where we left our things, we will leave you to get on with your day."

Rashid showed them off the race circuit and back to the large glass atrium where they had entered. Once they had gathered their bags, Logan thrust his hand out towards the attendant, "Thanks again, you were fantastic. We'll let the management team know we were very satisfied."

Leo stepped forward next, adding his own thanks and sliding his wallet from the front pocket of his backpack. "Here, let me give you a tip. I know this was way above your pay grade."

"It's not a bribe though, you can still go to media and tell them we're total jackasses if you want. Get that dollar," Finn added, leaning casually against a metal beam that.

Logan groaned, pulling the brim of his cap further down his forehead. "Please ignore him."

Thankfully Rashid didn't seem to take any offence, his laugh deep and sincere. "No, no media. I know this isn't very professional, but there is one thing you could do for me?"

"Go on," Logan said, gesturing for him to continue.

"An autograph? I have twins and they are big fans of The Lions," Rashid said, and Logan breathed a sigh of relief that this was not some outrageous request. "They would love if you could sign something for them."

"Of course," Logan smiled, reaching forward to accept the pen Leo offered. He slipped one his photocards from the pouch slung across his chest, having learned to carry them almost everywhere after a few occasions of meeting a fan who didn't have anything for him to sign. "Is it okay for me to do it on the back of this, or did you have something else?"

"No, that is perfect. Thank you."

"What's their names?"

"Oh, one second. I have a photo." Rashid's patted the breast of his jacket. He hesitated, his eyes flicking back up to Logan's face before he pulled out a small square, barely larger than a passport photo. "This is Nia," he said, pointing at the young girl sporting a maroon coloured hijab that matched the jersey she was wearing, and a wide smile that showed off her braces. "And this is Ari." Rashid's finger traced over the matte paper to the boy sat next to Nia.

"They look like great kids," Logan gave the rehearsed sentence. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy meeting fans, but right now he was on a date and it just wasn't exactly what he wanted to be doing in the moment. He shoved the slight resentment away, concentrating on writing something meaningful on the back of his photocard.

***

"It's not a bribe though!" Logan punched Finn lightly in the arm as soon as they had pushed through the doors to the parking lot. "What were you thinking?"

"Hey, at least he didn't near fucking out us," Leo drawled, stabbing at the button on the car fob.

Finn climbed into the front passenger seat, grasping Leo's hand across the console. "Don't stress about it, I don't think he noticed anyway. And even if he did, he probably just thought you were going to say your boys. Just three bros hanging out, racing cars. Can't get more straight than that."

Leo wrinkled his nose, and Logan wanted nothing more than to lean into the front and kiss it. He resisted though, there were too many other cars in the lot to risk it.

"Thanks for arranging it, Lo. It was fun," Leo turned to look at him.

"We're not done yet. I was thinking we could go get ice-cream?" Logan said, laughing as Finn's eyes brightened.

"At Fortescue's?"

"At Fortescue's," Logan agreed, rolling his eyes. He preferred the parlour on the other side of town that brought out new flavours each week, but could admit the quality was better at Fortescue's and it made Finn happy, so he was happy.

"They do the best vanilla there."

"Leo, what did we do so wrong to deserve a boyfriend who thinks vanilla ice cream is something to get excited about?" Logan sighed, playfully exasperated.

Logan never did get an answer to that question, but thirty minutes later, wandering through the quiet woodlands that Fortescue's ice cream parlour backed onto, Logan was asking himself something different.

He clutched his ice cream cone, a combination of double chocolate and birthday cake flavoured which was the most adventurous Fortescue's got, in one hand. His other was tucked into Leo's swinging in the space between them. A few feet ahead, Finn had carved their initials into a tree and was working on the heart to surround it.

What had he done so right so deserve these two?

[thiswasinevitableid]

For mermay, #25 siren for Sternclay, rating up to you? Thank you so much, I love your fics!

Here you go! I went with SFW and it's set in the same universe as the other siren prompt I got this year

Joseph has sailed so far over the horizon of regret that he’s landed right back on the shores of resolve.

The highway curves through low mountains, extends in interminable straight lines of super-heated asphalt, and he drives both stretches with purpose, eyes fixed on his goal so as not to see the last forty-eight hours lurking in his rearview mirror.

When the sign reading “Kepler: Population 3,000 on land, 50 in water” reflects the setting sun he slumps back in the driver seat, too tired to be glad, excited, afraid, or anything else at all.

He passes the Cryptonomica, proclaiming itself the premier place to learn about the Roadside Sirens. Rolling his eyes means he nearly misses the drawbridge warning, the barrier dropping and bridge rising to allow a small sailboat to pass. It’s aboard this he sees his first siren; dappled tail hanging in the water as she converses with the other passenger and waves to the siren working the bridge.

The bridge lowers and he continues forward as the early evening overtakes the main road. Neon crackles to life, creosote and rabbitbrush drift through the window when he rolls it down. The sign on Amnesty Lodge declares vacancies, so he pulls into the parking lot. It’s a strange lay-out, little cabins dotting the patches of pools that, once upon a time, must have been enclosed in rooms. Now they glisten under the emerging stars, some surrounded by lawn chairs and set ups to play horseshoes or cornhole. The building housing the lobby is precariously perched on the bank of the slow flowing river, another building whose neon is unlit sitting beside it. He pays the young lady at the counter for a week to week cabin and lugs the remainders of his life inside.

In the bathroom mirror, the wear of this trip is clear in the wrinkles on his suit and the dust on his shoes. He strips down, rinses off, and heads into the night in his shorts and T-shirt from Puget Sound. On a whim he turns right, follows a trail that leads him into the state park. He pays the five dollar fee in a little envelope as he continues on his way. Just as he reaches a scenic viewpoint, the singing starts.

Joseph can’t see any of the singers, can only pick up six or so distinct voices swirling around him.

It’s said the roadside sirens will tell you what you need.

It’s said the roadside sirens are the only way Kepler gets new residents

It’s said the roadside sirens will lead you to your hearts desire.

It’s said the roadside sirens are not always gentle.

All that tugs at Joseph’s heart is exhaustion. When footsteps creak across the boards behind him, he turns to find a man in a ranger uniform. Their eyes meet a moment and the man nods in greeting, “Evenin sir, you got any questions?”

“What do you hear when they sing?”

The ranger shrugs, “I hear them singin’. Never been all that susceptible to ‘em. Well, except for one, but he don’t sing all that often and the last time it was to tell me he missed me while I was out here workin’.”

Joseph raises an eyebrow. The man comes close enough for him to see his name tag. All it says is, “Duck.”

Duck chuckles, leans his arms on the railing, “S’okay, most folks don’t believe me when I tell ‘em that. See, thing about sirens is, you gotta have unfulfilled desires for the song to take hold. First time I was in Kepler, didn’t have a goddamn clue what I wanted from life. When I came back, found the two things I wanted right away. Been pretty content since.” He glances at Joseph, “why, you hear somethin that worries you?”

“I don’t hear anything besides-”

A burst of blue and orange light spills across them; the building beside Amnesty Lodge has come to life, and Joseph can see a line out the door from here. More importantly, someone is singing and his body moves towards the source without him noticing.

“I mean, if your main want is you’re hungry, Lodge is a damn good place to start. Put Kepler on the map. Or, uh, guess the sirens put it there and the Lodge kept it there once the novelty wore off.

“Uhumm” Joseph nods, waving an absentminded goodnight as he follows the path back to the Lodge. He’s about to join the others waiting to get through the door when he gets a flash of an image; a draft on a desk, announcing the Lodge needed a cooks assistant.

What the hell, it’s worth a try right?

A knock on the back door summons an older man in a “Joshua Tree” shirt.

“Howdy, if you’re lookin for the line-”

“I’m here about the assistant job.”

“Uhh, o-kay. Not the best time for it, but follow me.”

The man leads him down a set of stairs to a kitchen that is half in and half out of the water in a way that defies logic and physics. Swimming about are several sirens, plus two humans on the shore, cooking and sending food up to the main building in a dance that borders on chaos. In the middle of it all is a siren with a deep copper tail that matches his short beard and long hair tied back in a bun.

“Barclay! You got a minute?”

“Not really!”

“Okay then. I’ll just have this fella wait in your office until dinner rush is over.”

“Sure great yeah Moira wheres the crawfish for table ten?”

Which is how Joseph finds himself sitting in a cabin, twiddling his thumbs. His manners fight his boredom until he pulls a paperback from the nearby shelf and loses himself in the exploits of a someone recreating dishes from ancient civilizations. Doesn’t look up until the door opens and the same man, now with legs instead of that beautiful tail, walks in.

“Phew” he shuts the door with a satisfied smile, rests his head on the wood, then whirls and slams his back against it when Joseph clears his throat.

“GAHWHATTHEFUCK”

“I’m, I’m so sorry, I thought you heard, um, Thacker, tell you he was having me wait here.”

“W-wait here for wh--Oh, oh right, the assistant thing.” The siren scrubs his face, “yeah, uh, guess Mama must've put the ad out. Uh, would you say you’re organized?”

“Extremely. But honestly it doesn’t seem like you need that much help on that front.”

A deep, rich laugh, “I cleaned this morning, last night it looked like an earthquake hit this place. Guessing from the fact you didn’t freak out in the kitchen you’re cool with the supernatural?”

“Yes. It’s an area of interest for me.”

There’s suspicion in Barclay’s voice, hidden but very much present, “why’d you end up in Kepler?”

“I came here on purpose. I wanted to be somewhere where strange things were celebrated and out in the open. Not...not kept from the world.”

Barclay leans back on his desk, arms crossed, “Where’d you work before now?”

“The…” he sighs, resigns himself to finding somewhere else to go, “the FBI. UP branch, I was at Nellis when they, um, relieved me of my duties.”

For a long moment, Barclay studies him. Then he turns to his desk, setting stacks of papers in order as he hums. Joseph closes his eyes, takes calming breaths; all he wants is to be safe, to not have to run. All he wants is for Barclay to hold him, he’s never seen a man so handsome and a useless, primal part of him fixates on that fact. Also he’s starving, god, he hasn’t eaten since his breakfast of black coffee.

Barclay stops humming, “Come with me.”

Joseph follows him back down into the strange kitchen (“couple of friends of mine are pretty powerful magicians. They rigged up the kitchen for me”). All the lights are off, and without them he discovers Barclay’s eyes glow an eerie yellow-green. When he smiles, Joseph sees only the points on his teeth, not the crinkle at the edge of his eyes.

“Hungry?” Barclay rumbles.

“Starving.”

“You eat fish?”

“...Yes?” Will the wrong answer get him drowned.

The cook leaps towards the water, tail appearing and clothes vanishing at the last moment before he hits the dark surface. Joseph stands, on edge and curious, until the siren emerges, newly-dead trout in his hands.

“Tastes best fresh.” Barclay swims to his grill, turning it on in a click of a knob.

“Why not just stay human when you cook?” Joseph makes his way over to the station as Barclay butchers the fish and sets it into a heavily buttered pan.

“The charm only holds for so long before I need to be back in the water, and I get so busy during meals I don’t want to risk passing out because I went too long on shore. Besides” he spins elegantly to grab two spice jars, “I learned to cook in the water, so this is the most natural way for me.”

“Fascinating.” Joseph sits down, keeping himself out of arms reach of the water. Barclay seems nice, but sirens did not become famous for offering people things and then following through; hundreds of dead travelers prove that much.

“Where are you from?”

“Chicago, originally.”

“Ever see the great lake mers?”

“No.” He can’t help but feel disappointed that he’s only learning of their existence now.

“Quite a few out there. Sirens too.”

Well, that introduces some new reasons for all the shipwrecks.

“How do you know? Are you from there?”

