#God. We need to wash the sheets and laundry just generally needs to be done but we CANT bc fucking app-only service bullshit

[sepiasys]

Questioning why we got fanta when B got us a drink. The time before he let us get a cherry pepsi (we just wanted smth cherry flavored and it was the first one we saw). WHY DO WE HAVE FANTA (pretty sure it's related to 🌼 deciding)

So anyways thank god we also have water nearby

[alloftheimaginesblog]

Periods Through Different Time Periods {Indiana Jones x Plus Size History Professor Reader}

Request: You're on your period, life sucks, Indy stays round, you wake up covered in blood. Life is the worst. Indy makes things a little easier though, good thing he's not afraid of blood.

Character: Indiana Jones x Plus Size History Professor Reader

Requested by @writings-of-a-hufflepuff

Part of my Plus Size History Professor x Indiana Jones series and part of my Plus Size Reader x Character series!

Rolling over in bed, you began to stir as your dreams began to fade and the real world sank back in again. You frowned as you fumbled on the bedside table for your glasses, putting them on and stretching. It was as you stretched that you just knew something wasn’t normal. You paused, trying to figure out what was happening. As you sat up, noticing that Indy wasn’t beside you in bed anymore, you realised that you were rather wet down there and not the good kind of wet.

You were uncomfortable and hot and sore and, “Oh, shit,” you hissed as it dawned on you. You were expecting your period in a few days and it apparently it decided to come early, “Shit, shit, shit,” you cautiously stood up and peeled back the covers. There, right where you’d been sleeping, were blood stains resembling a crime scene. You walked to the mirror and saw that your pyjama shorts were covered in blood at the crotch. You’d been with Indy for months, yeah, and he obviously knew that you had periods every month, he usually helped you cope with the mood swings and the pain but he’d never been over when you actually bled onto the sheets.

You hated that you were embarrassed about it. Periods were a natural thing to happen and yet, since basically the beginning of time, people who experienced periods were shamed and made to feel like it was a taboo topic. You hated that. You hated that you felt embarrassed to have bled in front of your adult boyfriend.

“Sweetheart?”

Your eyes widened and you leapt back into bed again, the cold slight damp blood resting uncomfortably on your thighs. Indy poked his head in a second later, “Oh, good, you’re awake. I’m making us breakfast.” God, the man was too sweet, “You want to help?”

He walked towards you and instinctively, you pulled the covers tighter around yourself, “No!” You squeaked way too fast.

Indy paused and his eyebrows quirked into a frown, “Everything okay, sweetheart?” It was embarrassing that you were this ashamed of it, honestly. Pushing your reservations aside, you told yourself that Indy loved you and he wouldn’t judge you for something that was completely out of your control.

“I started my period this morning, it came a few days early and I was unprepared,” you explained slowly.

“Okay,” he nodded, “but why do you look so frightened?”

You sighed, “Please don’t judge me.” Carefully, you stood up and peeled the covers back to show him. He looked between the sheet and your crotch. You could feel your cheeks darken as he looked at you.

Finally, he met your eyes and he could see your fear and embarrassment straight away. He walked to you and wrapped you in a tight hug. You had grown accustomed to his touches on your stomach rolls or back fat, it didn’t bother you anymore or make you embarrassed so why did this embarrass you? “Why would I judge you for that, sweetheart? It’s not like you can control it, besides it’s natural. You don’t need to be worried about that stuff, doesn’t bother me and it shouldn’t bother you either, sweetheart.” All of your worries began to fade as he spoke. You knew that it was silly to be embarrassed but years of feeling like you had to hide the fact you had periods had conditioned you to believe it was a taboo subject.

“How are you feeling?”

You shrugged, “Like I really need to go in a shower and then change the bed.”

“Wait here,” Indy said before leaving the room. You made your way to the bathroom and turned the shower on. He appeared a moment later holding the laundry basket, “Put your clothes in there, I’ll get the sheets off the bed. Go for a shower and I’ll get these washed.”

“I’ll get the sheets, don’t worry.”

“Come on, honey, go get showered and I’ll deal with it... Besides, it’s not like I’m not used to blood. It doesn’t gross me out at all so put your dirty clothes in here and I’ll do the rest. I’m not afraid of a little blood.”

You looked at him and all you could muster up was a small ‘thank you’. Truly the best boyfriend in the whole world. You had remembered how boys in class when you had been in school reacted to the topic of periods, your dad when you mentioned it; men in general seemed repulsed by it even though it was completely natural and out with your control. It wasn’t dirty, it wasn’t horrible; it was a natural bodily function and you were done feeling ashamed of it.

You stripped off, chucking everything in the basket which Indy had placed in front of the bathroom door and began to clean yourself off. When men bled during battles it was a heroic action, yet when someone had a period it was seen as weak; as disgusting. No way, not anymore. You were done living in fear of talking about it. If someone was uncomfortable with it, that’s their business but it wasn’t your job to shut up just because they might react with disgust. As a Professor, you knew that teenage boys would have this attitude so even though it wasn’t really relating to History at all, you thought you could spend part of a class talking about it or even talking about it in a round-a-bout way of how people throughout the centuries dealt with periods. It would get a conversation going and it would allow you to say that it wasn’t something to be ashamed of, especially to the young people who experienced them.

By the time you’d finished cleaning, you’d pretty much had the lesson plan of ‘Periods through different periods’ set out and planned. You wrapped a towel around yourself and exited the bathroom to see that Indy hadn’t only just taken the sheets off of the bed, he’d also put fresh ones on and lay out some clothes for you to wear. You smiled as you spied the clothes he’d put out. Comfy pyjamas and his cardigan that you loved to steal and snuggle up in. Being plus size, a lot of Indy’s shirts were far too tight for you so you preferred to steal his baggy jumpers and cardigans because they stretched and fit you nice whilst also smelling like him. Quickly you changed and walked to the kitchen to see Indy setting out breakfast.

“So you changed a bed, put clothes out and got breakfast served in basically no time at all?” You asked incredulously as you walked up to him, “You are incredible, Indiana Jones. Thank you.”

Indy grinned at you, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your head, “How are you feeling?”

“Doing okay, cramp is starting to kick in though.”

“I’ve set out some painkillers beside your juice and we can cuddle on the couch when we’re finished or go back to bed, your choice.”

“God, you are perfect, Indy... Oh, I thought of what I’m going to do for one of my lessons this week, wanna hear it?”

[yoddream]

tw: depression, mentions of suicide (very blunt)

“C’mon, Jaemin. Where the hell are you?” Renjun muttered while pacing.

Four days. It had been four days since Renjun had seen you emerge from your room. Every time he checked on you, you were either staring at the wall or watching something on your phone with no sign of any emotion on your face. When you weren’t doing either of those, you were asleep. As far as he knew, you hadn’t eaten whenever he was there, but he also had work and classes, so he didn’t know if any food or drink had entered your system at all. Every time he left the apartment, he was worried that he would come back to a lifeless body instead of his roommate-slash-best-friend.

Frantic knocks on the door caught his attention. He rushes over and throws the door open, stepping aside immediately as your boyfriend, Jaemin, stormed in.

“Is she still in there?” he asked instead of greeting the older, but Renjun didn’t even care at this point.

“Yeah, but—“ Renjun bit his lip and hesitated.

“But what?”

“Jaemin, I’m afraid of coming home,” he admitted. “I’m worried she’s gonna kill herself every time I leave.”

Your boyfriend frowned at the thought. “Thank you for calling me. I’m sorry it took so long to get here.”

“Don’t worry about it. Just—please help her.”

The room was dark when he opened the door, and it smelled. God, it smelled pretty bad. Renjun wasn’t lying when he said that this was the worst he’s seen you—not that Jaemin thought he was lying. It may have been four days since anyone has seen you leave your room, but the pileup of dirty clothes and the lack of a shower had been going on for much longer. Your face was lit up by the screen of your phone, a video from your favorite youtuber playing. Jaemin knew it was the new one that had been posted, but there wasn’t even a hint of a smile on your face whenever they cracked a joke. You looked like a robot, every muscle in your face relaxed as if you couldn’t feel anything. Maybe it had gotten to that point, but Jaemin wouldn’t know until he talked to you.

“Y/N, honey. Can you hear me?”

He watched you and waited. It took maybe half a minute before it seemed to dawn on you that somebody was talking to you. Glancing over, your eyes landed on the boy you were in love with, yet there was no indication that you actually cared that he was there.

“Hey, pumpkin. Renjun called me and said he was worried about you. When was the last time you ate, hm?” he asked.

You blinked slowly a few times. “This isn’t a dream?”

When Jaemin shook his head, you slowly crawled over before laying your head in his lap and letting a few silent tears fall. He ran his hands through your greasy hair, even though he despised the feel of it and knew washing his hands wouldn’t be enough to get rid of the phantom feeling. Your well-being was so much more important, even though his skin was crawling.

He didn’t know how much time had passed before you mumbled, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, honey. Why don’t we get you in the shower while i throw some laundry in the washing machine? Does that sound okay to you?”

“I don’t have anything to wear that’s clean.”

“I’m sure Renjun won’t mind if you borrow something. C’mon, I’ll throw it in, order some food for the three of us, and then come help you wash yourself if you need it, okay?”

“Okay.”

Jaemin helped you to the bathroom and had you sit on the toilet cover while he got the shower ready for you at the temperature you preferred. He managed to find the stool Renjun had needed when he broke his foot and couldn’t stand in the shower, so you were able to sit instead of forcing yourself to stand. He then undressed you, pressing a light kiss to your forehead, despite you complaining about the state of your skin. Once he felt you were settled, he decided to tackle your room.

The first thing Jaemin did was open the window to air it all out. It would help get rid of the smell faster, and it would get rid of the stale air as well. He then stripped your bed of its sheets, knowing that they desperately needed to be cleaned. Once that was done, he gathered everything he could into a basket and marched his way down the hall. You and Renjun were lucky enough to have an apartment that provided you with a private washing machine and dryer. He threw everything in, knowing you didn’t care about colors mixing as long as they had the same washing instructions, and headed back to your room. He put everything else in the hamper in the corner and lit a few candles to help get rid of the smell. He knew he shouldn’t leave them unattended, but he really wanted to check on you. Grabbing a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt from Renjun’s room, he poked his head into the bathroom.

“Y/N? How are you doing!” he called out.

“Okay, I guess.”

“Do you need any help? You know I don’t mind.”

“I think I’ve got it for now.”

He smiled to himself. “Okay then. I’m gonna leave some spare clothes on the counter and try to clean your room a little more. I’ll check back in another five or ten minutes.”

“Okay.”

Jaemin managed to clean up most of your room and put new sheets on your bed before ordering some food. Once he felt everything was ready, he checked in you again. You were still sitting in the shower, but you had managed to clean everything. He shut off the water and helped you dry off before dressing you. He then watched at your started brushing your teeth, encouraging you whenever it seemed like you were starting to give up. When he deemed you done with the bathroom, he dragged you back to your bedroom.

You were gaping at the sudden cleanliness when he pulled you onto your bed, ready to cuddle you if you wanted to. He knew that sometimes you needed space, but it seemed like today was not one of those days. Your body immediately curled into his as you seemed comfort and safety. He wrapped his arms around you and waited for you to get comfortable before kissing the top of your clean head.

“I’m sorry you had to flying across the country to get here,” you mumbled.

Jaemin went to school far away from both you and your hometown, wanting to experience the college life and see how well he’d do on his own. He managed for a while, but during the second year, he’d decided that he’d transfer to your school for the rest of his education, hating not being able to see his parents or you whenever he wanted. There were a couple months before the semester ended, and then the two of you would have a few months to enjoy summer before it was time for you to go back to school, this time together.

You were excited, but you had missed him since his family visited his grandmother for the holidays, so you hadn’t seen him in person for half a year. It was taking a toll on you, along with your schoolwork and feeling like Renjun’s new friends only talked to you because you were his friend, and then just your depression and anxiety in general. You were feeling this way with reasons that you couldn’t name, which meant you didn’t know how to work on it and try to turn everything around.

Jaemin smiled at you. “Y/N, I would fly across the world if you needed me to.”

Having your boyfriend here lifted your spirits momentarily, but you knew it would be a while before everything seemed better. Though with Jaemin just a text or phone call away and Renjun keeping an eye on you, you knew you could conquer this. It would take time, but you’d eventually get there.

[minerscanary]

Just Another Night

Whumpmas in july day 3, with the prompt ‘sleep’.

CW: This ones pretty bare, more of a dull pain and comfort rather than hurt. Medication mention, some barely self destructive behavior, does this even count as whump? Nathan Prescott.

----

Nights rarely went without being woken up.