“Nah. Been in Kepler my whole life. Even during the bad years, singing people into that godawful, overpriced casino buffet. Convincing them the shitty cold cuts were prime rib.” His hand stills a moment, clenches and then releases, “yeah. Every now and then” he starts chopping shallots, “one of the drunks would get it into their heads to pet the sirens tail or hair and I had to sit there and let them. My tail” he shudders, swipes the shallots into the pan so roughly Joseph starts.

“Sorry.” Barclay mumbles.

“Don’t be. I’m on edge, that’s all. And you have every right to be angry. Being forced to do something you know is wrong is....there’s no winning.”

“That why you just want a place to feel safe?”

It’s so easy to confess in the darkness of the cave.

“I put up too much of a fight about something. Refused to do something that went against my conscience. They let me go, which I feared but expected. Then I found my bank accounts were cut off and someone had manipulated the records to say I’d been fired for criminal activity so it’d be harder to find a job.”

A clink of metal on china, and then Barclay is holding a plate out to him with tenderness in his eyes, “I’m so sorry, Joseph. Here, at least you won’t be hungry.”

Joseph murmurs out his thanks.

“You a wine drinker?”

“Right now I could certainly go for some.”

A few flicks of that stunning tail and Barclay returns with a glass of white for each of them.

“To getting free of shitty pasts.” The cook raises his glass and Joseph bumps his against it. Barclay brings it to his lips, but smiles rather than sip, “and by the way: you got the job.”

-------------------------------------------------------

Being Barclay’s assistant is fifty percent clerical work and fifty percent following the siren around as he gathers ingredients or tests recipes. On Ned Chicane’s recommendation, Barclay had published a cookbook of both traditional siren foods and his own creations. It became a bestseller which, among other things, means Joseph has a brand new wardrobe, regular deliveries of gourmet food, and his cabin is now full of books. Whenever he points out that Barclay is already paying him and doesn’t need to buy him things, the siren simply rubs their cheeks together (a thing Joseph is only now getting used to) and tells him he likes doing it.

So when he’s not getting his recipes in order or typing up scribbled note cards into something legible, he’s following Barclay on foot or in a boat while he harvests or buys ingredients. Sirens have permission to fish and forage in areas, including the park, that humans don’t, which means he runs into Duck and his siren husband, Indrid, on more than one occasion while hauling lines into the boat.

The one time it gets stuck, Barclay pulls it out all on his own. Almost like he’s showing off the muscles in his back, arms, and tail.

The only thing Joseph won’t do is get in the water with the siren. He can’t get the images of drowned sailors, of fishermen torn to shreds, from his mind. Barclay is powerful, sharp-toothed and slit-pupiled, dangerous yet so gentle he once purred when Joseph complimented his food. And if Joseph never goes in the water with him, he’ll never have to confront the fact he wouldn’t mind if those pointed teeth dug into his skin and that tail trapped his legs while he thrashed in Barclay’s hold.

He assumes Barclay doesn’t notice; after all, swamps and marshes, even the river, are far less suited to a human swimming in them than an ocean or lake. This conclusion is bolstered by Barclay never, ever asking him to join him in the water. The siren is less careful about singing; he usually just hums as he works, but sometimes he sings wordlessly and Joseph nearly dives head first into the water (Barclay’s lap, if they’re on land).

Tonight, he’s cleaning up after Barclay’s test session of new recipes in the kitchen. The cook went out to visit some friends who live further in the state park, so when his voice drifts across the stones Joseph is surprised.

Cool, calloused hands on his cheeks, a tail stroking his thighs, his lips tracing up a sturdy leg. Copper hair twined in his fingertips, a heart beating in time with his own, teeth sinking into his skin, marking him, claiming him.

Water fills his nose and his body jerks back to the present, standing up in the shallow water that he stepped and stumbled face-first into.

“Joseph? Oh fuck, are you okay?” Barclay rounds the corner, swimming over to look up at him with concern.

“Yes. I, um, I think I got caught up in your song.”

“I’m sorry, I thought you were already upstairs or I wouldn’t have sung so loud. I know you can’t swim.”

“I can.” Joseph kneels, face down-turned in shame, “I was scared to, um, to be in the water with you. It’s, I was afraid of what might happen.”

Barlay swims back, “you thought I was gonna eat you?”

“No! Or, um, at first I didn’t want to foolishly assume that sirens in Kepler were harmless, since death isn’t high on my to-do list. Then I thought suddenly starting to swim would tip you off to the fact I’d been suspicious and I didn’t want to hurt you.” He runs a hand through his hair, “that song, though, Barclay, lord almighty is that what I want?”

“It’s what I want, I never sang it to bring you to me.”

“Oh.”

Barclay swims back to him, rubs their cheeks together, “Can I try something?”

“Anything” is all he gets out before he’s pulled into deeper water. He gasps for air, his own moans ricocheting across the room as Barclay bites his shoulder. On instinct his body tries to tread water, but copper scales trap his legs together, keep him flush against Barclay’s body.

“It’s okay babe, you can relax. I got you, I could keep us both afloat in my sleep.” He hums as he trails his lips across Joseph’s throat, “you’re safe. You’re with me.”

“Don’t make me leave.” The song pulls it out of him, because he wants to say it, wants to admit that losing what he has in Kepler terrifies him, just so he can hear-

“Never. You make me so fucking happy.” Barclay kisses him tenderly, keeps tracking his bite marks with a finger, “please stay. Stay for as long as you want."

"What if I want forever?" He rests his face on Barclay's shoulder as the siren spins them, dance-like, in the water.

"I think we can manage that."

[soundwavefucker69]

a casual observance of the apocalypse

There’s an old man in line. He’s got laugh lines around his eyes and a disposable medical mask on his face. He’s clutching a bottle of laundry detergent like it’s the last shred of dignity he’s got, and you can hear keys and coins jingle in his pockets with every step. His shoulders are a little bowed, but not enough for the girl in the floral mask to notice.

She’s got gray joggers with old stains on the knees and a pink Army jacket that’s seen better days. There’s a crop top under her jacket, bright and floral, with bunnies peeking out of leaves, and her hair is shorn close to her head in a way that can’t be anything but a woman who isn’t one to let men run their fingers through it to soothe her. In fact, from the pin on her lapel, she’s not the type to let men do much of anything, and if she didn’t look so lost under that floral face mask, I’d think her adorable. It would be difficult not to; she’s juggling about six different items and trying to peel four twenty ounce bottles of soda out of the little fridge at the front of my aisle.

“Looks like you just got here in time,” the old man says, friendly and bright, like he’s talking to a girl that reminds him of a granddaughter he hasn’t seen in quite some time. “I haven’t moved in five minutes.”

“What?” The girl says, distracted but not rude as she struggles with the door and the plethora of things she really should have gotten a basket for.

“The line. You got here when it’s about to move,” he says, patient, understanding, because she looks stressed and he’s a little lonely.

“Oh!” She says, and lets out a tremulous laugh as she gives up and waits until she can get to a spot where she can set down her things. “Yeah, I think so. I’m sorry you’ve been waiting.”

Silence passes for a few minutes as I try to ring up the mountains of Christmas gear. People always wait until the last possible minute to get their wrapping paper and presents and bags and bows. It’s a chronic affliction of the human psyche: procrastination. The woman in front of me I’m only half paying attention to either has a lot of adults she’s living with, or I should be thankful for the piece of cloth over my face, because it’s beginning to look like quarantine for her is only a polite suggestion. I don’t say as much, of course.

“Maybe this wasn’t the right line,” the girl, young woman, perhaps, finally says, and the man turns to look at her again, a laugh falling off his lips that makes me wonder if he just has the humor of an easily appeased puppy, or he’s just that lonely and in need of a pretty girl in a floral mask to pay attention to him.

“Yeah, it probably wasn’t,” he agrees, and the girl pauses, uncomfortable, eyes a little unfocused.

“My roommate is a diabetic,” she says, unprompted, and my eyes are drawn to the top ramen and animal cookies and more-sugar-than-flavor generic candy orange slices taking up residence in her overburdened arms. “She starts her new job tomorrow, but...”

The unsaid goes there: we have no money.

“Ah. Bottoming out backups?” The man asks, and she nods, helplessly. Something in his shoulders eases, like he’s coming home, and he nods. “My wife.”

“I don’t start my new job until next month,” she blurts, and then laughs, a little high, a little shrill, and I catch myself wondering just how close she is to crying. There’s a tremor in her legs, and her hands are tightening on plastic wrap so it crinkles in her grasp, a repetitive noise like she’s trying to soothe herself. “She doesn’t get paid for two weeks. We don’t have much food left and this is the last of my EBT and the food ban---”

The filthy, taboo words are cut short, and I preoccupy myself with wrapping paper and bells for a tree that should already be decorated. I know what she means; the food bank has had less and less and less food lately. At least, the one you can walk to from here.

“Covid got you, too?” He asks, gently, and there’s real pain in his voice, like covid got someone else that looked an awful lot like her.

“Yeah,” she says, breathless and terrified, and the man nods in sympathy.

“Me, too,” he says, like he should be working at his age at all, and the girl clutches her groceries closer to her chest, impossibly young. I wonder if this is her first financial crisis as an adult. It has to be. With the mask, I don’t know if she’s late teens or early twenties, but she’s around there somewhere.

“I was working at a pharmacy tech, and so was she, but she’s got diabetes and I’ve got Crohn’s and together we’re a mess of---” She cuts herself off again, a mess of emotion she’s trying to hide under polite conversation, like she hadn’t admitted to being immunocompromised in a pandemic. Maybe admitting it will make it real. I don’t know.

“Yeah? What are you doing now?” He prompts, and she actually, really laughs at that, like the world is insane and she’s just seeing it.

“Contact tracing for covid,” she spits out, like covid is a primordial god and she’s got a sword and a death wish. “Kinda funny that I lost my job because of covid and now my next job can only happen because of it. At least it’s not like the insurance job. All I gotta do is tell them they need to take a test. I don’t have to tell them we’re not covering their chemo anymore.”

I wonder how desperate you have to be to work the kinds of jobs she does with a disease like that. Or maybe she’s just a spiteful little beast. It’s hard to see the spite right now. It’s all desperation wrapped up in a pink jacket and grease stained joggers that look like they’ve been tossed on the floor of a mechanic’s shop.

“Yeah? I bet it’s real easy to get hired for that sort of thing,” the man says, maybe a little wistfully, and she shakes her head no.

“No, I was scouted. You can’t even find the listing. You need a fingerprint clearance card just to be considered, and they’re, like, a hundred dollars. I don’t even know how they found my info.” She sounds calm about that, but then again, it’s 2020. Things like resumes and phone numbers aren’t private, haven’t been since... Well, who knows who bought what politician first? Floral mask girl doesn’t care, and neither do I.

The woman takes her receipt, and the skin around floral mask girl’s eyes bunch up, like she’s trying to smile. The man sets his laundry detergent in front of me, carefully counts his change, and gives her his own skin scrunched around his eyes as I ring him up and give him his receipt.

“Well, good luck with the contact tracing,” he says, kind, immeasurably kind, and it’s a miracle he is as calm as he is, because all I can think is it’s an unnerving sort of thing to talk to someone you’ll never meet again who just needs one unlucky day to die.

“Good luck with your laundry,” she says as she juggles out her sodas and sets them on the till.

The old man leaves, his shoulders tightening with every step he walks away from human contact, and the girl looks at me with eyes threatening to water.

“Do you take EBT?” She asks, and I give her a warm smile, the warmest I can, and nod.

“Yeah. We take EBT.”

[msotherworldly]

The Mother

Title: The Mother

Fiction Type: Original fiction

Warnings: Mention of blood, murder

Prompt: “This was not part of the plan.”

We jogged along streets awash in orange light. We darted below trees, down alleys, and yards. We even hid behind a dumpster, each breath cutting. Lita glanced at me, face flushed; she grinned.

“We’re going to do it, then?”

My voice shook. “This was not part of the plan.”

“Was it part of the plan for Vivienne to lie to us? Was it part of the plan to find out she was sick? If she’s not going to share with us, we need to find our own answers.”

“We could have driven. All this cloak and dagger is stupid.” I paused, and my eyes widened. “Oh my god. You’re enjoying this!”

“Just a little bit.” Lita shrugged. “I’m an accountant, Janice. I don’t exactly lead an exciting life.”

I raised my eyebrows. “You have kids.”

“That’s not excitement. It’s sleep deprivation.” Janice stepped on to the street. “Come on. We’re almost there.”

We reached the apartment within three minutes. Janice tugged the keys from her purse. I looked over my shoulder as we entered the building. The hallways smelled of pot and cat. Vivienne’s apartment was on the third floor. The keys jingled as Janice drew them out again; my heart pulsed up to my throat. I swallowed, looking around; my face burned. I opened my mouth, but the door popped open. Janice met my gaze. I nodded.

I shut the door behind me in slow motion.

“Lock it,” Lita mouthed.

I obeyed. The apartment was spacious, with pale polished floors, white furniture, and a wall which was all window: it showed a view of the ocean, glittering black below the city.

Lita flicked the light on, and I winced.

“I’ll check the kitchen.” Lita motioned to her left, towards a hall. “You check the bedroom.”

“But what are we looking for, exactly?”

“I don’t know! All I heard was Vivienne on the phone, saying she would have to talk to her doctor. She sounded scared. Then she noticed me, I asked her what was wrong, and she asked me to leave.”

“She was angry at you?”

“We don’t have a lot of time.” Lita stalked towards the kitchen. “Just look for papers that say ‘oncology’ or something like that.”

My stomach clenched. Don’t say that.

I entered Vivienne’s bedroom. The room was like the rest of the house, with carpet the colour of sand and a white bedspread. The wall was painted a sky blue; it was covered in box displays of varying shells. I reached towards a sand dollar, and sighed. They had been her favourite as a child. Vivienne had sobbed when Mom had forced her to get rid of half of them.

I rifled through drawers. I opened the closet, and pawed through shoes and boxes. I took containers down from the shelves, but found only cards, knick knacks, and concert tickets. I opened her bedside drawer.

There was a clear orange container, filled halfway with red pills. I popped them open and sniffed: I caught the scent of pine trees. I read the label: Helps with symptoms related to disorientation, transformation pains, and pre-turning aches. Can also aid in indigestion.

I shook my head and replaced the bottle. Turning to leave, I stopped. After a minute of lip biting, I sank to my hands and knees. I peered under the bed. There was a cardboard box. I dragged it out. Brushing dark hair from my eyes, I drew the flaps back. I took a breath. The book was fat, bound in black leather. I yanked it out, and the scent of old books washed over me. I sighed; I closed my eyes, and for a second I was in my favourite used book store.

The book crinkled as I opened it. The pages were parchment, yellow and frayed at the edges. Someone had filled the pages with tight cursive, and painted illustrations. As I leafed through, I noted that most of the pictures were of plants, glasses of silver, or wolves. Words caught my eye: “cure,” “weakness,” and “sickness” jumped out.

I turned the page and gasped: the next passage was titled, “The Life of the Lycan,” and showed a painting of a werewolf, spittle flying from her red maw as she roared. Two fur covered lumps along her chest revealed her sex, and her ears were drawn back; her eyes blazed yellow.

A lump formed in my throat. If one looked closely enough at Vivienne’s eyes, they would see yellow flecks. Vivienne had liked to boast of them.

I squinted at the caption below: “The Mother.”

“The mother,” I murmured. I shut the book. A slip of paper slid out. As I unfolded it, I noted that it was one of those pages from a realty notepad. The handwriting, however, was the same as that in the book.

You have been chosen. For generations, we have bred the best. And after observing your family, we have determined that you are the best suited to act in the role of Mother and Matriarch. Our previous Matriarch perished in April, leading to our need for a replacement. Do not be afraid. You have been given a great honour, and you will create many children with your sacred bite. Your mother offered you, and your sisters, to the cult. She is as we are, and you will bite them when it is time and they will submit to you – along with all their daughters. This is the Book of the Mother, and you are charged with not only it’s protection, but with learning from it. It will be your guide as you begin your new life.

Lita’s scream sliced through me. I dashed from the room, only to smash my leg on the dresser as I flew out. Eyes watering, I limped through the hall. Lita screamed again, but the sound was closer to a sob. I stumbled into the kitchen.

Lita turned to me, face tear stained. With a trembling arm, she pointed to the cabinets and whimpered. She raised her other hand to her mouth and sobbed. Eyes closed, she hunched over.

My stomach turned. I saw the flies, and then the smell hit me. The worst part was, it wasn’t even that bad. There was no flesh left. The bones hung from strings, tiny strands of meat stuck to them. I reached out.

“Don’t!” Lita slapped my hand away. “They’re...”

I seized a bone. I sniffed. “You don’t think she...”

“What the hell is going on?”

I slid the Book of the Mother from my bag. “I think Vivienne is a werewolf.”

“She’s sick! That’s what she meant! She’s crazy! She obviously wanted to see a psychologist.” Lita motioned to the bones. “She needs help, Jan.”

“No, this is real. Look. This book is old! You can tell!”

“You can manufacture stuff like this.”

“Just smell it.” I thrust it towards her.

Lita pushed it away. “We need to get a doctor. A psychologist or whatever. She’s killing people.”

There was a click. Lita paled. The door swung open and Vivienne entered. She paused. Seeing the book in my hands, her eyes narrowed. She shut the door.

“What are you doing here?” She brushed the curls from her eyes. “What are you-”

“We were worried about you,” Lita said.

“Give me that.” Vivienne held out a hand.

I took a step backwards. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“Give me the damn book!”

I slammed it on the counter. I stomped towards Vivienne. “We’re supposed to be a family! Tell me the truth! Is it for real?”

Vivienne looked away. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I was going to invite you to a club, and they were going to explain it to you.”

“Explain what?”

“That we’re werewolves.”

“But I’m not!”

“You will be.” Vivienne looked between us. “Both of you.”

“I’m not a murderer.” Lita stepped forward. “You’re killing people!”

“They deserved it.” Vivienne examined the bones. “Each of these belonged to a monster. Thomas Flak was a rapist. Charlene Harmon clubbed the back of her daughter’s head because she thought the poor teen was seeing her boyfriend. Daniel Parker beat and starved his own daughter. Child services were called, but nothing was done.”

“I understand,” I said.

“No, this is crazy. You need help, Vivienne. You can’t just go out and be a vigilante!”

“It is our purpose. Once upon a time, it was a curse. We were a plague on all the world, and our bloodshed brought sorrow. But then the first Mother came, and she brought our cursed families a purpose. We would turn our condition towards good. We would hunt only those who deserved it. If we had to kill, we would kill the wicked.”

“It’s not right, Vivienne.”

I shook my head. “I don’t think they have a choice, Lita. They have to kill somebody, so it might as well be a bastard.”

Vivienne smiled. “You understand.”

“No.”

“Mortals can’t know our secret.” Vivienne advanced on Lita. “I will have to change you tonight.”

“Get away from me!”

Vivienne shoved Lita against the wall.

“Janice, help me!” Her eyes bugged out. “Please! Don’t let her kill me!”

I turned away.

There was a crunch, followed by Lita’s scream. I forced myself to look: Vivienne’s face elongated, and her saw like teeth grinded against Lita’s shoulder. Blood trickled over her sleeve. She roared with pain, and Vivienne tossed her to the ground. She curled into a ball.

Vivienne turned to me.

I sank to my knees. “I’m not afraid.”

“You’re both insane!” Lita rolled on the floor. “Janice! What are you doing? She’s a killer! She’s crazy!”

Vivienne took my face between her hands. Lita yanked the door open, and slammed it behind her.

“Don’t worry about her. She’ll notice the changes in herself soon enough, and then she’ll know.” Within seconds, Vivienne’s face cracked and morphed and sizzled. I closed my eyes as her jaws clamped on to my shoulder. I grunted. Vivienne drew back. Her face was human, smeared in red. She wiped it away with her wrist. When she grinned, her teeth were pink. “Welcome...to my family. You are of the Accursed, and may you trust in your Mother. May you trust in me.” She took my hands. “You are Beloved.” She kissed them. “And I am yours.”

“I’m yours, Viv.” My voice cracked. “And I always will be.”

[barbasbodaciousbeard]

IF YOU LOVE SOMEONE, LET THEM GO: PART 9

Summary: Since starting with SVU, Sonny hadn’t kept much terribly close to the chest. The squad knew about his family, growing up on Staten Island, the classes at Fordham. What was hidden was why he didn’t date. Sonny Carisi was also separated from his childhood sweetheart, a separation neither ever took to divorce. They had the same haunts. They’d grown up neighbors. Their paths crossed every few months, and divorce talks would turn into reminiscing would turn into a night spent together, sometimes sex sometimes just talking until the early morning. It always ended with one of them waking up alone however. How will that change when the squad finds out?

Pairings: Sonny Carisi x Original Character

1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8

A/N: Ayyy, they’re in New Orleans, a place I know well enough to write about.

November 2015

“Tor, where are you draggin’ me?” Sonny laughed, hand in Victoria’s as they made their way through Jackson Square. It was almost eerie past midnight.

“You said you were hungry! We’re a block away from something I think you’ll like.”

“Doll, we’re in New Orleans. We’re always a block from something I’ll like.” What he liked was seeing her so in her element. The city had a soul more like hers, and seeing her pull him through the streets made him feel like he was a teenager with a crush again instead of a man celebrating his thirtieth birthday with his wife. They’d just dropped their bags in the hotel after their flight. She’d found them a place steps from Jackson Square and St. Louis Cathedral, and in the night, her cheeks were flushed pink from the wind coming off of the Mississippi River and excitement. 

“There’s no line at Cafe du Monde at one in the morning,” she grinned, giving an exaggerated flourish. “Louisiana zeppoli sound good? Beignets.”

“You get me.” They sat at the little metal table, and he looked out at the empty square. When they’d come so long ago, her mother had gotten a friend to lend her their apartment, and the pair had taken the trolley to the zoo or aquarium or museum during the day. This trip, he was excited to go to bars and hear live music and have cocktails. Come back to a hotel where they could order room service. He was determined to make another trip to the zoo as well. The pictures from before showed two lanky teenagers pretending they didn’t like each other. Now they’d been together a decade plus.

“You got a little messy,” she grinned, Sonny having exhaled at the wrong time. Powdered sugar was everywhere, but the broad smile as he ate was perfect. Victoria took a picture of Sonny with his crinkled eyes and dimpled grin, covered in powdered sugar with a beignet in front of him. He polished it off, paying before he leaned to kiss her as she laughed. He tasted like airport coffee, pastry, and sugar as he pulled her close on the street outside.

“You know, it’s officially the second now. You’re thirty!”

“I guess I am,” he chuckled, kissing her again.

“Happy birthday, cher. I guess you oughta get me back to the hotel so we can celebrate…” His goofy grin turned wicked as he pulled her down St. Ann’s Street to the hotel, scooping her up bridal style when they got to their hallway. Victoria squealed, slipping the key from her bag to unlock the door for him and he kicked it closed behind them. He woke with her wrapped around him and sun from the courtyard filtering in. Thirty was going to be much better, he could already tell. When she woke, she felt his fingers tracing her spine, and she curled closer into him. 

“Mornin’ handsome.” She always developed an accent when she was around southerners. Her mom had given her a little twang, but the Louisiana accent was thick now, and he loved it. 

“Mornin’ doll. You sleep okay?”

“You tired me out.” He was rewarded with a crooked grin, and Sonny kissed her softly and pulled her close again. “Happy birthday. What do you want to do today?”

“Order breakfast in? Maybe go to the zoo?”

“You want to go to the zoo?”

“Yeah. It was what we did last time when I realized I had a crush on you. Could be good before we go to dinner and that burlesque show.”

“It’s going to be perfect,” she grinned. “Anything you wanna do. All day.”