Whether that be in a cold sweat, his clothes drenched and teeth chattering as he climbed out of bed to the shower, or with a burning pain tearing and pulling at his leg. The meds all hit each other terribly, but after so much trial and error you begin to be okay with the side effects. It was either this, or staying in bed all day doing nothing, unable to do anything. He could sacrifice a little bit of sleep anyways, it wasn’t worth it.

But now… There was him in the picture.

Nathan worried about waking him up every time he would wiggle out from under the sheets. Worry about waking up as he would slip into the shower, or pull on his shoes to leave the apartment. If he did decide on the former, like tonight, he would wonder if Warren would notice and mention it in the morning over coffee, just before he had to run off for the day. He ran through a million and one different scenarios on what he would say, how to answer perfectly.

Someone like him, it would be a miracle from god if he didn't have nightmares. Nightmares trapped behind a glass wall, being locked out from doing anything, only able to watch the blood spill and robes burn, stuck just behind his eyes through a thick haze. He turned the knob all the way to the left first, letting burning steam and water splash against his skin, opening his pours and all the dirt stuck in them from when he inevitably forgot to wash his face. It always seemed to be the smallest things, the mundane and ritualistic things he couldn’t quite get. It was better when Warren was there, someone to keep him on the schedule, on some sort of routine, but some nights just fell through the cracks.

He flexed his toes against the white linoleum floor, just to get the feeling back in his leg. His hands were just barely shaking, rubbing at his face, through dirty blonde locks that had days of product in it. Some things just fell through the cracks.

Nathan could almost melt in the heat of the steam, let it sink into his skin and follow it down the drain. Just melt away from the world, the fluorescent and disinfectants. It was a nice thought, to just step away from the world for a second, to let it all melt away from you.

But again… There was him. Warren. The dipshit that he let in his dorm room once and couldn’t get enough of. Somehow they landed out here, away from the hills of Arcadia Bay, in a studio apartment Nathan's father did not trust him with, alone at least. Warren was his little secret, someone that his old world wouldn’t be able to touch, not over Nathan's dead body.

He let out a little breathy laugh in the steam, just at the thought, then reached out to turn the dial the opposite direction, icy cold. It was just a quick burst, enough to give his skin life from all the heat had taken. He wasn’t under it long before turning it all the way off, hearing the smallest knock at the door.

“Nathan?” He heard from the other side, eyes down as he watched water drip from his body.

“Yeah?”

Drip drip drip, down the drain, anywhere else.

Conversations with the man were hardly anything to be scared of, he wasn't. But conversations at all, through a door, in the middle of the night, were generally nerve inducing.

There was a small pause, then trying to open the door, “Sorry, are you almost done? Nathan’s breath caught in his throat, just standing in the shower with nothing else. He quickly grabbed his towel, patting himself down before throwing on a clean set of clothes. The dirty ones were thrown on the floor, he could take care of them later. Warren didn’t say anything else, the studio was silent, listening to Nate’s feet against the wet linoleum, then, the door clicked. His hair was wet and messy, face flushed from the quick change in temperature. Water soaked the neck of his clean t-shirt, on the back of his neck where his hair dripped.

Warren gave this tilted kind of smile, arms out straight, and Nathan fell right in them. The younger brunette had filled out over the years, lanky limbs finally looking right when he grew to his full height. He was definitely bigger than Nathan, enough to rest his chin on the top of his head as he held him against his chest. “How are you feeling?” It felt like a dumb question, but Warren asked it anyways.

“Just fine, Graham.” Nathan locked his hands around Warren’s waist, the others over his shoulders, holding him as they stood outside the bathroom door. “I’m just fine.” He felt the hesitancy in the others movements, and spoke again. “I’m not fucking sensitive.”

Well. It came out wrong, but the meaning got by nonetheless.

He felt the other’s hand slip into his hair, brush at oily and wet locks, push them back and away from his forehead. That water dripped down his neck, onto Warren’s hand. “Do you need some advil or something? I got those strawberry melatonin things, if they’d help.”

Nathan let out a breath against Warren’s shirt, then in again, taking in the cedar scent of his cologne, mixed with the seaside smell of their laundry detergent.

Their laundry detergent, it sounded so fucking domestic.

“You should try and go back to bed,” Warren spoke again, resting his chin on top of Nathan’s wet hair. “Just a few more hours before we gotta be up.”

We this, and ours that, Nathan’s teeth clenched together, throat warm and tight as he gripped tighter around the tall brunette's waist. Someone looking out for him, who seemed like they cared about him, who wanted to take care of him, it all feld similar. Like a sweater you meant to throw out, scratching at your skin, yet you wear it regardless, lest it go to waste.

“Nathan?”

Warren’s voice was grating, scratching at Nathan’s ears like wool. He gulped, pulling away in a harsh movement, letting his messy hair fall back over his eyes. He couldn’t even say a word, too frightened of the cracks in his voice, almost stomping to his bed, grabbing one of the blankets before stopping back in front of Warren. He couldn’t look up at him, just squared his jaw with mumbled words, “I’m sleeping on the couch. Go back to bed.” He didn’t wait to see if Warren would, chances were he would probably just start the coffee machine and leave. Nathan just took the blanket to the living kitchen dining area, pulling it over him as he fell onto the couch. 

It was a cheap thing he managed to buy with his own money, dragged up the steps of his building, and into his apartment. It didn’t cost much, but nuzzling his face into the corner of it, back to the TV, the smell of mothballs in his throat, the plush blanket draped over him. 

Just alone. 

Completely alone. 

Quiet. 

It was nice. 

Empty, and nice. 

No one to pull him one way or the other, even if he could hear footsteps through the rooms. Warren didn’t matter right now. Nothing mattered right now. Just the few hours he could strangle until he had to be a functioning human being.

---

@whumpmasinjuly

[solynaceawrites]

Promise Me Forever [2]

Fandom: Devil May Cry Characters: Dante, Lirael Thorne (OC) Tags: Slow Burn, Romance, Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe, First Time, Friends to Lovers Chapters: 2/14 co-written by @lickitysplitfic​ Summary: An old, long-forgotten promise between gods comes back to haunt Dante when it deposits an unfamiliar woman on his door. Claiming to be the descendant of Ler, she says that they’re meant to fulfill the oath made by Sparda centuries ago, and all he can do is watch as she turns his life upside down. Yet when her parents come knocking, demanding the oath be fulfilled, he’s forced to choose: return to the bachelor ways he loved so much, or give in to the emotions brewing between him.

Welcome to part two of Promise Me Forever! I missed the upload date yesterday (damn you for being so fun, Spyro . . .), so I hope you’ll pardon my being late. As always, we hope you enjoy, and please don’t hesitate to let us know if you do, whether through comments, kudos, or sending us a private message!

»»————-　⚜　————-««

The sun is down and the streetlights are on when Dante walks into the Devil May Cry, nearly colliding with Lir who is just on the other side of the door. "Stop doing that!" he shouts, reaching out on reflex to grab her elbow to keep her from falling.

"You're back!" she cries, looking up at him in surprise.

"Yeah," he sighs. He frowns at her flushed face and the trash bag in her hand. "What are you doing?"

"Cleaning." She heaves the trash bag up, almost as big as she is, and pushes it at him. "Take this out, would you?"

Dante holds up his hands. "Woah, wait, what are you doing? Didn't I tell you not to touch my stuff?"

Lir glares at him, giving him a look that would be intimidating if she wasn't a head shorter than him. "I'm not touching your stuff," she snaps. "I'm cleaning your mess. Did you know you even had towels?"

He frowns and looks around. The lights are on, and the shop looks . . . different. The floors are sparkling, the piles of containers and papers on his desk are gone, the boots and clothing items in piles have been removed, and there is a scent of clean in the air. "You what?"

"I cleaned. The kitchen and the office and that thing you called a bathroom." Lir holds up the trash bag again. "Now take this outside."

Momentarily at a loss for words—a rarity for him, to be certain—he takes it from her and turns around, carting it easily to the cans in front of the building. Not only is each one full of things he's been neglecting to throw away, but it's all been sorted, as well, the recycling tucked neatly into its respective bins, glass separated from paper, which has been separated from plastic. Not sure what to make of it, Dante drops the new addition into the least full can and heads back into the shop.

He finds Lir sitting on the floor, her knees tucked beneath her as she works on scrubbing the baseboards, and he pauses to take her in. She's cute, hell, she's gorgeous, but she's also young. There's now way she's any older than twenty, maybe twenty-five if he's being generous, and he scratches the stubble on his cheek with a sigh as she leans over, her skirt clinging to her backside. I was trained in the arts of pleasure.

Pleasure. Right.

"There a reason you did all of this?" Dante asks. She looks at him, and he's struck, like he was the first time he saw her, by the bright amber of her eyes, not unlike the whiskey sitting in polished bottles on the shelves. "Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful. Just seems like you could have found something else to do."

Lir huffs, not quite a laugh, as she wipes her forearm on her brow. "Do what? I wasn't cooking in that kitchen. No way I was using that bathroom." Dante rolls his eyes as she gestures towards the steps. "I didn't get much done upstairs yet, but I did put all the bedding in the washing machine. Should be done soon."

"I have a washing machine?" She frowns at him until she realizes he is kidding, and Dante smirks when she makes a face.

"Very funny." She drops her sponge into a bucket, standing and stretching her back. "Are you hungry?"

"Uh, I guess?" Dante shrugs and stashes his guitar case, pausing to rub his fingers along the polished wood of his desk. "I was going to order a pizza."

Lir laughs behind him. "You can't eat that junk. Come on, I've made you something."

Curious, Dante follows her into the kitchen, his mouth dropping open when he enters. It is sparkling, the counters and floors and sink shining, the table washed, the stove cleaned of its stains. There is an amazing smell coming from the oven, and it is almost enough to distract him from watching as Lir bends over to open the oven door. He tilts his head to admire her backside as she reaches in, quickly straightening when she places something on the top and turns around. "Sit down," she smiles sweetly.

He complies, but watches her carefully. "It's not poison, is it?" he asks.

"No," Lir laughs.

He watches in surprise as she moves around, pulling a knife from one drawer, a spatula from another, a plate from a cabinet overhead. "I have oven mitts?" Dante says in surprise, and Lir chuckles as she places a plate in front of him.

"There you are," she says, her voice sweet. Dante looks at her in shock, then back down at the plate, where a huge piece of lasagna sits, steaming hot and covered in perfectly golden layers of cheese. "Much better than a yucky old pizza, isn't it?"

He swallows, his mouth suddenly watering as his stomach growls, still too astonished to argue her pizza comments. Lir hands him silverware and moves to get her own plate. She returns to the table and sits across from him, a smaller piece on her own plate, and she gestures to him as she lays a napkin on her lap. "Go on," she laughs. "Try it."

She doesn't have to tell him twice. Trying to have some semblance of table manners, he uses the knife to cut a bite-sized portion of the lasagna and plops it in his mouth, uncaring of how it singes his tongue. It tastes absolutely divine, the sauce rich, the cheese melted to a cream, the meat cooked to perfection, the noodles firm, and he quickly swallows the first bite and dives in for another. Across from him, Lir smiles as she starts on her own, and he watches her take dainty, measured bites.

"Gotta tell you," Dante says, taking a swig of the beer she'd placed at his elbow, "you're a better cook than I gave you credit for."

She perks up at that, and it almost hurts him how much such a simple bit of praise from him means to her. "I'm glad you're enjoying it," she replies, the faint lilt to her voice soft and sweet. "I wasn't entirely certain what to make for you, but I thought that this was similar enough to pizza that you might find it to your tastes."

He stuffs another huge forkful in his mouth, nodding as he swallows. "It's great. Really." Lir smiles and ducks her face, taking her own much smaller bite.

She sighs as she chews, reaching for a glass of water as he eats. "I'm surprised I had all the ingredients," he remarks. "I had no idea I had lasagna noodles!"

"Oh, I made them," she says as she blows on another bite.

Dante nearly chokes. "You made lasagna noodles? From scratch?"

Lir shrugs. "It's just some flour and eggs." She meets his gaze, chuckling behind her hand. "What, is it hard?"

His surprise turns to suspicion again. "Where did you learn to do all this?"

"I told you, I was raised and trained to marry the son of Sparda." Dante winces, hearing it said out loud again making him feel ridiculous. "Besides, every adult on the planet knows how to cook and clean," she says quickly. "Except you, perhaps."

He considers that, and her. It's hard to picture her as either a thief or an assassin; she's damn near tiny, especially next to him, and she'd been upfront about knowing magic, which wouldn't be the smartest move to make if she meant him harm. And her hands are smooth, free of calluses or any other sign that she's ever held a weapon. "Never had time to learn, I guess," he replies.