“Anything?” The impish smile was back, and they didn’t have breakfast for another couple of hours. Watching Sonny as they made their way to the zoo, she grinned, arms wrapping around his waist. 

“You’re cute.”

“Am I?” 

“Yeah. I like how excited you get about things.”

“Is that why you call me a puppy so often?”

“A little,” she chuckled, buying their tickets and leading him in. 

“Better than a lanky noodle,” he grinned, arms around her waist as they watched the flamingos near the entrance. Whenever they planned to take this vacation, he hadn’t really anticipated how nice it would be to have a whole swath of the country between him and all the dark things he dealt with at work. In the city, he would pass places that brought a case to mind easily, even if he wasn’t really thinking about it. They’d walk by a bar and some part of his brain noted that was where the vic in the case last year was assaulted. In New Orleans, he knew there was still crime. He could even guess dangerous spots. But, he didn’t have names and faces and stories. Instead, he had the old independent bookstore with no air conditioning he’d followed Victoria through, the humidity and heat making him sweat straight through his t-shirt. Here, there was the little area he’d sat and stared as Victoria watched the orangutans with a broad grin. They’d definitely be stopping there. And he was excited for the Louisiana Swamp portion. Those were the two he had the strongest memory of. As if she knew, Victoria took his hand, tugging him towards the fountain and to the roman candy wagon just before the path to the monkeys.

“I almost forgot about this,” he chuckled, fishing a dollar from his pocket. “We goin’ chocolate and vanilla?”

“Duh.” She took the long sticks of what was basically taffy wrapped in wax paper gladly. It was as stretchy and messy as he remembered, and they walked happily, pinching off pieces and passing it back and forth. Between the orangutans and gorillas was the same wooden seating area, and they sat. 

“Y’know, I think this is where I realized I was in love with you,” he said, leaning back against the tree trunk that grew in the middle. “You were watching the baby orangutan. Got so excited when they told you his name and stuff. And then you were telling everybody that came after the zookeeper left everything like you were the new tour guide. I remember looking at ya in the sun in that flowery spaghetti strap dress and all your hair up and this big smile and knowing it was gonna be you.”

“Really?” she asked, head tilted as he nodded. Now she was in one of his pullovers tucked into jeans, bundled up from the breeze. It was twelve years later, and she was just as perfect in the sun. She leaned to kiss him sweetly, staying close. “Wanna know something?”

“What?”

“I realized I loved you in the swamp part. You were so excited, and I remember already realizing I liked you. Then there’s that statue of the swamp monster? The rugaru when you turn the corner? We were there and a kid ran the corner ahead of his mom and got scared. He started crying and got embarrassed and you just sat down and told him the rugaru scared you too and hung out the minute for his mom to catch up. Knew it then I wanted you forever.”

“We’re real disgusting, aren’t we?”

“Just a little,” she smiled, kissing him again. It was nice to sit in the sun beside him, taking turns pointing out when there was activity in each enclosure. Sonny still smiled just like he did when they were teenagers, but he was more relaxed now that she had him this far from the city. His shoulders carried less tension and his smile always reached his eyes. They’d be taking a yearly vacation from here on out. They needed the time away from the city.

“If your mom had raised you here, our lives would be so different,” he mused as they leaned against the railing in the swamp portion. They took turns looking into the green of the swamp water to point out alligators floating along. 

“I’d be a swamp witch.” Her voice was serious enough Sonny couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped him. 

“And I’d probably have ended up a priest.”

“Good and evil. Are we an unholy union then?”

“Nah. Told ya before, doll. Preordained by the big guy. Might not have found you when I was five. But you’d have ended up stuck with me any way.”

“It means the world to me how strongly you believe that. I ever told you? Even when we were separated, I knew we wouldn’t get divorced, but I’d get scared we couldn’t fix it.”

“Me too. But we’re here. I get to start my thirties with ya. And we’ll have babies and grandbabies and great grandbabies.”

“We will. And short term? We’ll have a lot more trips. Get more breaks.”

“I’d like that a lot. It’s nice being way out here. Wanna do it more.”

They made their way to the hotel in time to shower before dinner and to make it to the bar putting on the burlesque show in time for drinks. Early on, Victoria had figured out Sonny was a sucker for old school burlesque. She’d done a boudoir shoot for him done up with all the vintage trimmings, and one night, she’d convinced him to attend a burlesque show at home, one with a live band. That, he’d liked. There was a bar on Canal Street, Burgundy, that had a local burlesque troupe perform on the weekends. The place was sultry when they walked in, all deep velvets and a glittering chandelier. She’d kissed his cheek, going to powder her nose before she ordered. They’d dressed up, and Sonny leaned against the counter waiting to order. 

“This seat taken?” asked a petite brunette, and he didn’t think anything of it.

“Nah. I’m going to a table.”

“You’re not from around here, are ya?”

“Visiting from New York,” he shrugged, still watching the bartender. 

“And here I was hoping you’d be a local. It’s a shame I’ll only see you tonight.”

“Yeah. It’s the only night they got the show. Came for my birthday.”

“Well, happy birthday.” The bartender stopped, and he ordered two drinks, the champagne one with rose water he knew Victoria would like and whatever the specialty was with whiskey for himself. 

“That for me?” she asked, and the way she tilted her head told him he was an idiot. He suddenly took in the way she was leaning towards him, eyes going wide. Luckily, he could see Victoria in the background, and she chuckled as he caught her eye. One thing he was grateful for was the fact she knew he could be dumb. He looked at women, sure. Victoria looked at men sometimes. That didn’t matter because they had no interest in doing anything with anybody else. He didn’t, however, tend to realize the eyes a woman was giving him. 

“It’s for me,” Victoria smiled, wrapping an arm around Sonny’s waist easily and resting the hand with her wedding ring on his chest.

“Sorry. I didn’t realize…” Victoria just gave her a smile and a nod, taking her drink gratefully and following Sonny to their table. His cheeks were pink and Victoria couldn’t help but laugh as she slid beside him on the booth side of the table facing the stage. 

“Tor, I had no clue,” he said like she was terribly upset. She cared just enough to wrap the territorial arm around him, but not enough to scold him. Hell, it was endearing. “I wouldn’t ever wanna flirt with anybody but you so sometimes I miss it.”

“Dom, I’m not mad. You’re hot as hell, and it’s really sweet how clueless you are. Not your fault other women notice the hot part.”

“Shuddup,” he muttered, ears turning red now. “You don’t notice when guys flirt with you either.”

“I do too!”

“Nah. The guy at the zoo? The one that was friendly until I showed up? Doll, he had been checkin’ you out.”

“What? No. He just wanted to know where the food was.”

“Oh? That’s why he was standing outside the ordering window when he asked you that?”

“Shit.” Sonny laughed, slipping an arm around her. 

“It’s okay. I kind of like showing up like ‘Yeah, she’s hot. And she’s my wife.’” 

“I like doing the same to you.”

“Love you, Tor.”

“And I love you, Dom. Happy birthday.”

Tags: @cycat4077​ @fear-less-write-more​

[theophagism]

secret history

stained wine glasses; a broken teacup lying on the floor; wool mittens; is that red wine or blood?; butterfly knives; whispers under trees; an out of tune piano; melted candles; quills; bowl of milk on the windowsill; cherries; secrets almost told; books stacked on every surface; knowing looks across the room; multilingual conversations, kisses on stairwells

dead poets society

dog eared books; bandaids on scraped knees; red bicycles; white coffee mugs; number 2 pencils; untied shoelaces; bits of moss and leaves in your hair; (does he like me?); dollar store snacks; mist; confessions of love carved on a school desk; would you rather games in moonlight; crinkled paper; books laid open on the bed; hugs so tight they hurt; Shakespearean insults; platonic (or maybe not) touches

kill your darlings

cracked spines of paperbacks; wire rimmed glasses; broken windows; sweaters; elbow patches; polaroids locked in a box; overdue library books; bitten nails; avoiding eye contact; grass stains on suits; splinters; touches under moonlight; bruises; withdrawal; crackling of fires; late night coffee runs; sweaty palms while talking to the one you love

[myaekingheart]

132. Stakeout Paradise

read the scarecrow and the bell on ao3 index | from the beginning | < previous | next >

Arai watched with curious amusement as Rei paced the back of the briefing room. There was a certain level of focus on her face, a deep-seated concentration. She looked as if she was desperately trying to solve a math problem, or as if she was constipated. Arai wasn’t sure which was the case but either way, she was intrigued.

Without breaking her gaze, the blonde leaned over the table toward her comrades. “Alright, how much you wanna bet she’s going to lose it in five minutes?” she whispered, a sly smile touching her lips.

“Are you really going to gamble on our captain’s sanity?” Hitsuji asked. He glanced to Rei and frowned. Nothing about this felt right.

Kikkake abruptly slapped a ten dollar bill on the table. “Make it two minutes” he said.

The head of the ANBU, Meishu, cleared his throat as he shuffled his paperwork at the podium. “I guess that just about covers it” he concluded gruffly. He shot Arai a fierce, momentary glare as if to warn her about the dangers of interrupting his briefings. Arai merely smirked back at him, unaffected.

Meishu was a raspy and apathetic man. It was obvious that he had seen some shit. Scars dappled his body and dark circles bloomed under his eyes. His hair was stringy and graying, but his body remained muscular and agile. No one knew how long he had been in the black ops for and no one dared to ask. As he shoved his papers into a bent manila folder and approached the door, he grumbled and then pointed across the room to shout, “Oh, and Natsuki! Fuck off with that pacing shit. You’re giving me a migraine.”

Rei immediately froze, eyes wide and unblinking, and her face turned bright red. Arai stifled a laugh. “There’s an outcome we didn’t plan for” she whispered to the others. Yugao grimaced and whacked both her and Kikkake on the backs of their heads. As much as she enjoyed seeing their little team finally getting along, she wished their camaraderie did not have to be at Rei’s expense.

As the rest of the ANBU filed out of the briefing room, Yugao rose to her feet and patted Rei lightly on the back. “It’s showtime” she whispered with a soft, reassuring smile. Rei nodded, huffing, as she mentally prepared herself for what was to come. This mission could make or break her reputation in the black ops. They could not afford to fail.

“Alright, this is who we’re looking for” Rei said, slapping a stack of case files in front of them. The pages outlined all of the intel thus far gathered about a rogue shinobi by the name of Shuncho. He was a tall, sleepy looking man with drooping eyes and greasy brown hair.

Sukui immediately cringed. “Well, he certainly has no sense of style whatsoever” he complained.

Arai smirked. “Yeah, because that’s why we’re out to arrest him. Crimes against fashion” she jested.

“No, actually he’s accused of murder” Yugao corrected.

“Well, if you have to commit a crime, you might as well look good” Sukui remarked. “The cameras we take mug shots with certainly don’t do anyone any favors.”

Kikkake rolled his eyes. “No one gives a damn what you look like when you’re in jail.”

“Whoa, hey, wait a sec, that’s not entirely true” Arai countered. “They care if you look like a little bitch. Then you get beat to a pulp every day by the bigger guys.”

“And how would you know?” Kikkake asked. “Have you been to jail? Because I don’t think the black ops take kindly to reformed criminals.”

“I heard Meishu-sensei will have your guts just for trying to break protocol, let alone anything worse” Sukui interjected with an airy laugh.

Arai rolled her eyes, paying no mind to Sukui’s comment. “I don’t have to go to jail to know how it works, smartass” she argued to Kikkake. “It’s common knowledge.”

Sukui pursed his lips. “But how do you know it’s the same for women’s prisons as it is for men’s? Not to sound sexist, of course, but there has to be a difference” he countered.

Hitsuji chewed his lower lip. “I’ve heard women’s prisons are actually more dangerous than—”

“Guys, focus!” Rei interjected, slamming her fist heavily on the table. The whole group silenced, staring back at her with wide eyes full of mild embarrassment. They had all noticed it—the recent surge of fury in her eyes. It was undeniable, growing ever clearer with each passing day. Her newfound angst sprung up seemingly out of nowhere. She was harsh, stern, tense. Her tolerance for their shenanigans had waned to absolute zero.