Dante watches the gears churning behind her eyes. Another mark against her in terms of being sent to fight him: her face is an open book, her emotions displayed without any attempt to conceal them. "I see," she says. "Well, I can make other meals for you, if you wish. And if you tell me what sort of things you don't like, I can avoid using them as ingredients."

"Olives."

"Olives?"

"Hate 'em." He takes another drink of beer. "Pizza place I usually order from knows I don't like 'em, so they'll put 'em on whatever I ask for if I owe 'em money. Which is more often than not."

"I see." She stands and takes her empty plate to the sink. "Anything else?"

"I like strawberries," he offers.

Lir smiles over at him. "So do I."

The sweetness makes him almost uncomfortable, and he finishes his meal in silence as he watches her. Lir seems very much at home in his kitchen, washing the plate and utensils, finding some tinfoil to cover the leftovers before sliding the pan into the refrigerator, then running some water and soap in the sink to wipe down the stove. He doesn't ever remember anyone acting like this—even his adoptive mother never was so domestic, as they were on the move all the time—and he can't really remember much about Eva than a few specific memories. And the women in his life now, Lady and Trish specifically, wouldn't clean his kitchen for a million dollars. He makes a mental note to ask Nero if Kyrie is like this, betting she might be.

It's . . . nice, he decides.

"All done?" she asks, moving to take his plate.

"I'll do it," Dante insists, standing and sliding around her to take the plate to the sink. Quickly he washes it up and deposits it into the dish rack as Lir wipes the table behind him.

When he is done, she is gone, and he finds her in the laundry room off the side of the kitchen, pulling sheets out of the dryer. "Need any help?" he asks from the doorway.

"It's alright." She gives him one of those smiles again, like she's happy just to be around him, and he doesn't know what to make of it. "Why don't you take a shower? There are fresh towels in the bathroom, and I found some shampoos tucked under the vanity."

Lir's expression is bright, but there is something that sits uneasy, so he decides on a little experiment. Leaning one arm up on the doorway, he grins and says, "Want to join me?"

The shock on her face is almost worth it, as is the red that stains her cheeks. "I, uh . . . we aren't married yet," she stammers.

"Did they not teach you how to shower in your pleasure class?" he teases.

She shoots him a look, and he sees a bit of the fire from earlier. "No," she answers sharply. "I was taught how to behave properly."

Dante snorts. Lir tries to step around him, but he does not budge, giving her a sultry look. "You're here to please me, right? Isn't that what you said?"

"Yes, but—"

"You made me dinner. Cleaned my place. I'd love to take you upstairs," he says, low and teasing.

Lir looks almost startled. "Are you being serious?" she hisses.

Dante shrugs. "I mean, like you said, we're not married, and yet you're doing all the other stuff."

"I thought if I showed you—" 

She cuts herself off, and Dante raises his brows. "Go ahead," he taunts her. "Finish your thought."

Her shoulders slump. "I thought if I showed you that I could do those things, you'd want to keep me. And I . . . The cooking lessons weren't exactly pleasant, but I enjoyed making that for you."

"I see. Thought you could get one over on me, hm?" Lir's eyes go wide as she shakes her head, but Dante pushes, "Thought if you cooked me something, swept up a bit, swing your ass in my direction that I'd just fall head over heels for you?"

Her jaw tenses, and any guilt he feels for the accusation is canceled by the satisfaction of seeing it hit its mark. "That's it, hm? Thought your pretty smile and some homemade cooking would do the trick? Well guess what, honey. This son of Sparda is smarter than he looks. And I still don't trust you."

"I just wanted to show you that I could be useful," she argues. He cocks a patronizing brow, smiling thinly as he waits for whatever justification she's going to come up with. "I thought if you . . . if you saw that I could help you somehow it would make up for . . . whatever it is about my appearance that you don't like."

Okay, that . . . felt weird. Bad weird, like a punch in his gut that left a puddle of slime in its wake. "It's, uh . . . not your looks, sweetheart," he says. "I just don't like strangers. Strangers are usually trouble."

Lir bows her head. "Women, too," he says. "Not a fan."

There is a pause, and then he watches her brows twitch, then rise almost to her hairline before she looks up at him with a gasp. "Oh! Oh! Is that . . . oh my goodness, I never even considered that!"

She covers her laugh with a hand as Dante frowns. "What?"

"You prefer men. Is that it?" Lir grins at him brightly as she nods. "No wonder you don't want to marry me! It all makes sense now!"

"What? What?" How did this happen, he wonders, watching her eyes light up with mirth. He had wanted to catch her off guard, to figure out what she's actually after, if it's something as simple as whatever promise his father made or more nefarious, and now he's left gaping at her, struggling for words again. "No. No! That's not . . . Where the hell did you come up with that?"

His surprise makes him sound angry, and Dante watches as the laughter on her face dies as quickly as it came, that odd sensation of doing something wrong back in his chest. "You said you aren't a fan of women," Lir says hesitantly.

"The only two I know are hunters," he replies, "and neither of them ever visit me with good news."

"Oh."

He scrambles for something. "Cindy is nice." The words are awful and, he realizes belatedly, the wrong thing to say when she takes a step back. "She's a gal who works at the ice cream counter. But she's pretty ignorant of the stuff I do."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. And Patty. You'll see her around here eventually, not a week goes by without that girl showing up here wanting something."

Her eyes are like saucers and Dante realizes how all this sounds. "Just friends!" he cries, putting up his hands. "But I'm not gay. Not that there's anything wrong with that. But I like ladies. And ladies like me. Just . . . not those ladies."

Lir frowns. "You don't like them or they don't like you?"

"They're . . ." What should he say? Calling Lady and Trish his friends feels too intimate; they all get along, sure, but they don't visit socially, Trish is often gone for months at a time working her own jobs, and Lady only really shows up to give him a job or collect money. "Business partners," he mumbles.

"All of them?"

"Nah. Well, Patty will tell you she is, but what she means is she likes to show up and redecorate my office and bug me about whatever soap opera she's watching." Dante scratches the back of his head. "Look, it's like this: I don't have a clue about this promise my old man is supposed to have made. I don't know you and, quite frankly, you don't know me. And . . ." His mind flickers dimly back to his mother. "Well, having a spouse in my line work is just asking for trouble. It's got nothing to do with your looks or you bein' useful. It's just not a good idea."

"Oh." Lir's eyes fall, as if thinking, and Dante rubs the back of his neck. "I guess I never thought of it like that. I had assumed you would know, it never occurred to me you wouldn't." She breathes a deep sigh and then shrugs. "I'll stay the night, if that's okay. Then tomorrow I'll figure out what to do."

"Yeah, yeah of course." He stands aside as she carries the linens out of the laundry room, trailing after her as she heads for the steps. "Let me get those," Dante insists, grabbing the pile she can barely see over as she climbs up the first one.

"I can do it fine," Lir protests, but he easily scoops them away. She bristles a bit but finally turns and heads upstairs, and Dante follows, trying hard not to stare at her backside and failing miserably.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Dante doesn't sleep well that night. He rarely does, but he finds himself straining to hear through the walls, wondering what his guest is doing to occupy herself, feeling something akin to guilt every time the hurt look on her face when she said she only wanted to be useful flashes in his thoughts. Those people couldn't have sent him a bitch, could they? Someone he could tear apart without remorse, someone with a body that didn't make his mouth water every time he caught a tease of it beneath their clothes?

Because that's the crux of it. Maybe Lir is untrustworthy, maybe she's lying to him, but he damn near likes her. She's clever, and pretty, and a good cook, and lord only knows how long it's been since his shop looked so clean. He covers his face with his hands, groaning. Would it really be so bad to keep her around?

Yes, because if she got killed, he'd never forgive himself.

Dawn comes with no rest in sight for him. He listens to Lir moving around next door before she heads downstairs, and he stares at the ceiling until the scents of coffee and bacon draw him out of his bed. Shrugging into a pair of sweatpants and deciding to forego a shirt, he follows her, and finds her in the kitchen, humming a little tune as she plates a mountain of scrambled eggs.

A wave of nostalgia washes over him—which is weird, because this is the first morning he's woken up to a woman in his shop, let alone one making him breakfast. The dress she wore yesterday has been traded in for a pair of jeans and a plain white t-shirt, and Dante swallows, admiring how good she looks in normal clothes. There is something that tugs at his heart, too, the smell of the eggs reminding him of his childhood, the little hum making him embarrassed by how much he actually likes it.

"Good morning!" she says brightly, turning and carrying plates to the table. "Did you sleep well?"

He walks to the coffee machine and pours himself a cup of black. "Are you a morning person?" he asks, trying to sound gruff.

"Have to be where I come from." Dante frowns as he blows on the mug, carrying the sugar bowl to the table before settling on a chair. He wonders what exactly that means as she finishes plating the bacon and popping toast from the toaster, then takes the seat across from him.

"How about you?" he asks.

"Hm?" Lir glances up as she begins buttering a slice of toast.

"You sleep okay?"

She smiles to herself as he helps himself to food. "Yes and no. I was tired from the cleaning but sleeping in a city is . . . different. Odd to have so many lights and noises outside my window."

"It's quiet where you live?" He watches her closely, looking for any signs of deception.

But there are none. She tilts her head, taking a bite of her toast and chewing it thoughtfully, and he's struck by the utterly ridiculous urge to tuck the strands of hair at her cheek behind her ear. "I suppose. My home is . . . was on the coast, near the mountains. So there were noises, like rain and the ocean and wildlife, but the city is much louder, more . . . chaotic?"

"Was."

"Hm?"

"You said," he muses, "that your home was on the coast."

Her smile falters. "Well, yes. I told you yesterday that I cannot return there. When I was sent here, it was permanent. Even if you had . . . if we had been married, I wouldn't have been allowed back. Because we're not, I couldn't go home, even if I wanted to. So, was."

"They just chucked you out like that?" he asks.

Lir stiffens for a moment, but then her smile returns as she stands. "Want more coffee?" she asks, breezing back towards the sink and turning on the water to rinse the pan on the stove.

"No, I—"

"After I clean up here I'll head out," she says over him, her voice tight but still dripping in sweetness. "I have a bit of money, so I'll stay at a hotel so I won't be in your hair. I can start looking for a job or something this afternoon."

He rubs his face harshly, cursing under his breath. It's not her fault that she's here, and he doubts she knows anything about surviving outside of whatever compound raised her to be a broodmare for him. "Look," he says, sharper than he intends, "just stay here until Lady calls. Then we'll figure out what to do."

She hesitates before turning off the water. "That's very kind of you."

"Yeah. Well." Not sure what to say, he drains his mug, and Lir is right there with the coffee pot to refill it. He watches her move around the kitchen before going back to his meal, munching thoughtfully. "Won't be all bad, I guess," he says to himself.

After breakfast, Dante starts to wonder. Usually he's not up this early, and the rest of the morning stretches on without much to do. Typically he'd spend the first hour or so of his day in the bathroom, then scavenge around for leftovers before settling in for his afternoon nap. But Lir wanders the shop, hands behind her back as she examines each of his weapons on the wall, making him feel uncomfortable as he sits at his desk and watches her.

She pauses in front of a set of twin scimitars, leaning in to peer curiously at the heads etched into the pommels. "Where do these things come from?" she asks, not turning around, and he frowns.

"Devils," he answers. Lir goes very still, making him laugh. "Relax, they're harmless now. Sometimes, when there's a particularly strong demon, they'll lend me their strength as a weapon I can use. Those two," he stands and makes his way over to her, placing his hand against the small of her back, "are Agni and Rudra. I got them decades ago. Handy guys, if a bit chatty sometimes."

"Is that what you were doing last night?" she asks, leaning in closer to look at the swords. "Fighting devils?"

"No, I, uh . . ." Embarrassed, he clears his throat. "I went to see someone."

"Well, we know it wasn't a girl," one of the swords says, and Lir jumps in surprise, backing up into him.

"Unless he was paying!" the other laughs.

Lir spins on him, her mouth dropped open. "They talked!"

"I told you." To the twins, he mutters, "Zip it."

"But we have a guest!" Agni cries.

"Yes, a guest," Rudra agrees. "We must entertain her."

"How should we do that?"

"Well, we could—"

"I said zip it!" Dante barks. Thankfully they fall silent, though there's an air of reproach, and he returns his attention to Lir. "Like I said, they get chatty. You okay?"

She laughs as she nods. "Yes. It was just a surprise."

Dante snorts, but then he realizes his hand is still on her back and quickly snatches it away. "You can, uh, put the TV on if you want. Or use the computer? Patty set one up a while ago, over there," he says, nodding to where the couch and coffee table are, making a little sitting area. 

Lir nods. "Okay. I don't want to bother you while you're working though."

There is a round of laughter from the two swords on the wall, and Dante growls until they stop abruptly. "No trouble at all," he says through his teeth.

[theycallmebeccawrites]

Chris & Ellie Series: Episode 18

Hey loves! I hope you all had a nice weekend (I know some of you had an amazing weekend because you got to meet Chris), I spent the weekend with my aunt and uncle who are visiting from Australia. And my whole family is heading to the coast on Tuesday. So I’m super excited for that.

I went back and forth on when to post this chapter and I decided to just post it tonight. I would say more but SPOILERS, so I’ll wait and leave a post end-of-episode note.

Quick shout out to @heather-lynn @badassbaker @alievans007 and @nomadicpixel for helping me with this episode.

♥Becca♥

Pairing: Chris Evans x Ellie Spencer (OFC)

Rating: R-ish

Warnings: undescriptive sex, maybe some language

Episode Summary: This episode takes place in early April 2014 and is about Chris and Ellie's time together before he goes to film Avengers 2.

Disclaimer: This work of fiction is not to be reposted, used or translated without my permission.

This episode can also be read on AO3.

The Chris and Ellie series is primarily chronological. It begins with a flash forward to 2016 and has a few other scenes in the future. However, the majority of their story is told in chronological order starting in 2013 and going through 2017. Each episode starts with a date to help you place it within the story.

The Chris & Ellie Series Masterlist | Chris & Ellie Masterlist

Episode 17

Episode 18: Decisions

Early April 2014

It was still dark outside when Chris got out of the hired car and looked up at his house. He'd spent the last two weeks traveling from one side of the world to the other and back. He was beyond exhausted.

"Here you go, Mr. Evans," the driver said, setting Chris's suitcase at his feet. "Have a good day."

His feet felt like lead as he made his way into the house and he paused in the entryway to breathe in the familiar scent. He couldn't put a finger on what exactly it smelled like, but there was a fruity note that hadn't been there before Ellie had moved in and it balanced everything else and made it homier. Just like the woman herself. Before Ellie, this had just been his house in Los Angeles and home had been in Boston, but every day, this place seemed a little more like home to him.

With no energy to carry his suitcase upstairs, Chris left it out at the bottom of the stairs before dragging himself up to his room. Normally, he showered after a flight before going to sleep, but he was too tired to even do that.

The desire to sleep comfortably forced him to take the additional time needed to strip down to his boxer briefs before he moved to the bed. Pulling back the covers, he slipped into bed, knowing full well that he'd have to wash them later that day if he had any hope of enticing Ellie into bed with him that night. His last thought as his head hit the pillow was that he was happy to be home with Ellie.

-----

The morning started normally for Ellie as she and Daisy left the guesthouse and came to the big house for breakfast. It wasn't until they were heading upstairs to the office, a bit later, that Ellie saw Chris's suitcase at the bottom of the stairs. She'd known he was coming home today, but she hadn't known what time.

She was both excited and nervous that he was home. Excited, because, obviously, she liked him and enjoyed spending time with him. Nervous, because she remembered how distant he'd been after getting back from his two weeks of isolation and how she'd felt lonely and hurt because of it. She hadn't expected Chris to text her during his two week escape from reality and he hadn't texted her while he'd been on the press tour, either. But he had finally texted her yesterday to let her know he would be home today. Trying to be optimistic about the situation, she took that text as a sign that things would be better than last time.

Glancing at the suitcase, Ellie knew she wouldn't be able to carry her stuff upstairs and it at the same time. Taking two trips, she carried her stuff up to the office and turned on her laptop before she returned for the suitcase. She hauled it up the stairs and deposited it in front of the laundry room door to make it easier for him to do a wash later.

Hearing a scratching noise, Ellie turned and saw Daisy sitting in front of Chris's closed bedroom door, whimpering for Chris to let her in. Shaking her head, Ellie scooped the pooch up and gave her a kiss on the nose before carrying her dog into the office and closing the door.

"He's sleeping," she told the dog as she set her down. "He'll come find us when he wakes up." Or so she hoped.

While Daisy stared at yet another closed door keeping her away from one of her humans, Ellie checked her email, responding to a couple inquiries from prospective writers and deleting junk mail.

Before diving into her latest project, Ellie left the office to use the bathroom. On her way back, however, curiosity got the better of her and she quietly opened the door to the master bedroom. The room was dark, thanks to black-out curtains, but she could just make out the Chris sized lump in the bed. His soft snores made her smile and made it that much harder for her to leave the room and get back to work, but she managed.

Daisy was lying on her dog bed under the desk when Ellie returned to the office and didn't even lift her head to see who had come in, as if she was giving her owner the cold shoulder. Shaking her head, Ellie sat down at the desk and soon lost herself in her work.

-----

Chris had no idea what time it was when he woke up, but he knew he had to get up or risk dealing with jetlag for even longer. He laid in bed for a few minutes, replying to texts he'd received while sleeping before he forced himself to get up. Cringing at the smell of himself, he made his way to the bathroom to shower. 

When he exited twenty minutes later, he felt a little less zombie like, but not much. He pulled on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt before he stripped the bed and exited the bedroom. He nearly ran into his suitcase, not expecting it to be upstairs yet, on his way into the laundry room. After several choice cuss words, he carried the sheets into the room and dropped them into the washing machine and added soap before hitting start. Then hauled his suitcase into the room and sorted through it, tossing his dirty clothes onto the floor before dragging what remained into his bedroom to deal with later.

As he stepped into the hallway, he glanced at the closed office door, knowing that Ellie would be in there hard at work. He'd decided, on one of his many flights, that since he was only home for two weeks before he jetted off again, he would spend as much time with her as possible and worry about the future later. It was a half-assed attempt to put his mind at ease about things, but it had worked.

His stomach growled then, reminding him that it had been hours since he'd last eaten. So, even though he really wanted to see Ellie, he went downstairs to find something to eat.

-----

Ellie had been working for a few hours and was so lost in her work that she didn't hear the door to the office open. It wasn't until she heard a throat clear that she looked up to find Chris peeking into the room. She felt an excited rush through her body at the sight of him and relief that he had sought her out so quickly.

She started to smile but then it faltered as she really took in his appearance.  He was paler than normal, his eyes were baggy and there was a general air of exhaustion that radiated from him. "You look like shit," she remarked.

Whatever he'd been expecting her to say, that hadn't been it and it took him a second before he barked out a laugh. "Hello to you, too," he muttered, his voice still thick with sleep and maybe overuse.

The sound of his voice brought Daisy to her feet and the dog wagged her way towards him. "Hello, Daisy girl," he said as he lowered himself to the floor to greet her. "At least someone is happy to see me."

"For the record, I didn't say I wasn't happy you're home," Ellie stated as she put her pen down. "Because I'm happy you're home, too. But don't expect me to go around licking your face or begging you for tummy rubs."

"Is that a challenge?" Chris asked, glancing up at her with a quirked brow as he rubbed Daisy's belly. "It sounds like a challenge."

"It's not a challenge," Ellie assured him as she shook her head nevertheless amused by his antics. God she had missed him. "How was your flight?"

"All of them were too long," Chris replied as he stood up. "I'm just happy to be in one place for a couple weeks." He walked around the desk and peered over her shoulder. "Working?"

"Yup, gotta be done by the end of this week," Ellie told him with a stress-filled sigh. "And my sister Sydney is in town with her family, which just adds to my time pressure because I promised to have dinner with them tomorrow night and go to Disneyland with them on Friday."

"Where are you guys going for dinner tomorrow?" Chris asked, casually.

"We hadn't decided yet," Ellie replied, eyeing him questioningly as she picked up on his tone. "They're staying at one of the Disney hotels so they wanted to eat somewhere else. Why, did you have a suggestion?"

"We could have them over for dinner," he suggested with a shrug. "And then I could meet them. After all, I've met your other sisters and you've met all of my siblings. We could order in if you're too busy to cook. Or I could grill burgers or something."

"I'll send Syd a text," Ellie told him with a smile as her worries about the next two weeks seemed to vanish thanks to a single conversation. "I'm sure she'll say yes. She's curious about you, too."

Chris didn't bother to contradict her assumption that he was curious about meeting her sister, because he was, and instead said, "Let me know if they're coming and I'll handle dinner so you can keep working." He hesitated for a second before he leaned down and kissed her lips briefly. He wanted to do more with her, but he knew she had a lot on her plate and he didn't want to get in the way of that. Straightening, he gave her a smile before he left the room, closing the door behind him.

-----

The next afternoon, Chris questioned his sanity for at least the fifth time that day as he looked at the groceries that he had picked up for dinner that night. Ellie's sister had accepted his invitation and had given her opinion that hot dogs and hamburgers would be the best given her kids' picky eating tendencies. Ellie had helped him make a grocery list last night after dinner and then had turned him loose to get the groceries and take care of the meal since he had offered to do it.

He had tried to convince her to sleep with him last night, but she'd insisted that he needed a good night's sleep before he would be any use to her. He knew she'd been joking, but damn if she hadn't been right. He'd fallen asleep before nine last night and had woken up at nine that morning, feeling more human than he had in days. By the time he'd gotten out of the shower, he'd felt like a new man and not a sleep deprived humanoid.

He couldn't help but appreciate the fact that Ellie had recognized what he had needed, even when he couldn't. In the past, he'd been in relationships where both his partner and himself, admittedly, had been looking out for themselves only. It was a refreshing change of pace, especially coming off the global promotional tour.

In some ways, promotional tours, especially those for Marvel movies, were the hardest part of the job for him. Sure, he got to interact with his friends, many of whom were like family by now, but then there were hours upon hours of interviews in the same room and usually with the same questions; many of which were ones he was contractually unable to answer. Not to mention that those hotel rooms were sometimes the only places he saw in some of the countries whose stamps he had in his passport.

Then there were the long flights and the endless nights when sleep just wouldn't come. They both left a lot of time for thinking and, more often than not, overthinking about other aspects of one's life. Case in point, Chris had spent many a night going over every part of his and Ellie's relationship. He liked her, he liked her a lot, but was that enough? Was he enough for her? He knew she would say he was enough, but would that just be her telling him what she knew he wanted to hear? Logically, he knew that was a definite no, especially not after the way she had greeted him yesterday; she wasn't one to be dishonest with herself or someone else. Then again, if she didn't know how she truly felt.

Chris shook his head, ridding himself of the troubling thoughts that had plagued him for weeks. It was in the moments where his stress levels were high that his anxiety caught up with him the most. But he could and would fight them down. He put the groceries into the fridge and then went out to the garage where he had his exercise equipment. He preferred to work out alone and in the privacy of his own home, especially when he was doing two or three workouts a day to prepare for Captain America. He put on his headphones and stretched before he got started on his midday workout routine.

-----

Ellie's stomach was full of butterflies as she got dressed for dinner with her sister, Garrett and the kids. When Izzy and Riley had met Chris, he'd just been her friend, but now he was the guy she was seeing, which made for a completely different set of circumstances with introducing him to her older sister and Garrett.

After opting for a casual jeans and t-shirt look, Ellie made her way up to the big house and found Chris and Scott in the kitchen working on dinner.

"It smells great in here," she complimented them. "Are you having dinner with us, Scott?"

"Of course, I'm supposed to give Izzy a full report on the grilling that Chris gets from Garrett," Scott replied with a grin that turned into a grunt as his brother elbowed him. "I mean, I'm here to help balance things out, if needed."

"The only grilling will be on the barbeque so there will be no need for anyone to balance anything out," Ellie told him. Yes, Garrett had been like an older brother to her since she had been 14, but he hadn't grilled Eric the first time Izzy had brought him around, so why would he grill Chris? "We're going to have a nice dinner and everything will go great."

And so it did. Her sister and family arrived on time and Ellie made introductions. The kids, Noah (6) and Chloe (4), fell in love with Daisy and spent the whole evening wanting to play with her. Ellie had panicked for a few minutes at the beginning, when Sydney had asked to see the guesthouse; but when they'd gotten back, they'd found Chris, Scott and Garrett laughing and telling jokes like old friends. Even her sister had warmed up to the Evans brothers, proving once again that those two could charm anyone they wanted to.

After her sister and her family left and the kitchen was clean, Ellie took Chris by the hand and led him up to his bedroom. Because of his help yesterday and today, she had gotten her edits done and all she had to do tomorrow, before meeting her sister's family at the theme park, was to make some final notes for the author and drop it off at the post office.