Yugao rose to Rei’s side and fed the group a reassuring smile. “This is a very serious assignment, so I expect all of you to bring your best. Is that understood?” she asked. Her delivery was far more encouraging, much to her subordinates’ relief. Yugao glanced to Rei, to her tired eyes and her clenched jaw. She hoped, perhaps selfishly, that she would not remain this uptight throughout the entire mission. Bad moods made for long, rough nights and now was not the time to be unpleasant.

Konoha had gained intel of their target heading toward an outpost on the edge of town, someplace trashy and rife with tourists. It was the type of place known for gambling and attractive women—the exact opposite of Rei’s comfort zone. Other anonymous tips recalled seeing him around a rundown inn in the center of town, hood up and back hunched like he was clearly hiding something.

The venture to the outpost was torturous enough on its own. Arai and Kikkake argued constantly about heaven only knew what, Hitsuji was constantly sneezing and coughing from the “heightened pollen count,” and Sukui decided that their trip was far too boring and required an acapella concert. Clad in plainclothes disguises, they looked like the most ridiculous ragtag group of civilians to ever exist. Rei could only hope that they’d blend in well enough with the equally ridiculous types of people that the outpost tended to attract. Or at the very least, they’d be mistaken for traveling musicians. At least Sukui could play that part well. His voice, though refined, was beginning to give Rei a migraine. She sucked in a sharp breath and swallowed back her own unease.

Try as she might, however, Rei's sanity grew progressively more unstable as they journeyed further. Yugao's concern mounted as Rei paled and insisted they stop for the fifth rest of the morning. Her constant breaks were starting to irk the others, growing impatient with their drawn-out trip.

"We should've already gotten there by now" Kikkake grumbled under his breath.

Arai crinkled her nose. "Yeah, isn't this kind of a time sensitive thing? What if he gets wind that we're coming for him and books it before we can even show up?"

"Th-that's not a very comforting thought" Hitsuji stammered, picking at his lower lip.

Sukui sighed and replied, "Well, I for one am enjoying this relaxing little stroll."

"Yeah, no shit" Arai muttered under her breath.

"You just want to take advantage of forcing us to listen to you sing" Kikkake added.

"Excuse you!" Sukui shouted. "Sorry for thinking our trip would be better with a little music!"

"If you can even call it that" Kikkake snarked. Sukui gasped, offended, before lunging at his comrade. Arai immediately swooped in and grabbed him by the back of the shirt, tugging him back hard as he swatted at the bald man and complained that Kikkake wouldn't know good music if it boxed his ears in.

Amid the chaos of their escalating argument, Rei snuck away to a nearby tree to catch her breath. When leaning her forehead against the trunk was not enough, she slid down to the gnarled, exposed roots and tucked her head between her knees. Her face was hot and numb and her stomach churned. She sucked in a deep, sharp breath and willed her body to cooperate.

“Hey, are you sure you’re alright?” Yugao asked, kneeling down in front of Rei. “You look terrible.”

Rei swatted at the air dismissively, pursed her lips. “I’ll be fine” she lied. “I think I just got food poisoning from my mom’s cooking last week, it’s really not a big deal.” Yugao paused, furrowing her brows as she counted the days on her fingers—did food poisoning usually last this long? She wasn’t sure. She had, admittedly, been rather lucky in avoiding digestive ailments over the years. Her lack of expertise was of no help to her now, though.

Even the mere thought of her mother’s cooking made Rei gag into the crook of her elbow. She squeezed her eyes shut tight and dug her nails into her palm, her breathing growing evermore labored and desperate. Yugao pursed her lips and an overwhelming anxiety began to fill her stomach. This was not going to end well, she was sure of it.

By the time they reached the outpost, Rei’s head was beginning to throb. Her clammy hands tightly gripped the straps of her backpack and she could feel the world begin to sway as if she was on high seas. The sun had just started to set, welcoming in the dark, vivid nights when Komaeda Outpost truly came alive.

The inn was actually far nicer than Rei had expected. The mucus-colored linoleum had been polished nicely and the spackled walls were adorned with abstract paintings. Large potted ficuses stood guard at the creaky double doors. The night auditor, a greasy young man with a crack addict’s fidget, awaited them at the counter.

Rei was not necessarily the type of person to actively find disgust in unsuspecting people, but there was something about this man specifically that made her stomach churn. She immediately froze by the doorway, clapping her hand over her mouth. The others paused and glanced back at her suspiciously. “Yugao?” Rei croaked. “Do you mind?” She handed Yugao a folded piece of paper from her pocket and swatted her hand toward the counter. Yugao cocked a brow but slowly turned to oblige. Again, this was not going to end well.

Yugao smiled politely as she approached the counter. “I believe we have a reservation?” she greeted, discretely sliding the rogue-nin’s wanted poster across the counter. The auditor wiped his nose with the back of an unclean hand as he glanced down at the paper. It took him a moment to recognize the face but once he did, he immediately knew that these were the guests that he had been waiting for.

“The hokage sent a message earlier!” he whispered enthusiastically, winking in a rather obvious fashion. He then spun around to the display of keys hanging on the wall and plucked one from the rack. “Your room will be number 402 up the flight of stairs and around the corner” he explained.

As Yugao hesitantly reached for the key, however, Arai stalked forward with an expression of sheer disgust and disbelief. “Whoa, wait a second: are you telling me we only get one room? For the six of us?!” The thought of having to sleep with everyone was completely unacceptable. Rei and Yugao she could accept. After all, they were all women. They saw each other naked in the locker rooms every day. They were of no concern to her. It was the men that she struggled to accept. Hitsuji was a wimp, insignificant, so she didn’t expect much issue from him but Kikkake and Sukui? The thought of it made her nauseous. She’d hate to think of Sukui clinging to her in the night or Kikkake’s morning breath. A shiver ran down her spine. Unacceptable.

The night auditor’s eyes widened and his face went pale. “W-well your supervisors only paid enough f-for one room!” he excused.

Kikkake scoffed, patting Arai on the shoulder condescendingly. “You should be lucky they paid for our room at all” he said. Arai glared up at him and swatted his hand away.

“We’ll be fine!” Rei shouted angrily from across the lobby. She had since doubled over, hands on her knees and hair falling in her face. Sweat beaded on her brow and her breathing had grown significantly heavier. “Just don’t fucking argue about it, it’s not imp—“ she continued, but suddenly all of the color drained from her face. Her composure had finally broken. Whipping around, she leaned over behind the potted plant and violently vomited onto the lobby floor. The night auditor’s face went from shock-white to sick-green.

Yugao winced in both concern and embarrassment. “We’ll, uh…we’ll pay for any additional cleaning charges for that" she said to the auditor. He nodded weakly, clearly disturbed by such a vulgar display. Hitsuji seemed to share in the sentiment, his heart rising into his throat as he instinctively grabbed Kikkake’s strong arm for support. Frowning, the bald man shoved him off in distaste.

Meanwhile, Arai chuckled under her breath and invited herself behind the counter. She kicked down the door to the janitor's office, rummaged around, and then resurfaced with a pathetic little mop.“Here you go, good sir” she grinned, shoving it into Kikkake’s hand.

“What the fuck?” Kikkake grimaced. “Why is it my job?! I don’t fucking work here!”

Arai looked back at him as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. When it became clear to her, however, that it was not, a sickening grin spread across her lips. “Sorry, I thought you were Mr. Clean” she sassed.

Kikkake shot her a fierce glare, throwing the mop across the room violently and complaining under his breath about how this was absolutely ridiculous and that at this point he might as well just buy a fucking wig. Frustrated, he snatched the key from Yugao’s hand and made his way for the stairs.

The night auditor sucked in a sharp, uneasy breath as they departed. Perhaps his expectations had been shattered—after all, the thought of elite ninja should garner images of badassery. Instead, he was stuck with a bunch of dysfunctional misfits. He should’ve known better.

Pressing a button on the phone, the night auditor brought the receiver up to his mouth. “We’re gonna need a janitor in the lobby ASAP. We’ve got another puker.”

Yugao cocked a brow as she made her way toward Rei. “Does this happen often…?” she asked cautiously, wrapping an arm around her captain to provide support.

The night auditor sighed. “Every other day.” And it’s no less disgusting every time it happens, he thought to himself. If he knew he would see vomit this often in this career, he never would’ve pursued it.

Yugao fed him an apologetic smile. She pitied him, really. His job had to be far from easy, especially in a town such as this. Despite the danger of her own career, she was certainly not above acknowledging the challenge of other people’s jobs, as well.

Yugao helped Rei to her feet and something in her chest tugged. Rei looked so pathetic, so flushed and weak. “I think you ought to get some rest” Yugao whispered.

As much as Rei wanted to protest, deep down she knew her lieutenant was right. She fed a sheepish smile to the night auditor as they passed, croaking out a pained, “I’m so sorry” as they disappeared up the stairs. She knew it didn’t mean anything, but she felt obligated to say it anyway. A courtesy, if nothing else.

Their room was, as expected, kind of a dump. The sheets were stiff and almost crunchy, the carpet looked like ground beef, and there was overall the faintest hint of cigarette smoke despite this very clearly being a non-smoking room. But it had a perfect view of the hotel’s west wing where the rogue-ninja was rumored to be staying. Between the two areas was a large courtyard with dying grass and complimentary hot springs. Yugao didn’t even want to consider what kind of germs were floating around in that water.

As they all settled in, Rei slumped down on the edge of the bed and buried her face in her hands. Arai glanced to her curiously, cocking a brow. “You really don’t look so good, boss” she commented. “Are you sure you’re gonna be okay?”

Raking her fingers through her bangs, Rei nodded but her affirmation wasn’t all that convincing. “I’ll be fine. Like I said, it’s just food poisoning. I’m sure I’ll be good as new by the time we’re back home” she replied.

Hitsuji twiddled his fingers anxiously, his voice rising an octave. “B-But by the time you get home, the mission will be over already!” he exclaimed. “A-are you going to get sick again? Are you going to be sick th-the entire mission?!”

Arai tilted her head back to view Hitsuji from upside-down, furrowing her brows. “And what’s got you so fucked up?” she asked.

“I-I just don’t have a very strong stomach…” Hitsuji replied sheepishly.

Sukui settled into the wobbly chair at the room’s complimentary desk, propping his legs up on the desktop. “Isn’t your sister a nurse? Shouldn’t you have a better tolerance for these sorts of things?”

Hitsuji shook his head rapidly. “She’s got the stomach, I’ve got the brains” he explained. “I could never handle stuff like this.”

Sukui pouted in thought for a moment. “It is pretty disgusting” he confessed. Turning to Arai, he then asked, “How can you stand to handle it?”

Shrugging, Arai leaned back on the bed casually. “What can I say? I’ve got a sister who’s a lightweight” she replied. “I’ve seen my fair share of puke.”

Hitsuji shivered and shook his head. “C-can we please stop talking about this?” he begged.

Rei reached across the bed and rested a gentle hand on Hitsuji’s shivering shoulder. “I’ll be fine. Promise” she assured him. He nodded with wide-eyed panic, glancing to her hand as if she could transmit her illness through touch and had just risked infecting him. The moment Rei recognized this, she inched away and shot him a small, apologetic smile.

Kikkake cocked a brow with crossed arms, not entirely convinced by his captain's words. “And how long have you had food poisoning for, exactly?” he asked.

Rei shot him a fierce glare, a threat for him to not go there. She was so sick and tired of people asking her that same exact question. What did it matter? She was sick, and she had been sick, and all that meant was that she was nearing the end. Disgruntled, she snapped, “I don’t fucking know. Maybe a little over a week or something?”

“That doesn’t sound right” Arai snarked. “As far as I know, most cases of food poisoning clear up in, like, a few days. Right?”