To demonstrate just how thankful she was for Chris's help, she took him into the shower and gave him a blow job that left him unable to speak for the remainder of their time in the bathroom. By the time they made it to his bed, he was more than recovered enough to return the favor and then some. When it was all said and done, they were both left sweaty, breathless and exhausted from their efforts. And very, very happy.

The next day found Ellie in Disneyland with her sister's family. Never one to turn down a day at Disney when he had nothing better to do, Scott had invited himself along and was currently sharing his vast knowledge of Disneyland secrets with Noah and Chloe. With Scott happy playing tour guide to the kids, Ellie had encouraged Sydney and Garrett to go off and experience Disneyland by themselves. They deserved a break and, if it meant her sister couldn't ask her questions about Chris, well then, it was a win for both of them.

By the time they met up with Sydney and Garrett for dinner, Ellie was exhausted. She'd had a blast with her niece and nephew and they'd ridden nearly every ride both kids were tall enough for at least once. She and Chloe had done some sightseeing on their own as well while Scott took Noah on a couple rides for older kids. Compared to some of the other kids they had seen in the park, Noah and Chloe had been remarkably well-behaved and extremely polite. It had made Ellie proud to be their auntie.

After dinner with them, Ellie and her sister made plans to have dinner alone together the next night. Then Ellie and Scott left the park and went home while her sister's family returned to their hotel.

Upon their arrival home, Chris had taken one look at Ellie, looking adorable with her Minnie Mouse ears but showing the exhaustion of a long day, and laughed when she told him she was up for anything that night. Instead, he'd sent her upstairs to take a bath and had annoyingly been correct, she discovered, when she'd woken up in his bed the next morning still wearing the robe she'd put on after getting out of the bathtub.

With her shift at the bookstore scheduled to end thirty minutes before her dinner plans with her sister, Ellie put a little extra time into her appearance that morning and asked Scott to drive her to the bookstore so she wouldn't have to leave her car there overnight since she and Sydney would more than likely be drinking. Thanks to an accident that had tied traffic up, she was nearly twenty minutes late for her shift and things hadn't gotten any better as the day wore on.

By the time she'd walked the two blocks to the restaurant that she and Sydney were having dinner at, Ellie was more than ready for a drink. She found Sydney already at a table and nearly wept when she saw that Sydney had already ordered them margaritas.

"You sounded like you'd had a rough day," Sydney said, gesturing towards the drinks. "Dinner is on me, by the way."

"Bless you, you're a saint," Ellie replied as she took a sip of the icy drink. She closed her eyes, savoring the tropical taste of the drink. Then cringed as the brain freeze hit.

"You always drink too much too fast," Sydney said with a shake of her head.

"I forget about the brain freezes," Ellie muttered once the tension had let up.

The waiter appeared then and Ellie scrambled to choose an entree while her sister placed a complicated order substituting just about every ingredient for something else. By the time Sydney finished ordering, Ellie had chosen a chicken bacon ranch sandwich with a side of fries.

The sisters chatted as they waited for their food, mostly about Noah and Chloe, but about other topics as well. Their conversation waned a bit while they ate, but picked back up as they neared completion. It was only as Ellie was waiting for Sydney to finish eating that her sister got to the apparent point of her invitation to dinner.

"Garrett and I like Chris," she started Ellie and Ellie felt the hairs on her arms stand up. "But we don't like your situation. You living in his house and working for him."

"I work for his mom," Ellie replied in an automatically defensive manner. She wasn't sure where Sydney was headed with this conversation, but she didn't have a good feeling about it. "I don't work for him. There is a difference."

"Either way, we don't like it that you're living with him and dependent on him," Sydney said in her 'older sister knows best' tone that had irritated Ellie to no end as a kid. "We want to give you money so you can move out and find your own place to live."

Ellie's mouth dropped open in shock at her sister's words and she found herself unable to come up with the words to respond. Sydney didn't seem to notice as she continued to eat her Greek salad as if she hadn't just stuck her nose where it didn't belong. The longer her sister chewed each bite, the more Ellie felt the anger growing within her

"I don't need your money," Ellie said, finally to speak, surprised at how calm her voice sounded even to her own ears. "And I don't want it either."

"Ellie, be rational." Sydney stated. "If you and Chris break up -"

"If we break up then I'll figure something out," Ellie snapped in response. "Just because you met Garrett at age 15 and have had a charmed, happily ever after, doesn't mean the way you fell in love is the only way to fall in love."

"Oh god, Ellie, don't tell me you've fallen in love with him," her sister sighed. "Honestly, if I had realized -"

"It's none of your business if I have or haven't!" Ellie exclaimed as she stood up abruptly. "It's my life, Sydney, and I can live it however the hell I want to." She pulled a ten dollar bill from her purse and threw it onto the table. "Thank you for dinner, but I need to leave before I say something I can't take back."

-----

Chris could feel the anger radiating off of Ellie as soon she came into the house. He and Daisy had been lounging in the living room when Ellie had stormed into the house and slammed the door behind her. Daisy let out a timid bark of hello, but Ellie either didn't hear her or didn't care as she marched down the hall towards the kitchen.

Getting off the couch, Chris followed her into the kitchen and found her pouring herself a large glass of wine. "Didn't get enough to drink at dinner?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

"Busybody older sisters ruin margaritas," Ellie replied as she picked up the wine glass. She tipped her glass towards him in a solo cheers before taking a long sip.

"Ok, slow down there," Chris said, reaching for the wine glass as Ellie lowered it, hoping to keep her from chugging the whole thing. "Tell me what happened."

As Ellie relayed the conversation she'd had with her sister, Chris found his eyes traveling to the cabinet where he kept the liquor. Wine might do enough for Ellie, but it would take a lot of beer to get himself properly drunk to forget the offer her sister had made to her. A shot or two of something though would be quicker, though. He had liked Sydney and her husband Garrett and he thought they'd liked him, too. Yeah, Garrett had asked him what his intentions towards Ellie were, but he had seemed to accept Chris's answer that he only wanted what was best for Ellie and he had no intention of hurting her.

"Can you believe the nerve of her?" Ellie ranted as she paced the kitchen with her wine glass in hand. "And I can't believe she included Garrett in this. I know damn well he had no part in it. This has Sydney written all over it."

Knowing she needed to vent, Chris let her and he found his own mind wondering. If Ellie's sister was uncomfortable with their living situation, how would his mom feel about it? He was certain that she and Tara had compared notes by now, but he also knew that his best friend wouldn't confirm to his mom that he and Ellie were seeing each other without his permission. Likewise, his mom wouldn't ask unless he mentioned something to her about it. And if he did, would she want Ellie to move out, too? Knowing his mom, she probably would, but he knew she wouldn't say anything unless she was asked for an opinion.

He knew Ellie herself had had similar concerns last fall, but she had moved past them. Or had at least decided they weren't a significant reason to keep them from seeing each other. That was all that mattered right? This relationship was between the two of them and as long as they were happy with the way things were, that was all that mattered.

Or so he told himself.

Shaking off his own thoughts, he saw Ellie taking the wine bottle out of the fridge to refill her glass. He wasn't sure how much she'd had to drink at the restaurant, but he knew that getting drunk wouldn't put her mind at ease enough to sleep. Stepping forward, he took the wine bottle from her and bit back a smile when she complained.

"Do you trust me?" he asked her.

"Of course," Ellie replied as she eyed the bottle. "Maybe not right this second, though."

"Getting drunk won't help you tonight," he told her. "But I know what will."

"What?" she asked, curiosity peaked.

"Go take a shower, I'll be up in a minute," he told her.

Ellie studied him for a moment before she obeyed and went upstairs to take a shower. Even with her brain a little fuzzy from the alcohol she had consumed, she knew he was right that getting drunk wouldn't solve her problems. If anything, it would make it all worse in the morning.

When she exited the bathroom some twenty minutes later, he was sitting on the bed wearing a towel, a sign that he had taken a shower, too. Wearing only a towel herself, she sat down beside him.

He could still feel the anger radiating from her, it was less than when she'd first gotten home, but he knew she wouldn't be able to sleep with her mind whirling at top speed over the situation. He'd considered taking her out to the garage to use a punching bag, but she needed her hands for all of her jobs and he couldn't risk her breaking something.

With the punching bag out, the next thing that came to Chris's mind was helping her work things out using sex. He had a feeling that if she could shut her brain off and listen to her body that she would be able to break free of the anger. It was a way he had worked things out in the past, but he wasn't sure if she ever had.

"Do you trust me?" he asked her, repeating the question he'd asked her down stairs.

"Yes, of course," Ellie replied.

"Let me help you relax tonight," he said as he stood up. He undid his towel and let it fall to the floor before he got back onto the bed. It took her a minute to follow his lead, but when she joined him, he could see that she was with him completely.

As they made out and touched each other, Chris knew he had to make his move to encourage her to let loose. Taking a chance, he drew his hand back and slapped her ass hard. She jerked back in surprise, but he caught the spark in her eyes as desire replaced the shock.

What followed was the most intense sex they'd had together. It was raw and rough and she'd taken complete control of the situation. She'd paid a significant amount of attention to his body, giving him an amazing blow job, but also biting him in a couple places that he was certain would leave a mark.

When they'd finally joined together, she had been on top and she'd ridden him hard. But eventually, she'd begged him to fuck her into the mattress and he'd done so. It had been the early hours of the morning before they'd finally passed out from sheer exhaustion.

Ellie slept peacefully; her body relaxed. Chris, however, slept fitfully. His attempt to help Ellie had backfired on him, all the stress that had left her body seemed to have invaded his and he was plagued with bad dreams.

-----

Something had shifted the night of her argument with Sydney and not with her sister, but with Chris. Ellie knew that eventually, she and Sydney would talk things out; Izzy would force them to once she found out what was going on. Chris, though, had distanced himself from her in the days following the argument.

He'd thrown himself into his workouts and his boring protein meals in preparation for the movie. He was so ultra-focused that he moved around the house as if in a fog and only surfaced every now and then. When he would, he would search her out and things would be ok for a while, before he'd get lost in his head again.

With Scott away with friends so she and Chris could have the house to themselves for the majority of his last week in town, Ellie found herself feeling lonelier than she did when she was there by herself. A part of her wanted to escape to the guesthouse when Chris went into one of his moods, but she couldn't do that to him. Especially when he seemed to become himself around bedtime. They hadn't had sex since the night of her fight with her sister, but he held her close at night which made the days easier to manage.

With their days together winding down, Ellie planned a special dinner date for them a couple days before he was scheduled to fly out to Georgia. She'd told him about her plans a couple days in advance, in hopes that he'd be able to come out of his fog to enjoy the evening with her. And he had. He had even humored her request to dress nicely.

Keeping his diet in mind, she made lemon chicken with a salad of fresh greens. Then, just in case he decided he wanted dessert, she'd made chocolate brownies, but had hidden them away as to not tempt him.

He arrived in the kitchen, dressed in black slacks and a dark blue button down shirt, and holding a bouquet of flowers, just as she came in from putting dinner on the dining room table.

"These are for you," he said, holding them out to her. "I know they can't make up for how busy I've been, but I wanted to get you something."

"It's ok," she assured him as she took the flowers. "You're here now. That's the important part."

After putting the flowers in water, she put them on the dining room table for them to enjoy while they ate. He raved over the chicken, joking about how he'd forgotten that chicken could taste so good. Conversation flowed easily as they ate and then he helped her clean up the kitchen before convincing her to tell him where the dessert was.

They laughed as they ate brownies and it was like everything was back to normal. Especially when, instead of telling her she had chocolate on her lips, he leaned in and kissed her, cleaning the chocolate off in the process. One thing led to another and soon the skirt of her dress was up around her waist and his hand was in her panties. She panted in his ear as she came and he kissed her hard on the mouth.

He sent her upstairs while he checked the locks and made sure the house was secure. Then he followed her up to the bedroom, where he found her naked and waiting for him. He quickly discarded his clothes and joined her, claiming her body once again as his own. Their coupling was frenzied, but in a hurried, gotta have you now way; it was nothing like the last time they'd had sex.

The second round had been farther still from the intense, rough sex, now a week previous. Ellie had been hot that night, telling him what to do and biting him, but he preferred the softer side of her. The side of her that made him want to cling on tightly and never let her go. The side that spoke to his soul and promised that everything would be ok as she climaxed in his arms. 

-----

"I can't believe we're about to do this," Ellie said excitedly as they stood in an obnoxious holding room. She brought her left hand up to brush hair out of her face and that's when he saw the gaudy, Saturn-sized diamond ring on her left hand. "Getting married in Vegas seems absolutely insane. But exciting."

"Mom is going to kill you," his brother's voice said from somewhere behind him.