Yugao raised her hands in surrender. “Don’t look at me, I wouldn’t know” she replied.

Hitsuji’s fingers twitched. His body needed a release, a distraction, since his mind by now was too far-gone. “A-are you sure it’s food poisoning?” he stammered out. “I-It could be a parasitic infection, like Cyclospora. Or something internal! Have you had any pain? Fatigue? D-Diarrhea?”

“Ew, gross!” Arai shouted, lopping her shoe at Hitsuji’s head. Maybe he did belong on her hit list after all. “I thought you said you had a weak stomach!”

“I-I do!” Hitsuji countered.

“Then why are you asking nasty shit like that?!” Arai asked.

Kikkake smirked, smacking Arai on the back of the head in response. “I thought you said you had a strong stomach” he jested back. Arai frowned up at him and slapped his hand away, muttering at him to get away from her.

Hitsuji pursed his lips. “The health and wellness of every team member is important. Besides, it’s good to know whether what Captain Rei has is contagious or not.”

“I knew we should’ve gotten separate rooms” Arai grumbled.

Sukui shook his head. “Do you really think we have to ask such ridiculously invasive questions?” he asked.

Tenting his fingers, Hitsuji dropped his gaze to the floor and replied, “Well, yes, sometimes asking unpleasant questions is necessary.”

Rolling his eyes, Sukui leaned back in his chair so that the front legs rose up off the ground. “This whole thing is unpleasant” he pouted.

“Oh, big words coming from the guy who decided our road trip needed a soundtrack!” Arai fired back, laughing incredulously. “You know, you’re not as good a singer as you think you are!”

“Guys…” Rei whined, desperate. Their voices were too loud, the room was too bright, and yet again her stomach began to churn. No one seemed to hear her.

Offended, Sukui gasped in exaggerated, but unfortunately genuine, offense. Kikkake, however, burst out laughing and slapped Arai amicably on the back. “Now there’s one thing we can finally agree on!”

Sukui pouted and tilted his chin away from them like an arrogant little child. “I’ll have you know, I was the runner-up for the school talent show back in the academy. At least back then people appreciated talent!”

“Were the judges tone-deaf?” Kikkake asked.

Arai erupted in hysterical laughter. “You were a kid!” she shouted. “People always lie to little kids that they’re the best so they don’t bitch and moan. They probably just thought you were too pathetic to be honest with.”

“That’s not true!” Sukui shouted, his voice rising in pitch.

His shrill remark rang through Rei’s head, unbearable. “Oh god…” she groaned, clapping a hand over her mouth. Hitsuji’s back went ramrod straight at the sight, squeezing his eyes shut tight and clapping his hands over his ears. The tension was becoming too much.

Sucking in a sharp breath, Yugao launched a kunai for the wall, whizzing right past Hitsuji and Arai’s heads. “Guys” she interjected, voice firm but not loud. The whole room fell silent. “Now is not the time. Have we all forgotten we have a job to do here?” She motioned toward the large window in their room, to the west wing across the way. Sighing, she brushed her hair back and continued. “Listen, I know that we all think Rei being sick is an inconvenience”—here, Rei whimpered in offense— “And should she have stayed home? Probably. But it’s too late to turn back now so we all just have to make the best of a bad situation, okay?” She strode toward the bed then, resting a soothing hand on Rei’s shoulder, a show of support to the others. She locked eyes with the four of them and pursed her lips. “I’m sure everything is going to be fine. No one is going to get sick or contract some deadly disease. Rei just needs to rest up and part of that means no more arguing. Do I make myself clear?”

The others remained silent as they stewed in Yugao’s words. For only a lieutenant, she certainly had a commanding presence. If they didn’t know any better, they would’ve even mistaken her for their captain. Rei’s current state was, unfortunately, not boding well for her leadership skills. The moment the thought crossed all of their minds, however, they unanimously felt guilty about it. It wasn’t her fault that she was sick. And really, pursuing the mission regardless spoke volumes for her dedication to her career, didn’t it? It may not have been the smartest choice, but her determination was admirable enough.

Placing her hands on her hips then, Yugao surveyed the group and asked, “Alright, who wants to take night watch?”

The sun had already set and the chatter of tourists echoed through the halls, eager for a night on the town. They all knew full well what kind of environment was awaiting them in the coming hours. The more chaos the enemy had to camouflage himself within, the more dangerous he became.

Hitsuji’s hand immediately shot up in response. There was an eagerness on his face that no one had actually expected of him. “Please let me do it!” he said. “I want to do it. I need to do it!”

Kikkake narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “And what if something happens? You’re too weak to take down the bad guy on your own” he argued.

“Mm, yeah, that’s true” Arai replied. “If he gets to us, he’ll kill Hitsuji in a split second.”

Hitsuji sighed, muttering under his breath, “Thanks for having so much faith in me.”

“What about you, pretty boy?” Kikkake asked. He wadded up a piece of paper from the notepad by the phone and tossed it at Sukui’s head. “Why don’t you make yourself useful for once?”

“As if!” Sukui exclaimed. “I need my beauty sleep. You don’t become this attractive by pulling all-nighters, you know.”

“God, you’re so conceited” Arai complained under her breath.

Kikkake shot her a glare. “Then what about you? Why don’t you do it?”

Arai matched his fury in her stare. “Why don’t you?”

“I never said I wouldn’t!” Kikkake shot back.

“Guys, come on!” Yugao called. “If Hitsuji wants to do it, then I say let’s give him a chance. Teamwork is important and we have to trust in our comrades' abilities or else we’ll never succeed as a squad.”

A soft smile fought it’s way through Hitsuji’s panic as he climbed over the beds and settled down in front of the window. His hands moved dexterously as he began assembling the little telescope from their arsenal of supplies. He paid no mind to the instructions. “I won’t fail you guys, I promise” he said softly as he worked.

“I hope not” Arai muttered.

Once she was finished organizing their weapons on the floor, Yugao stepped lightly across the room and rested a hand on Rei’s back. She had hardly moved over the past fifteen minutes, leaning forward with her face buried in her hands. “Rei? I really think you need to get some rest. Come on” she said softly. Rei gave a minute nod and allowed Yugao to help her shift back onto the bed, curling up on her side. Yugao pushed the trash can dutifully beside her just in case.

The others watched in subtle intrigue—it was kind of refreshing to see that not only was Yugao a formidable leader but she also possessed a very tender, maternal side to her, as well. It was comforting to know that she would look after them should anything happen in the field. I bet she'd make a great medic-nin, Arai thought to herself.

Meanwhile, Sukui readjusted in his desk chair and plucked a room service pamphlet from the document holder. A sly smile touched his lips as he idly flipped through the extensive menu. “Well, while we’re here, who’s hungry?” he asked. “I think I’m going to order some room service! I’ve heard that that’s about the only thing this hotel is good for: their food.”

Arai shook her head, sprawled out like a starfish on the bed. “I don’t even know how you can eat at a time like this” she groaned.

“Don’t worry” Kikkake replied. “Sooner or later we’ll get hungry again.”

“God, I don’t even want to know how much the food here costs” Arai replied. “I’d probably go broke. Good thing I brought snacks, at least.” Here, she rolled over onto her stomach and dug around in her backpack, fishing out a pack of peanut butter crackers…that had since crumbled into nothingness. She frowned, disappointed, before tossing them over Rei’s hunched body and into the trash can. “Well, there goes that idea.” Frustrated, Rei grabbed one of the decorative throw pillows and launched it squarely at Arai’s head, but missed and hit the ceiling light instead. One of the three bulbs cracked and shattered across the floor. Again, Rei groaned.

Yugao sighed and rubbed her forehead, muttering, “If the food doesn’t eat up all of our money, I’m sure the custodial fees will.”

By midnight, the group’s energy had significantly dwindled. Rei had passed out, her hair sticking to her dewy face. Meanwhile, Yugao sat cross-legged on the floor indexing their weaponry and polishing their kunai. It was always important to keep track of your supplies just in case. The last thing they needed was to return to Konoha only to discover a shuriken was missing. In contrast, Kikkake had idly waded halfway through the complimentary copy of Our Lady Kaguya tucked into the nightstand drawer, and Arai had zoned out tossing a wad of paper—the same one launched earlier at Sukui’s head—up and down toward the ceiling. Sukui snuck out hours ago and was nowhere to be found.

“You think we ought to go look for him or something?” Arai asked. “Maybe the enemy found him and killed him. The least we could do is retrieve the body.”

“And have a dead guy in our hotel room?” Kikkake asked boredly. He licked his fingertips, turned the page. “I’d rather not.”

Yugao looked up from her work and grimaced. “She has a point. If something happens to him, Rei and I are responsible. Losing a comrade in the line of duty doesn’t reflect very well on us” she replied. Let alone the emotional toll. She’d hate to think of the chaos that would ensue should another comrade die on Rei’s watch. Not that she was watching anything other than the inside of her eyelids, but Yugao did not fault her for that. She just wanted Rei to be okay.

From his post, Hitsuji gave the smallest shake of his head. “I think he’ll be fine” he said. “Sukui’s not stupid. He’s stronger than he looks, too. And besides, I haven’t seen anything questionable the entire time I’ve been sitting here.” If anything, he was sure Sukui disappeared among the party animals to both gain intel and flirt with the local women. If there was ever a member of their group who could effortlessly blend in here, it would be Sukui. Hitsuji had faith.

“How are you holding up?” Yugao asked him, a sympathetic smile touching her face. Hitsuji had been sitting there for nearly five hours straight now. “If you want to switch out, just say so. I’m sure the others wouldn’t mind the change of pace.”

Hitsuji, however, protested. “I’ll be just fine, don’t you worry about me” he reassured and though he did not turn around, it was clear that he was smiling. “One time, I had a panic attack so bad that I stayed awake for 36 hours straight, no problem. This should be a breeze for me.”

“Are you still panicking?” Arai asked in disbelief. Hitsuji made a mild noise to indicate that, somehow, yes, he was.

“Well, if and when you pass out, I’m not carrying you to bed” Kikkake snarked.

Just then, there was a knock at the door. The whole group went stiff. Rei groaned and creaked her eyes open, curious. She reached for the kunai in her back pouch just to be safe. An anxious electricity filled the air.

“I’m sure it’s nothing” Yugao whispered in reassurance. She rose to her feet, grabbing a kunai of her own as she approached the door. “It’s probably just Sukui. I doubt the enemy would figure out what room we’re in.”

“Unless he got it from the night auditor” Arai whispered.

Kikkake shook his head. “I don’t think he’d be that stupid.”

“Unless he’s in on it, too!” Hitsuji replied.

“Or maybe…” Arai started, hunching her back and curling her fingers in a creepy stance. “They killed the night auditor!” She peppered in her best spooky, evil villain laugh for extra pizzazz. Hitsuji’s back went ramrod straight. Rei reached behind her to slap Arai hard on the thigh.

“Don’t say that, that’s not funny” the redhead grumbled.

“Look who’s awake!” Arai jested, poking Rei in the side. Rei swatted her hand away, grumbling under her breath.

Yugao shot them all a sharp glare and rose a finger to her lips, shushing them. Her opposite hand hovered over the doorknob. She stood on tiptoes to peer through the peephole. Relief washed over her as she recognized who was on the other side and opened the door.

“Did you miss me?” Sukui asked, sliding into the room. A wide grin spread across his face and his cheeks were flushed. Kikkake wondered if he had been drinking.

“Where the hell have you been?” Yugao asked, taking hold of his shirt. “You had us all worried sick.”

Sukui swatted at the air dismissively as he wiggled out of Yugao’s grasp and plopped back down in his desk chair. “Oh, I was checking out the kitchen!” he replied. “It might not be the fanciest place to cook, but damn do they mean it when they say this place has great food!”

Yugao shook her head as she bolt-locked the door. “I’m just glad you’re not dead.”

“So, what have I missed?” Sukui asked, making himself comfortable.

The five of them replied in unison, “Absolutely nothing.”

“Well, then it’s a good thing I went to go make my own fun then!” Sukui grinned.

Grimacing, Arai launched her wad of paper at his head then and sneered, “I hope you didn’t go poking around where you’re not supposed to, you little creep.”

“Yeah, we don’t need you out blowing our cover” Kikkake agreed.

Sukui rolled his eyes. “Have a little more faith in me!” he plead. “I think you’ll all find that my poking around will do us quite a bit of good.”

Yugao froze, eyeing him. “I don’t like the sound of that.” What had he gotten into? What damage had he done? She knew she never should’ve let him wander on his own.

Sukui, however, seemed completely unaffected and unconcerned. “Just hang on. You’ll see” he mused, a playful smile toying on his lips. Yugao swallowed back her fear and tried to remain calm. She glanced to Rei, rolling sleepily over onto her side and burying her face in her pillow. For a moment, Yugao hated her.

Another uneventful hour passed. Yugao’s worry only mounted further. Hitsuji hadn’t reported any movement in the west wing whatsoever and at first, she accepted the quiet. She was almost relieved, even. Regardless of her experience in the field, she always felt a sense of anxiety whenever she was confronted with the enemy. She was too aware of the dangers, of the possibilities, of her own mortality. It was like stage-fright before a big recital—even if you were well-rehearsed, there were still so many things that could go wrong in the moment. But unlike a recital, in this case lives were at stake.

The longer they went without a hint of action, however, the more Yugao began to fear that they had, in fact, been misled. After all, the enemy was not stupid. If he caught even slightest murmur that he was being watched, he could bail in an instant and Team Ku would never know. Yugao hated to think of how long they would last before they realize that this was all for nothing, that they had been duped. For a moment, she even caught herself praying for something in an effort to relieve her own anxiety. Anything to assure her that they were not wasting their time.

And then, as in direct response to her prayers, there was a knock at the door. Yugao’s heart skipped a beat, her breath hitching in her throat. Sukui immediately leapt to his feet and raced to the door. He was a little too confident for Yugao’s comfort. “Be careful!” she called after him. He wasn’t even armed, or at least not that she could see.

Sukui swung the door open excitedly to greet the rather tired-looking man hunched on the other side. In front of him was a heavy, undecorated metal cart. “Your room service, Mr. Yukio” he droned, wheeling the cart inside. It clattered and clanked as it went, cluttered with food. Yugao’s eyes widened.

Rei furrowed her brows, disrupted by the noise, before rubbing her eyes and slowly sitting upright. “What the hell is all of this about?” she yawned.

Sukui grinned proudly as he tucked a few dollars into the man’s pocket as a tip before sending him on his way. “Well, I figured since we’re all working so hard and need to keep up our strength, I’d order everyone dinner!” he explained. “I got all of your favorites.”

And truly, somehow he had gotten all of them their favorites. Tsukimi udon for Yugao, broiled saury for Kikkake, vegetable stir fry for Hitsuji—who evidently was a vegetarian—and tonkotsu ramen for Arai. Sashimi for himself and for Rei, a platter of gyoza alongside a bowl of miso soup. Sukui distributed everyone’s food one by one, face beaming with satisfaction and delight. Perhaps he wasn’t as self-centered as he seemed, after all.

He served Rei last, being very careful with the hot bowl of soup. “Now I don’t know if miso is necessarily your favorite” he started, “but I thought maybe it might help your stomach.” He set the bowl down on the nightstand with a napkin and a little spoon. The steam wafted up into Rei’s face, the scent of the warm, salty broth hitting her nose, and she was instantly overwhelmed with a welcome sense of calm. “My mother always used to feed me miso soup when I had to stay home sick from school, and I know it always made me feel better so I hope it does the same for you, too” he added.

Rei was, quite frankly, awestruck. She thanked him softly, exercising great care in cradling the bowl in her lap. With each tiny sip of broth, her entire body was further drenched in a tranquil warmth. She shivered, but out of delight rather than cold. Her stomach finally began to unclench.

“How did you even know what we all liked, anyway?” Arai asked, slurping her noodles.

Sukui merely shrugged. “I pay attention” he replied bluntly.

As grateful as Yugao was for such a kind act, there was one point of contention that she could not seem to shake. “Did you pay for all of this out of pocket?” she asked. She could only imagine how expensive this all was. Where did he get that kind of money?

Shaking his head, Sukui replied, “I just put it on our room’s tab.”

Yugao’s face immediately went stark white. “Y-You did what?!” she exclaimed.

Sukui popped a piece of sushi in his mouth, unbothered. “I don’t see what the big deal is” he replied. “It’s not like the room is in any of our names to begin with. We’re not paying to stay here.”

Yugao sucked in a sharp breath, prayed for peace. “That’s not the point” she replied. “Someone has to pay for this.” And it’s likely Lady Tsunade, she thought to herself. She already knew the hokage was deep in her own debt. Surely this was not going to help. Besides, Konoha’s good civilian tax dollars were not meant for luxurious meals to the ANBU. Now Yugao was the one getting a migraine.

Arai paused before spitting her noodles back into her bowl. “Should we not be eating this then? Should we send this back?” she asked.

“No!” Sukui demanded abruptly, pointing at her. “No, you put those noodles back in your mouth right now!”

Arai blinked in shock—she had never seen Sukui so assertive before. Without breaking eye contact with him, she slowly lifted the noodles back up to her mouth and slurped them down at an obnoxious volume. For what it was worth, Sukui had been right about the food being incredible. Even if she had to, she didn’t particularly want to give her ramen back to begin with. Not that they would want it back anyway. It had already been in her mouth, they had no way of repurposing it.

Defeated, Sukui dropped into his chair and rested his chin in his hands. “I just wanted to do something nice for everyone” he sighed. “I wanted to show how much I appreciate you guys.”

“We know” Yugao replied, resting a hand on his shoulder. “I just need to make sure that we’re doing things right.”

Suddenly, Rei interjected herself into the conversation. “Fuck it” she said. “Like he said, we’re not paying for it. It’s not our problem. Let’s just…try to enjoy this while we can, alright?”

And while they were all still relatively uneasy about the subject, Rei had a point. They had a big mission ahead of them, they had been working long and tiresome hours. It was exhausting being on guard all the time and certainly they were all feeling the strain. But that was no excuse for slacking on self-care. Heaven forbid if anything happened, starvation and sleep-deprivation did not make for triumph in battle. Clearly, Sukui knew this. He was only trying to keep everyone’s morale in check. He had no obligation to go to such lengths to provide for them, but he did. The least they could do was accept his generosity and enjoy the good food.

They ate in silence, at first slow and cautious. As they fell into comfortable acceptance of the meal, however, their hesitancy transformed to ravenous and messy. By the time they had finished, a sleepy haze swept over the lot of them. Arai fell back onto the bed and patted her stomach, full and satisfied. Kikkake smirked and gathered everyone’s dirty dishes. He veered away from Rei, her bowl still half-full, and then slipped into the bathroom to rinse everything in the sink.

While Rei did not scarf down her meal like the others, simply nursing her soup had soothed her and seemed to ease the tension out of her bones. It was perhaps the only thing she could really keep down for the past five days and for that, she was grateful. She hadn’t realized just how weak she had become until now. She chewed her lower lip, squeezed her hand around her wrist. The tip of her thumb overlapped with the nail of her middle finger. She swallowed back a lump rising in her throat, prayed for her stomach to remain calm.

On her way back from the bathroom, Rei rested a gentle hand on Hitsuji’s shoulder and gazed out at the view. It was truly breathtaking: flickering technicolor lights lined the streets, the bubbling of the hot springs echoed from below, and in the distance the craggy mountains faded into the night sky. She lifted the glass in her opposite hand to her lips, the water from the tap tasting metallic and rotten. “You should get some rest” Rei whispered. “I’ll stand guard.”

Hitsuji shook his head in protest. “Like I said, I’ll be fine” he smiled up at her.

“But you’ve been at this for almost seven hours now” Rei argued. “You need to take a break.” If nothing else, she felt obligated to take over in an effort to feel productive. All she had done this entire mission was puke and sleep. It wasn’t fair to pass the work off to all of her subordinates. After all, she was their captain. She wasn’t doing a very good job of leading them this time around—a fact that left a rancid taste in her mouth.

Hitsuji reached out and halted Rei’s hand from adjusting his telescope. His grip was tighter than she had expected. “Captain Rei, please” he murmured, voice level and sure. “I need you to let me do this. I’ll be fine. Besides, you still need your rest, too.” His voice cracked slightly on this last sentence, a hint that he was still paranoid about Rei’s sickness. Perhaps his tolerance for vomit really was nonexistent. So long as she kept sleeping, and so long as he kept his focus squarely on something else, he would have no problems. He knew it was selfish, but he was willing to sacrifice his own energy stores for the protection of both his comrades and his own sense of sanity.

Not wanting to argue, Rei gave a single nod before trudging back toward the bed. Arai had since sprawled out across the lower half, passed out and drooling on the duvet. Rei maneuvered around her and curled up on the right edge, closing her eyes. She felt the mattress shift yet again as Yugao settled in beside her. The light flicked off.

“Hey, Rei?” Yugao whispered after a long stretch of silence. “Can I ask you something?”

Rei rolled over, though she knew she wouldn’t be able to see Yugao in the dark. It just felt right to face her anyway. “Yeah, what’s up?”

“Are you sure you have food poisoning?” she asked. The question was unexpected, to say the least.

Rei blinked, dumbfounded, as she tried to process the question. She opened and closed her mouth for a solid minute, attempting to formulate a response. “W-why do you ask?” she finally stammered out.

Yugao rolled onto her side, head propped up on her arm. “I’m worried about you, Rei” she confessed. “Food poisoning doesn’t last this long. You’ve been down for the count all night. I don’t think I’ve been doing a very good job of holding down the fort without you. I need your help. I can’t do this by myself but…I also don’t want to push you past your limits.”

“Yugao…” Rei murmured. She instinctively reached out to take her lieutenant’s hand in hers. “I promise, I’m perfectly fine. And…I’m sorry. I know I need to be there for you—for all of you, really. This is as much of an inconvenience for me as it for all of you. Believe me, I don’t want to be fucking sick like this. But I’m already feeling tons better. I’m going to be fine.”

Yugao gave a single nod, rolled over onto her back. She stared up at the ceiling, chewed her lower lip. She should’ve taken comfort in Rei’s words but…she was still unresolved. “And Rei?” she asked. Rei made a small noise to ensure that she was listening. “If something was genuinely wrong, you would tell me, right?”

Rei blinked. “O-of course” she admitted. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know” Yugao replied. She knew something was going on. She knew that Rei had been acting differently—saw it in the way she avoided meals, in the way her temper flared so much easier now. Perhaps it was just the stress. Taking on the role of a captain was a lot of added responsibility. It had only been a month. Surely Rei was still struggling to adjust. Especially after what she had been aiming for beforehand. Yugao instinctively rested a hand atop her own stomach, wondered if thoughts of parenthood still circulated through Rei’s mind. “Just promise me one thing” Yugao finally whispered.

“What is it?” Rei asked.

Yugao sucked in a sharp breath, closed her eyes. A promise. “Don’t keep me in the dark.”

By morning, everyone had rearranged into one catastrophic dog pile. Arai’s foot in Kikkake’s face, Sukui’s arm draped across Arai’s eyes. And all the while, Hitsuji still sat guard by the window. His eyes were droopy and bloodshot, his mouth dry, and his hands began to shake. Fatigue weighed his body down, slumping his shoulders and hunching his back, but regardless he did not falter.

Kikkake swatted Arai’s foot away as he groaned awake, rolling the tension out of his neck and stretching his arms out in front of him. Somehow, he was the first to wake up. The moment he noticed Hitsuji, he trudged toward the window and slapped a hand amicably on his back. “Man, come on, you’ve got to go to sleep” he croaked. Shed of his hardened exterior so early in the morning, there was something almost heartwarming about Kikkake now. He was more palatable, kinder.