"She loves Ellie," Chris replied, glancing back at his brother. When he turned back to look at Ellie, she had changed into a white dress version of Elvis's iconic white jumpsuit, which the Elvis impersonator who was officiating the wedding was wearing.

There were some terrible Elvis-related puns, but that didn't matter, because he was marrying Ellie. It didn't matter that they'd been apart longer than they'd been together during the year they'd known each other. At least not to Chris. And Elvis didn't seem to care either way as long as their credit card hadn't been denied (it hadn't).

The ceremony went quickly and soon Chris was leaning in to kiss his bride. When they parted, they were no longer in the quickie wedding chapel, but in a bathroom. Ellie's eyes were full of happy tears and there was a positive pregnancy test on the counter. They were going to be parents.

He heard her say his name and when he turned to look at her, her belly was showing the advanced stages of pregnancy. Damn that had gone by fast.

He blinked and became aware of her screaming in agony. Blaming him for doing this to her and he knew they were in the delivery room in the midst of her delivery. But where had the time gone?

A baby's wail caught his ear, but even he knew it wasn't that of a newborn. It was a different kind of cry. The type of a cry that a parent should know what to do with, but he had no clue.

"Chris, please, just pick up the baby for five minutes, that's all I ask," Ellie's exhausted voice said from somewhere in the fog that was suddenly around him.

He soon found himself standing in the doorway of his bedroom, a suitcase by his feet. The room looked exactly as it had since he'd moved in, which he found out because Ellie tended to sprinkle her joy around the house. He'd found it annoying at first, but it had made her happy so he'd let it go. But there was nothing in the room that said Ellie to him.

"Damnit, Chris, please!" she exclaimed.

Spotting the portable crib, Chris crossed the room and picked up the baby. He studied the baby's face, trying to figure out if it was a boy or girl, but he couldn't tell and the white onesie didn't give him any hints. The child obviously didn't like him, however, because they started crying harder once they were in his arms.

Ellie let out an exasperated sigh and appeared at his side, taking the baby from him. "Shh," she said to the baby, cuddling him or her to her chest.

"Guess I should work on my baby soothing skills," Chris remarked.

"That would require you to be here more than a weekend a month," Ellie said in a tone that made it clear that they'd had this conversation before.

Turning to look at her, Chris found his eyes pulled to a large suitcase on the bed. A chill raced up his spine and he glanced back at the suitcase by the door. "Are we going somewhere?" he asked, even though his gut told him he wasn't the one leaving.

Ellie sighed and seemed to steady herself before she turned to look at him. "I can't do this anymore, Chris. You're never home. I can't do this by myself. My parents have offered to take us in until I figure something out."

"Don't do this," he begged, his voice just above a whisper. "Please don't leave me."

"You leave me, us, all the time," she replied. Her voice held no emotion and yet it cut deep into his heart. "Doesn't feel great, does it?"

"I'll quit acting! I'll quit everything, just don't leave me," he cried out in desperation as he watched her walk towards the door with a suitcase in her hand and a baby's car seat in the other.

"That's not the answer and you know it," she replied. "I'm doing this for both of us, Chris. Maybe someday you'll have time for me, for your family, but we both know it isn't right now. You're too busy to be a husband and a father. I should have listened to my sister and moved out before you started playing house."

As the door in his dream closed, Chris woke with a start. Feeling tears on his cheeks, he wiped them away and then glanced next to him to make sure Ellie was still in bed next to him. She was and was seemingly undisturbed by his dreams.

Climbing out of bed, Chris made his way to the bathroom and splashed his face with water. He'd been having these dreams for a week now, each one becoming worse than the night before. He couldn't recall all of the dream, but her words 'I should have listened to my sister' echoed through his mind. He shook his head, attempting to get them to go away, but that only made it worse as other phrases from the dream joined them: 'You're never home' and 'Maybe someday you'll have time for me.'

Still haunted by the dream, Chris left the bathroom and went into the walk-in closet. He knew he wouldn't be able to fall asleep with the dream still fresh in his mind, but if he could distract himself for a bit, maybe that would help. After pulling on a pair of shorts, he grabbed his suitcase off of the shelf and he started to pack what he'd need while he was gone filming the second Avengers movie. He wasn't scheduled to leave for another couple of days, but there was no time like the present to pack.

Knowing that he would spend most of his time on set, he didn't pay much attention to what he threw into the suitcase. The clothes he packed would be for everyday; if a nice outfit was needed for an event, he knew Marvel would send the information to his stylist who would then send him an outfit to wear. He kept adding clothes until his suitcase was nearly overflowing and then he zipped it closed.

Standing in the middle of his closet at three in the morning, Chris should have felt tired or at least calmed from the activity. Instead, the voices in his head were still harassing him, but instead of just being Ellie's voice, they were now other voices that he knew and trusted. All saying virtually the same thing: you don't have the time to be the man she deserves.

With panic expanding in his chest, Chris pulled on a t-shirt and a hoodie then shoved his feet into a pair of sneakers. He couldn't stay in the house a moment longer; he needed to leave and think. Grabbing his suitcase, he quietly left the closet, pausing only to grab his cellphone, before heading towards the door.

He avoided looking at the bed, because he knew that if he did, he'd lose the courage to do what he had to do. He'd promised Ellie that her job would never be in jeopardy regardless of what happened between them and he intended to keep that promise. He knew now that he couldn't be the man she needed him to be and it was better to cut those ties now before their feelings became too strong. 

"I'm sorry," he whispered before he left.

Episode 19

Author’s note: Before y’all come after me with the pitchforks and torches, I just want to remind you that this episode takes place two years BEFORE the first episode in which Chris and Ellie are engaged. So have no fear, they do end up together. This is just a little stumbling block they have to get past. As I told one of my friends "it can't be all World Series and Super Bowl wins" for them.

Want to find me off tumblr? I'm @beccatheycallme on twitter. I also post my stories on AO3.

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[gwaciechang]

Love Run (7/15?)

“Oh let the world come at you, love Like distant toms a-drumming Love, run! A song you��know’s begun”

@wackiekebab @sunflowergrlpwr @danilanidingdong @scratching-wingless-thing @farewellfelidae @whatevermonkey @the-winter-witcher

Trigger warning for vomiting, flashbacks and discussion of someone’s violent death (nobody we like, in fact, I don’t even know his name), and everything in Bobby Hayes’ general life.

Also, I hope you like tropes, because I’ve got so much fucking trope.

“Okay, please don’t get mad and yell at me,” you plead as soon as you both get back in Chloe’s car. He’s in the backseat, his own idea to avoid the temptation of stealing his heroin.

“I won’t,” he says quickly. “And I’m sorry, again, for yelling about the cherries.”

“Right, I actually forgot about the cherries, so don’t even worry,” you laugh nervously. There was nothing else to do but rip the bandaid off as fast as you could. “Um, Chloe faked some paperwork with my insurance company that says we're married so my insurance will cover your treatment.”

“Ah, and she needs it certified with-”

“It’s already been filed and officiated. Apparently we were married on June 4th at the London city center.”

Bobby stares at you. “How the hell did she do that so fast? We only got to the clinic a few hours ago.”

“I think she bugged my phone, and that’s how she found out I overdosed all those years ago,” you chew on your lip. “She might have heard me talking about your addiction.”

“And she thought she’d marry her sister off to a total stranger?” wow, is that actual anger on Bobby’s face?

“You’re not a stranger,” you insist. “I’ve heard you fart and snore.”

He snorts.

“And now I've heard you snort like a pig,” you add, starting the car.

He leans back and gives you an exaggerated pout through the rearview mirror, making you both laugh. He stares out the window silently throughout most of the drive, but as you pull into the parking lot, he says, “I don’t mind being married.” You must make some horrible face, because he sees you and backtracks. “I mean, you know, seeing as I don’t have insurance.”

You do your best not to look like your heart’s about to crack open. “Right, and it’s not like she can’t help us file the paperwork to annul it just as fast,” you keep your face out of sight so he doesn’t see how bitter those words taste.

“Right,” his voice is so quiet that you’re not sure he’s spoken, and when you look back at him, his face is crestfallen.

Well, that just won’t do. “What’s your favorite food?”

“What?” his face is adorable when it’s confused. Then again, you think his face is adorable all the time.

“I taught you how to make my favorite food. Now you teach me how to make yours.”

He smiles so brightly that it's a little blinding, and even chuckles a little. “I’m pretty sure you know how to make toast and beans.”

“What sort of bread for the toast and how do you like your beans?” you challenge.

You only notice what Bobby’s done to your ex’s gaming room after what sounds like 10,000 hammers fall on the floor. You run in and see the most complicated computer display of all time, as well as what looks like an entire rocket piled in a corner of the floor.

“What the fuck?” you ask.

“Sorry, I'm sorry,” he says quickly. “I knocked the-”

“Are you hurt?”

His jaw clicks shut. "Uh, no."

“Okay, then I’m going to brush my teeth and go to bed.” Only now do you remember that Bobby sweated through the sheets last night, and you’d been too busy to was them all day. “Ah, shit, never mind,” you groan, walking to your room to strip the sheets and the blankets off.

Bobby takes the blankets off the top of your pile, and you walk to the laundry room down the hall. All the washers are full, but there’s one that's already completed its cycle, with the wet clothes just sitting there. Seeing several empty dryers, you clean the lint trap out of one before dumping the wet clothes into it and putting in a quarter to start the cycle.

“What?” you ask when you see Bobby looking at you pouring the detergent.

“Nothing,” he says with a soft smile. “I just think you’re sweet.”

You snort. “Have you seen yourself recently? Making my favorite food with me, washing my sheets while I was out. And how did you do that, by the way? You don’t have my apartment keycard.” The moment the question leaves your mouth, you know the answer. “Right, you’re a computer genius, aren’t you?”

“I’m talented in many areas,” was it just your imagination or did he just look you up and down?

“Thank goodness one of us is technically literate, then,” your smile becomes a shriek when your detergent overflows.

Bobby throws his head back and laughs so hard that he clutches his stomach and winces. Even though you know he’s injured, and you'd heard him laugh before, it's still nice to see him so light and carefree.

“What?” he asks when he notices you watching him.

“Nothing, I just think you’re a complete asshole,” you echo his earlier words before sticking your tongue out at him.

After the laundry’s done, Bobby helps you put the sheets back on your bed and retreats to the gaming room.

You follow him, curious. “What are you doing with all that, anyway?” you ask from the doorway.

“I want to start earning my keep,” he says. You open your mouth to say he doesn’t have to, but he continues as if he didn’t see you, “I had everything set up as an office in my apartment, but, well, I can’t use that anymore, so I’m setting it all up here.”

“That's cool,” you say between yawns. “Just try not to wake me up while you’re building your office, or I’ll eat the rest of the beans.”

“Temporary office,” he says, and wow, an ice shower would be warmer than what those words do to you.

You'd forgotten, somehow, that Bobby’s presence wasn’t permanent. Despite only having lived with you for a few days, it seems like he’s been here forever. Even without the way he had made the place organized and actually livable, there’s something different about the apartment with him in it, like it’s a place where you actually live instead of a kitchen and a bedroom that you eat and mope in.

“Temporary office, right, good night Bobby,” you say in as one word, hurrying to crawl under your blankets and have a good cry.

You end up lying in bed for two hours just staring at the wall and listening to him try to stealthily put together whatever it is he’s building. Just as you’re about to give up hope and say you shouldn’t have bothered telling him not to wake you up, you close your eyes and don’t open them until Bobby shakes you awake a few hours later.

Your throat is sore, and there's a scream echoing off the walls. Bobby’s tapping up a symphony on the headboard and almost hyperventilating, so it’s not him, which means it can only be you. So probably a nightmare, and since there’s the smell of cerebral fluid in the air and both of your brains are fully intact inside your heads, you can guess what it’s about.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Bobby repeats over and over and over. Tears shine in his eyes.

You want to reassure him, but you end up gagging on the smell that exists only in your imagination. You yank the sheets off and run to the bathroom. A broad hand gently lifts your hair as you throw up. A soft voice sings Queen to you, and your hand comes up. But instead of going to your face, you use it to seek out Bobby’s hand and hold it tight.

He lets you, and he doesn’t squeeze.

“I think that’s it,” you say hoarsely, letting go of Bobby to flush the toilet. “I’m going to brush my teeth again.”

“Alright,” Bobby’s hands hover around you like he’s not sure where to put them, or if he’s even allowed. “I’m going to clean up.”

“You don’t have to stop working on your project on my account. You didn’t bother me.”

He gives you a look you don’t know how to interpret. “I’m not good with people,” he begins, “but I’m very good at noticing patterns, and so far, the times your nightmares don’t make you sick have been the times when I’ve slept next to you. I’m not saying I’m the reason, and if you want to sleep alone, you can tell me,” he backs away and holds his hands up, “and I’ll never bring it up again.” His eyes are dark, and he’s retreating. “I’m just telling you what I’ve noticed.”

“Let’s do that,” you say quickly, and those tight, pained lines on his face smooth out. You spend longer than usual brushing your teeth, waiting for the butterflies in your stomach to settle and wishing you knew where your sexy sleepwear were in your mess of a room. By the time you get to your room, Bobby is already lying on top of the blankets. After you slip in, you yank them out from under him and cover him with them. He stiffens, but he’s not looking away, so you think it’s surprise, not discomfort. Your hands seek out his, and then he does look away.

“I should go,” he says.

“You don’t want to help me with my nightmares all of a sudden?” you try to keep your tone light.

It doesn’t work. He grips his elbows, and you can still see him squeezing in patterns of six. “It’s my fault you-”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” you try to moderate your tone when he flinches. God, why is your first response to everything to get angry? “Look, I’m sorry to interrupt, but we’ve been over this. It’s that hitman’s fault I have nightmares, not yours, because he’s the one who tried to kill me.”

“He wouldn’t have tried to killed you if you hadn’t there, and you weren’t supposed to be. I was supposed to be alone.” Bobby’s voice is calm, almost soothing, and for some reason it just makes you angrier.

“Yeah, and then would've killed you! You think I’d rather not have nightmares than have you not being dead? Wait, does that sentence make sense? Because it’s 6am and I am very tired.”

Bobby is getting agitated, too. “Why would you prefer nightmares over the death of a junkie you never met?”

You don’t know how to describe the depth of terror that strikes you at just the thought of him dying, how to describe how happy you are just making food and doing laundry with him, how to describe how easy it is to make accommodations for him even when you’re angry at him. But your instincts have served you well so far, so you just blurt the first thing you can think of.

“I love you.”

The words hang in the air like a physical thing. For a second, nobody moves a muscle.

The next thing you know, you’re both kissing, and you're very glad you brushed your teeth so thoroughly.

[blastron01]

Ascendance of a Bookworm – 094

The Great Orphanage Cleanup

After finishing lunch, we immediately get to work on cleaning up the orphanage. However, it's the orphans actually doing the work.

Historically, the general work schedule has been that laundry is done early in the morning and the other cleaning is done in the afternoon, but since at the moment there's a surplus of gray-robed priests, everything is generally finished during the morning. So, during the afternoons, there's likely to be a large number of priests without anything to really do, which is why we've decided to kick off our great cleaning plans now.

The officially-stated reason for this cleanup is to ensure that when I, a blue-robed apprentice priestess, come to visit the orphanage as part of my inauguration as its director, I do not see anything unsightly. It seems like using an excuse like this for forcing everyone to do such an enormous, unusual task is likely to make it easy for everyone in the orphanage to accept.

The main objective of this major cleanup operation is, of course, to clean up the orphanage, but I'm also using this as an opportunity to teach the orphans that if they work hard, they'll get a reward. In order to that, I'm having the cooks make soup that I can give to the people cleaning as thanks for their hard work, and in order to reward the people who take the most initiative I'm planning on giving out buttered potatoes―or, more accurately, buttered kalfe―to the thirty of them who stand out the most.

The work to clean out the orphanage can be divided into washing the children while it's still warm out, cleaning out the basement of the girls' dormitory where the unbaptized children are staying, cleaning the other floors of the girls' dormitory, cleaning out the basement of the boys' dormitory and installing the workshop equipment there, and cleaning up the other floors of the boys' dormitory. I'll be having everyone split into teams and take on different aspects of the work.

When Benno and I had suggested this, Fran and Gil both reacted with utter shock. They explained that the servant work at the temple consisted of laundry, cleaning, and prayer. In the morning, they said, everyone washes the laundry, then everyone prays. Essentially, everyone does the same work at the same time. Nobody's ever really split up to work on different things before, it seems.

After we explained that there's a wide range of things that need to be done, and that things like carrying in the workshop equipment are very physically demanding, they agreed to actually split up the work this time.

"I wonder, even if we split them into groups and clearly explain things to them, will they really do their work?" I ask. "It'll be fine," says Gil, "because everyone in the orphanage knows that Fran's the head priest's attendant."

According to Gil, the gray-robed priests and apprentices of the orphanage recognize Fran, who is deeply trusted by the head priest himself, as very much their superior. If he's the one giving directions, then just about everyone will follow them, even though some of them might grumble about it.

"There will... still be a few children who do not listen to what they are told," says Fran, glancing briefly at Gil.

Gil averts his gaze. Although he's a pretty hard worker now, it wasn't too long ago that he was a real problem child that the other gray-robed priests had to constantly fight to keep under control.

Gil and Fran will be making the rounds, making sure that the cleaning is going well, finding out who is working hard and who is running away without doing anything, and checking in with me to report on the overall progress. Lutz will be supervising the cleaning of the basement of the boys' dorm, since that's the future site of Maïne's Workshop, and helping to bring in the equipment. After that, he'll make the buttered kalfe there in the basement. Delia will be keeping an eye on the cooks and cleaning the first floor of my rooms.

"I'll be going―" "You're staying here," Lutz says. "It'll be a big problem if you collapse somewhere."

Before I can finish saying that I want to go too, Lutz stops me. As I groan, at a loss for words, Gil looks at me in astonishment.

"So, Sister Maïne. Since all this cleaning is happening so that a blue-robed priestess can come to visit, wouldn't it be a problem if you were to show up before it was actually done?" "I guess you're right..."

Since Fran won't be with me, I can't go to the library, either, so I let out a big sigh. Fran, looking at me with a fond smile, places a single sheet of paper in front of me. It's covered with his neat handwriting, each precisely-formed letter reflecting his meticulous personality.

"There are many things that you must learn, Sister Maïne. Firstly, when you go to the orphanage this evening and give your inaugural address, I would like for you to have learned this greeting entirely by heart. Please pay close attention in particular to the names of the gods so that you do not say them incorrectly."

He also wrote me a cheat sheet, but it looks like I really should have as much of this memorized as possible. I look over the carefully-written sentences, then sigh. Fran, seeing this, smiles broadly, then starts placing a series of wooden boards on my desk, one by one.

"If you have the time, I would like for you to memorize this list of the teas and milks that have been brought here for your rooms, as well as where they originated. This is the pairing that you like. This is Master Benno's, this is Master Lutz's, and this is the Father's preferred pairing." "Huh? What?" I say, flabbergasted. "It is essential to memorize the tastes of those who come visit frequently," he says.

I decide not to mention that the head priest doesn't actually come here. It's probably a good idea to learn what my boss, who I work alongside, likes to drink.

Lutz, trying desperately to suppress a burst of laughter, gives me a big thumbs up.

"This is great, Maïne! Look at all the stuff you get to read!" "I like reading, yeah, but... I'm really bad at memorizing..."

Unless it's something I'm actually interested in, my brain just isn't good at holding onto information. Whenever I just mechanically go through book after book, the contents of one book slip out of my head the moment I start reading the next.

My shoulders droop as I reach dejectedly towards Fran's pile of documents.

Fran returns after the fifth bell rings. He writes a series of names onto a wooden slip, his pen scratching across its surface, listing the names and appearances of the children who took initiative and tried hard, as well as the children who hid away from their work.

"Although the thorough bathing of the youngest children was the task you were most concerned about," he says, "we were able to use the soap and towels we prepared to finish bathing them while it was still warm enough out. They are currently being dressed in cheap, second-hand clothes, and fresh straw is being packed into sheets."

The sheets were bought cheaply, so they're patched together, but right now the children are in the process of filling clean sheets with straw we bought from a local farmer to make their own bedding.

"There aren't any sick or unresponsive children, are there?" I ask. "No, they are all fine. I believe this is perhaps the result of Gil having brought them food these past few days. Those children have become to adore Gil as a messiah, it seems, and as he has been saying that this at your orders, you are likely so adored as well."

Being told that to my face is actually pretty embarrassing, but I'm happy to hear that those kids have gotten a little healthier.

"A handful of the priestesses and apprentices who were assigned to wash the children are helping stuff the bedding, and the rest of them have been reassigned to help with the rest of the cleaning. Now then, I must make my rounds again." "Thank you, Fran. I'll leave it to you."

Fran gives me a slight bow, then heads back to the orphanage again. Shortly afterward, Lutz returns.

"Maïne, we're done cleaning up the basement in the boys' dorms. We're going to start installing the workshop equipment now." "Got it. Thanks, Lutz!" "Man, though, those guys are amazing," he says over his shoulder as he takes off. "They're really used to cleaning. They're crazy fast at it!"

As soon as Lutz is gone, Fran comes back again to write down a list of names he heard from Gil, then quickly heads off again.

While everyone else is so busy, I just sit at the work desk that had arrived for me just a few days ago, staring at Fran's handwriting. Man, these gods have some long names. And there's so many of them too. I kind of want to ask the head priest if I could come up with some nice, friendly nicknames for them.

Since Delia is supposed to be keeping an eye on the kitchen while she's cleaning, the kitchen door has been left open, and the delicious scent of the soup I'll be giving out as a reward drifts through the air. As I sit there, thinking about stupid things, the cleaning comes to an end.

"Sister Maïne," says Gil, "the boys' dorm is all cleaned out." "Thanks for all the help, Gil! So it's just the girls' dorm left now, right?" "Right. But boys can't enter the girls' dormitory except for the dining hall." "So, can you get started on getting the dining hall ready for the soup, then?" "Got it!" he says, running excitedly from the room.

As he leaves, Lutz arrives.

"Hey, Maîne. We're all done setting up the workshop, so we've started steaming the kalfe. Sound good?" "Sound good...? Wait, you've already started though, right?" I chuckle. "Well, good timing either way. Gil just went to get the dining hall set up." Lutz leans in closer, lowering his voice. "Uh, so those kids are saying that they've never even seen a kalfe before. They've only ever seen cooked food. Even though all I'm basically doing is just steaming them, they're all super curious. They've been crowding around me to watch. It's been pretty hard to actually do anything." "...Ahh, right, they've only ever seen the gods' blessings, so they've never done any actual cooking in the orphanage. It's natural for them to be curious if they've never seen raw ingredients before, I guess?"

Come to think of it, I read in some magazine somewhere that even in Japan there's plenty of kids who only know what carrots look like because they've bought them in a supermarket and have never actually seen them growing, so when they see fields full of leaves they don't actually understand what they're looking at. If something like that can happen in a country like Japan where all kinds of information is so readily available, then it's not strange at all that people here wouldn't know much of anything outside of what they experienced in their everyday lives.

"So, how about I go teach them how to butter them?"

With butter and knife in hand, he heads out again, grinning. Shortly thereafter, Fran returns.

"As expected, cleaning the basement of the girls' dormitory, where the youngest children were living, has been a very difficult task. Currently, everyone who had been assigned to cleaning the girls' dormitory is assisting. It should be done shortly. Additionally, unlike the boys' dormitory, there are not very many people living in the girls' dormitory at the moment, so the unbaptized children have been given use of some of the small rooms on the first floor as well. Presently, the straw-stuffed bedding and changes of clothing are being brought in."

I breathe a sigh of relief, hearing that report. Making sure that those children had a place to sleep is very important.

"Have you memorized your greeting, Sister?" "...More-or-less. But, just to be safe, can I bring this paper with me?" "Certainly. Now then, please call for me when you are ready to leave. Delia, please tend to Sister Maïne's preparations."

As Fran heads downstairs, Delia comes up to help me get my hair in order. She sits me down in front of the dresser and slides my hairpin out. As she picks up the comb, she looks at me in the mirror, her face a mix of pain and sorrow.

"...Did you save them?" "I did," I reply. "It seems they're now healthy enough to be able to stuff their own bedding with straw." "Ah."

Even though I just told her I'd been able to help them, her expression doesn't lighten at all. She averts her eyes, lips pursed as if she's swallowed something bitter.

"...Delia, why are you looking so sad? Aren't you happy?" "I am, but... it's just frustrating. Why... why didn't you save me back then?" "I wasn't even here yet, so I couldn't have—" "I know that!" she yells. It looks like she couldn't stop herself, even though she knows she's just venting her anger on me. "I know that, but..."

Her pale blue eyes fill with tears that look like they might spill over at any moment. It hurts me to imagine how many painful memories she must have had to endure before her baptism, and how many times she must have wished to be saved.