Meanwhile, Sukui sighed in his sleep and muttered something about a pretty woman, rolling over and hugging Arai close. Arai furrowed her brows and shifted in her sleep, her mind immediately waking up to a question of what, exactly, was pressed against her thigh. As she blinked her eyes open, it became all too clear to her.

“Get off me, you little freak!” she shouted, shoving Sukui away from her. Sukui scrambled awake, his blonde hair sticking up in all different directions. Arai aimed a pillow for his crotch and shouted, “Go get a cold shower, you fucking pervert!”

Sukui blinked and then looked down to find an unfortunate case of morning wood. His cheeks burned bright red as he hid behind the pillow and apologized profusely.

“God, it’s so early for fighting” Rei groaned, pressing the heels of her hands into her eye sockets. “Can you guys please tone it down?”

“I’m with Rei” Kikkake groaned. He dragged his tired body to the mini fridge in the corner, started a pot of coffee. The coffee maker hissed, gurgled, and then inconsistently spat lumpy liquid into the glass urn.

Yugao rolled over onto her side, furrowing her brows toward Hitsuji. How he managed to stay awake this long was beyond her. She was grateful for his dedication, of course, but not at the expense of his own health.

“Hitsuji, you really ought to get some sleep” she said, slowly sitting upright. Rei nodded as she reached for the glass of water on her nightstand.

“You’ve been up all night” Rei added. “Sooner or later, you’re going to start seeing things. Come on, get some rest.”

Hitsuji, however, shook his head. “I can’t” he protested. “Not now.”

“And why not?” Arai asked sourly. She hated to admit that even she was desperate to see him sleep.

“Because” Hitsuji began, narrowing his eyes, “The enemy is looking right at me.”

Kikkake choked on his coffee, gasping for breath. “I’m sorry, what?” he asked.

Hitsuji gave a single nod. “He’s right there, across the courtyard. Third floor, fifth window from the corner” he explained, staying innately still.

“You sure you’re not just seeing things?” Arai snarked, restraining an incredulous little laugh. After an uneventful night, she would’ve more readily believed he was hallucinating than anything else. If the enemy was really going to make waves, he would’ve done so already. The entire mission was a sham.

Arai stretched her arms out in front of her, releasing the tension from her body. As she reached up to the sky, however, the window shattered and a kunai came whizzing past her ear to stick in the wall. The entire room went still and silent.

Hitsuji sucked his teeth. “Yeah, I’m sure.”  

Rei gasped and ducked, narrowly avoiding a stab to the eye. The kunai just barely grazed her fluffy ponytail, a few strands of fiery hair falling onto her pillow. The blade stuck in the wall with a metallic thud, a paper bomb dangling from the handle. Fuck.

In one swift motion, Rei knocked back a large gulp of water, puffing her cheeks out as she held it in her mouth. Meanwhile, she crumpled the paper bomb tight in her opposite hand.

“Rei, hurry up!” Kikkake shouted. He had since dropped his coffee and grabbed one of the many weapons off the floor.

Rei grimaced at him, making a frustrated whine, as she worked. She focused on the tag in her hands, on separating the chakra from the paper like removing dye from a scrap of fabric. Once she had separated as much as she could manage, she let the enemy's chakra seep into her palm, willed it to siphon faster and faster up through her own network. She leapt across the room as she infused the chakra with the water in her own mouth, the strength of it burning like mouthwash. Rei leaned over the windowsill then, cupped her hands around her mouth, and shot the water across the courtyard in a projectile attack. The enemy shouted in shock, pummeled with the exact level of power he had intended to hit them with.

The scream had, understandably, attracted a fair amount of attention. The bathroom door bust open at the sound and in raced Sukui, covered in soap and water with a towel around his waist and a shower cap on his head. “I heard screaming! What’s going on?!”

Yugao and Kikkake immediately raced out the door, fully prepared to apprehend their suspect. Rei's attack had immobilized him enough to grant them extra time. As Arai followed behind them, she shoved a set of clothes against Sukui’s chest and demanded, “Get dressed, idiot. It’s go-time!”

It took Sukui only a few seconds to understand what was happening but once he had, he quickly mopped the suds off his body and scrambled to step into his clothes. He wasn’t a very fast dresser, however, nor was his balance very great, so he ended up falling over and faceplanting straight into the nasty carpet instead. Now I’m going to need another shower, he complained in the back of his mind. He didn’t even want to know what kinds of vermin were burrowing deep within that carpet.

“W-what do you need me to do?!” Hitsuji asked as Rei raced out the door.

Glancing back at him over her shoulder, she responded simply, “Stay here.”

It was a reasonable enough request. He wasn’t particularly in the best state to fight right now and besides, they couldn’t leave the room unsupervised with their weapons and other belongings scattered everywhere. Hitsuji was good at keeping watch anyway. Involved in the battle, he would only get in the way.

The arrest went as smooth as any arrest can go. The man fought back, and hard, but a couple rides on the lightning (courtesy of Arai) and a genjutsu to further subdue him seemed to make him manageable enough. If only his resistance had not caused the eventual destruction of the entire west wing of the hotel.

Rei coughed into the crook of her elbow and leaned against a broken pillar as she surveyed the damage. “Fuck…we’re really gonna rack up the custodial fees, aren’t we?”

“Well, think of it this way, boss” Arai grinned, slapping a hand on Rei’s shoulder. “Puking in the lobby is far from the worst thing we’ve done here.” Rei glared at her in periphery, swatting her hand away. One did not negate the other—rather, they only made each that much worse.

The night auditor, sleep-deprived and likely nearing the end of his shift, came racing onto the scene then with the hotel's manager in tow. “What have you done?!” the auditor shrieked, gripping at his hair and trying to comprehend the immense volume of damage.

Kikkake smirked. “We got the enemy” he said, nodding his head toward the rogue ninja now unconscious and slung over his broad shoulder.

“Th-th-that’s not the point!” the auditor argued. “You’ve destroyed the hotel! We’re ruined!”

Yugao pursed her lips. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, this guy was the only occupant in any of the rooms so it’s not like anyone lost their lives today” she said.

Arai snorted in amusement. “Hey, listen, if half of your hotel was empty, I think you were already ruined.”

Neither the night auditor nor the hotel manager found this funny. Grimacing, the manager shook his head in disdain. “Well, you all better be fucking loaded because this is going to cost you all a fortune” he grumbled.

A delighted smile touched Sukui’s lips, apparently viewing this as a challenge. Sliding forward, he lightly grazed the manager’s arm and batted his eyelashes. “We may not have tons of money, but I’m sure we can work out alternative methods to repay you” he cooed.

The manager was a rather burly man with thinning hair and a stubbled face. His belly protruded out over his waistband and he seemed to wear a permanent scowl. He eyed Sukui suspiciously, the young ANBU’s charms clearly having no effect on him.

Sensing the rising tension, Sukui backed away dutifully and muttered under his breath, “He must be straight.”

Arai rolled her eyes and whispered back, “Good eye, Sherlock.”

Sighing, Yugao stepped forward and projected her best business voice. “I promise, we’ll have all the damages paid in full by our supervisors in a timely manner” she assured. “In the meantime, is there anything we can do to help?”

The manager huffed gruffly and shook his head. “The best thing you can do now is get the fuck off my property.”

Yugao blinked, taken aback by the bluntness of his reply. “Duly noted” she murmured. Then, turning to her team, she made a motion with her hand and shouted, “Alright, time to go.”

The others nodded in agreement, bowing their heads as they scurried past the manager and night auditor in embarrassment. Really, the six of them were just trying to do their jobs. If only their jobs did not cause so much damage. Rei trailed behind them, dragging her feet. Her face had since grown pale and her hands unsteady and clammy.

“You alright?” Yugao asked her, waiting by her side.

Rei nodded weakly. “Y-Yeah, I’ll be fine” she replied. “Just took a lot out of me.”

“Maybe you’re not as better as you think you are” Yugao said softly. Her attempts at comedy were overthrown by the concern deeply laced in her voice. Rei hated to admit that she might have been right.

Together, the six of them trudged back to their hotel room, gathered their things, and went on their way.

The journey back to the village seemed far quicker and more tolerable than the journey there. Perhaps it was the adrenaline of the moment, or the promise of sleeping in their own beds, that fueled them further. Or maybe it was just the anxiety of having to face Lady Tsunade--a desperation to get the confrontation over with.

After sending the criminal off to the Intelligence Division for questioning, Team Ku slipped into the hokage's office to submit their mission reports.

“Well? How did it go?” Tsunade asked. Though there was no explicit malice in her voice, Rei shuddered with the fear that she knew something. Perhaps the manager had called her on their way back and outlined the disaster they had caused. Either way, she had a bad feeling about this. Her gut twisted.

“We did the job we set out to do” Yugao replied, hoping to present some level of positivity to the situation.

Tsunade smiled. “And you did a fine job, at that” she replied. “You’re all turning out to be a splendid group of shinobi. You’re really progessing wonderfully, which must be attributed to the strong leadership of your captain.” Here, she eyed Rei with a proud gaze. Rei smiled weakly, arms wrapped around her unsettled stomach. If anything, this mission only proved how weak her leadership truly was. After all, she had barely been conscious the entire time. The guilt was overwhelming.

Shizune, standing dutifully at the hokage’s side, cleared her throat then and whispered, “Uh, Lady Tsunade, there is one thing that should be addressed."

“Hmm? What is it, Shizune?” Tsunade asked. Whatever it was, she didn’t think she wanted to know. She didn’t want to put a damper on her good mood.

Anxious, Shizune slid the bill face-down across Tsunade’s desk. The entire team simultaneously shuddered. This was it: the ultimate end.

Tsunade skimmed over the bill, her expression initially uninterested but quickly transforming into utter shock and disbelief. “What is the meaning of this?!” she shouted, slamming the receipt down on the table. “How the hell did you all manage to spend a million dollars?!”

The six of them peered forward cautiously in disbelief. There, plain as day, sat six figures with a note that read “for fine food and campus destruction.”

“A million dollars?!” Kikkake shouted, automatically turning to Sukui.

Sukui blushed and laughed nervously, swatting at the air as he replied, “Well, it wasn’t entirely my fault.”

Hitsuji nodded, pointing at the receipt. “Only about 25% of that is the food. Everything else was the destruction.”

All the color drained from Rei’s face as she leaned on the arm rest of the office couch for support. “I think I’m going to be sick” she murmured.

She knew that it was going to be bad. That much was obvious. But a million dollars? The figure far exceeded her expectations, and not in a good way.

Without missing a beat, Arai bounced forward and presently snatched the bill right off of Tsunade’s desk. Displeased, Tsunade narrowed her eyes. “And what do you think you’re doing?” she asked.

Arai grinned at her, unadulterated and proud, as she replied, “Don’t worry about it. I’m going to take care of everything.” Truly, there was no way Arai could afford this but she did not allow any time for protest. Receipt in hand, she skipped happily--suspiciously--out of the office. Rei and Yugao exchanged concerned glances. Again, there was no way this was going to end well.

Gloomy clouds hung low overhead as the heavy double doors of Root’s headquarters screeched open. A hawk cawed in the distance. Danzo Shimura looked to the sky. With an arm extended, he summoned the messenger hawk to land upon him and carefully took the note strapped to his leg. He hadn’t been expecting mail but the thought of a promising new opportunity invigorated him. He unraveled the note quickly and as he skimmed the page, his face fell. Staring back at him was the receipt to a trashy hotel, the total of which reached a million dollars “for fine food and campus destruction.”

Danzo, baby, Here’s a little gift from me to you! Make sure you pay it in full, k? Love, a secret not-very-admirer <3

Grumbling under his breath, he ripped the receipt in half and stomped it into the ground before hobbling back inside.