"I wasn't there in time to help you back then, but I'll try to be there for you next time. I'll really be there for you, so... don't cry." "I'm not crying!!" she yells, scrubbing roughly at her eyes. "S, sorr—" "Don't apologize to your attendant!" "...Okay."

It seems like I might have wounded her pride by pointing out that she's crying.

...I think the poor girl might be just a bit unreasonable, though.

Since it sounds like my inauguration as orphanage director is something of a public occasion, we've decided that I'll be wearing the same hairpin that I did for my baptismal ceremony, the one with wisteria flowers.

"This is an unusual ornament," says Delia. "It's the hairpin that I made for my baptismal ceremony. The Gilberta Company is starting to sell them." "...You made this? By yourself?" "I had some help, but yes, I can make things like that. If I have the materials, of course." "The materials..." she says, her eyes fixated on the hairpin as if she's a predator locked onto her prey.

After she finishes combing out my hair, I put my hairpin in. Delia doesn't know how to do it yet, so I have to do it myself.

"Sister Maïne," says Fran, "we have finished our preparations to depart."

The soup has been poured into several pots and loaded into the wagon. Behind Fran, I see a few gray-robed priests I haven't seen before.

"These are the priests who will be assisting in carrying in and serving the soup," he says. "Ah, excellent. Thank you," I say to them. "No," one replies, "it is we who should be thanking you. The gods' blessings have been very spare as of late, so everyone will be very grateful for this." "Oh, but this is not the gods' blessings. This is a reward from me." "Huh? A reward?"

He blinks, as if unsure what I actually mean. I just smile at him, ending the conversation.

Fran holds me in his arms, and we make our way around the building, heading along the walkways until we reach the front door of the orphanage. Since we're taking the long way around, it's actually a surprisingly long walk. If I'd been on foot, the priests wouldn't have been able to match my walking speed.

He lets me down before the orphanage's door, then makes sure that neither my hair nor my clothing has gotten disheveled. A priest, seeing that everything's in order, pulls the door open with a creak, then in a clear, carrying voice, calls out to everyone inside.

"Everyone, by the blessings of the highest of all gods who rule over all in the high, lofty skies and those of the five gods who rule over all in the wide, vast earth, the priestess who has become the new orphanage director has arrived."

On the other side of the door is the dining hall. At first, I'm a little surprised that what I see through the front door are the rows of long tables that fill the room, but when I think about how the gods' blessings must be carried in by hand, and that the boys only enter this building for the sake of going to the dining hall, it seems pretty reasonable.

Seated along the tables were rows of gray-robed people, but as soon as the priest called out his introduction they all stood up in unison, turning to face me. I feel the pressure of everyone staring at me, appraisingly, and I have to fight the urge to look away and to shield myself from their gazes.

"Let us welcome her, and raise our prayers to the heavens. We pray to the gods!"

When everyone, as a group, suddenly snaps into the Gl█co pose, I don't just fail to look away, but I find myself just staring.

"This way, Sister," says Fran.

He takes my hand, guiding me along a carpet that has been laid out towards a table. The priests in the front of the crowd that are easiest for me to see are all holding their prayer poses perfectly, but behind them I can see the younger children having trouble keeping their balance. They're a good match for me.

As the prayer ends and all eyes return to me, Fran gently lifts me up and sets me down to stand on the table. Quietly, he murmurs in my ear.

"As nobly as you can, please."

When it comes to getting gray-robed priests to follow your orders, it seems that the first impression is key. Just like Gil knew who I was right from the start, it seems like it's common knowledge among the gray-robed clergy that I, who joined the temple as a blue-robed priestess, am a commoner. Fran cautioned me that if I give off the impression that I lack self-confidence, they're not going to take me seriously, so I must show them the dignity of a noble.

I must stand proudly and never avert my gaze. My smile should show as much calm as I can manage. The basics of it are the same as when I'd come with Benno to deliver my donation to the temple.

Fran had told me that if it absolutely comes to it, I should feel free to release a bit of my mana to lightly coerce them. That will make them understand the difference in our statures, he said, with a smile. I really don't want them to be weirdly terrified of me, though, so I hope that I can get out of this without having to use my mana at all.

I've somehow managed to memorize my greeting, but the only experience I have speaking in front of a crowd like this was during Urano days, back when I had to present my bachelor's thesis, or even way back in elementary school when I'd won some kind of award for my book report and nearly died of embarrassment while having to read it out loud to the entire student body.

As everyone in the crowd stares at me, I force myself to take a slow breath, still shivering with tension. When I do, I feel the flowers hanging from my hairpin gently sway behind me. Reminded that I have the hairpin that my whole family made for me, I find myself relaxing, just a little bit.

"It is a pleasure to meet all of you on this day that so shines with the blessing of the god of fire, Leidenschaft. My name is Maïne. I have been entrusted with the duty of being the director of this orphanage. I am grateful, from the bottom of my heart, that you have so willingly listened to my wishes today and given me such warm welcome."

Now that I've expressed my thanks for the welcome and stated my reason for being here in such pretty, ornate words, I need to tie it all back together by reciting the names of the gods.

"Let us now lift our prayers and gratitude to the highest of all gods, who rule over all in the high, lofty skies, and to the five gods who rule over all in the wide, vast earth: the goddess of water, Frühträne, the god of fire, Leidenschaft, the goddess of wind, Schutzaria, and the god of life, Ewigeliebe."

It seems like the remarks Fran had written out for me are some kind of standardized speech in the temple. In response to my words, the priests all immediately assume the prayer pose.

"We pray to the gods! We give thanks to the gods!"

Ever since coming to the temple, I've had to practice my prayers with Fran and the head priest, so I've gotten just a little bit better at the prayer pose. I'm still not actually good at it, but even still, my balance is good enough now that I'm not risking falling over. Todays prayer was, if I do say so myself, excellent work.

Next, now that my speech is done and I've gotten over the part that I was nervous about the most, it's time to pass out the rewards.

"You have done such an excellent job today in cleaning the orphanage for my sake. I brought you a reward. Fran, if you will, please have it served to everyone who worked hard today." "As you wish, Sister," he replies.

Fran takes out a wooden slip and reads off the names of the people who didn't help with the cleaning. As he does so, the priests who are helping pass out the soup walk around, serving it to everyone except for the people whose names were called.

As I look on, reminded of food being served at a school cafeteria, a young boy, about as old as Gil, who hadn't gotten any soup turns to glare at me, his face bright red.

"You're mean! This isn't equal!" he yells, sounding just like Gil did at the start. "The gods' blessings are given equally to everyone! Even a commoner like you should—" "Indeed," I reply, "the gods' blessings are given equally."

I smile pleasantly at him.

"But these are not the gods' blessings. I told you that this was a reward given to those who worked hard, did I not? Were you perhaps not listening? A reward is not equal. I'm afraid that I cannot reward those who do not work. It is said that if any would not work, neither should he eat.1 Everyone, please remember this."

The boy stares dumbly at me, his anger forgotten, as if he'd been completely caught off guard by my rebuttal.

"...A, a reward?" "That's right, a reward. Please, try to work hard next time. Now, I have something more for those of you who worked exceptionally hard for me. When your name is called, please bring your plate to the front of the room."

At that, a gray-robed priest opens the lid of the steamer that contains the buttered kalfe Lutz made. The smell of butter wafts gently out into the room. As Fran begins reading off names, priests and priestesses start walking hesitantly forward holding their plates, looking fearfully around the room. One by one, the buttered kalfe are placed onto each priest's plate.

"I heard you were the quickest to run to get the children and help wash them. I very much appreciate it." "You're very fast at cleaning, I hear? Lutz had great praise for you." "You took the initiative to carry some of the heaviest things, didn't you? Thank you for your hard work."

All I'm doing is reading off of the notes I made when Fran and Gil explained the reasons for their selections to me, but all of them are looking at me like they're overwhelmed with emotion. Some of them are even making the same face that Gil did the first time I praised him.

I'm suddenly deeply aware of how blessed I am to have the family I do. Memories of how tremendously they praised me whenever I was able to do even just a little bit more than before float through my head.

Just like how my family did for me, I think that as the director I'm going to need to look hard for everyone's strong points and make sure to praise them for it.

"Please continue to keep up the good work. Now, please, enjoy your food."

The next afternoon, we hold a cooking class, teaching everyone how to make soup. Everyone's been split into groups again—the vegetable-washing group, the vegetable chopping group, and the group in charge of filling up the pots and tending the fires—and are learning under the tutelage of Tuuli and Ella. Hugo is back in the kitchen, working hard by himself to make dinner.

Professors Ella and Tuuli are teaching everyone how to chop vegetables. Those of the priests who have enough strength use kitchen knives, and those apprentices who aren't strong enough yet use smaller paring knives. Since this soup is going to be a reward as part of tonight's dinner, everyone is working in earnest. Even while marveling over the meat and vegetables that they've never seen in their raw forms before, they're doing their best to wash and chop the vegetables, despite how unfamiliar the motions are.

I quietly observe how the first batch of cooking that Maïne's Workshop has ever done is going. Fran has instructed me that, as a blue-robed priestess, it's okay for me to be here as long as all I'm doing is watching. Under no circumstances am I allowed to help.

I vaguely feel like there's someone's eyes on me. When I turn to look, I see that the boy who hadn't eaten yesterday keeps glancing over at me as he makes sure to take the initiative as he works. I'm pleased to see him so fiercely asserting himself, so when I give out slices of fruit as a reward, I make sure he gets a slightly bigger piece.

Translator's notes for this chapter:

1. This is another line from the New Testament.

prev • next

[nitaescence]

Morning with the Mins

Pairing : Boyfriend!Yoongi x Girlfriend!Reader

Genre : Vlogger!AU, Fluff

Word Count : 1.2k

Request -

(sound of alarm ringing) [screen fading from black]

09h15 AM

Bedroom

You slowly stir under the sheets after turning your alarm off, shifting on your other side to backhug Yoongi who has remained as still as a stone. A while passes by before you decide to finally get up from bed. You go to pick up your camera — already recording — from the shelf facing your bed and look at your morning face through the LCD display.

You smile to the lens and wave.

(your voice-over begins)

Hi, everyone. Welcome back to my channel. For today's video I thought I would share with you, gu— wait I need to say we since we're both talking in this one (Yoongi chuckles to himself) — we're gonna share with you our lazy morning routine and show you how we spend our weekend mornings which are quite different from the week ones.

[cut]

I always wake up first in the weekends while Yoongi prefers sleeping in and enjoy his sleep since he wakes up everyday the earliest. You go fetch the camera and aim the lens towards your boyfriend still asleep, zooming in and out.

What is this? Yoongi's voice says

“He's going to hate me for doing this.” You speak up in a whisper as you stifle a giggle.

[cut]

You go to snuggle against him. Then I usually go lay back down next to him and grab my phone to look at the notifications I got during the night.Yoongi shifts and sneaks one arm around your waist and cuddles with you. I usually end up kissing him everywhere on his face to get him awake so we can spend as much time together as possible.

Which is a nice way to be waken up might I add minus the breath – Ow!

It always takes us a little while to actually get going.

[cut]

The brown dog climbs up the bed and cuddles with you. Next, Holly would come in the room and jumps on the bed 'cause she's heard us waking up and play with us.

This definitely wakes me up.

[cut]

You're walking to the kitchen, your boyfriend following suit.

“Holly won't stop annoying us 'cause he's hungry so I go out, open up all the blinds and windows to purify the air.”

You shift the camera to record Yoongi fussing in the kitchen. “And Yoongi gets his food and water ready for him.”

He crouches down next to his dog, “Sit. Holly, sit.” The animals obeys but quickly rushed and plunges his snout into the full bowl. Yoongi pats him — “Good boy.”— and stands up to reach the bowl full of water.

He's so cute.

Bathroom

You put the device on top of another shelf, making sure you're both appearing entirely in. Then we leave Holly to eat and go to the bathroom to wash ourselves, brush our teeth and things like that.

Yoongi start washing his face while you disappear somewhere next to him.

I'm smiling because Y/n went to pee right next to me.

Busy putting some toothpaste on his brush, he looks back and forth between the camera and somewhere behind, laughing to himself.

S'nothing new.

You appear back on camera and brush your teeth as well.

[cut]

You show to the camera the beauty products you're about to apply on.

“This is what I use to exfoliate my face. I remember some of you asking me the brand of it. Sometimes Yoongi uses it as well. It works fine for both of us.”

Yoongi kisses your cheek before you get to put the moisturizer on and goes out.

Now Yoongi's left to go make breakfast while I finish washing myself.

[cut]

Kitchen

Your boyfriend is taking out all the food he wants to cook while you walk passed him to put on some music.

I like putting some soft songs on. I don't know. I like the mood it creates.

[cut]

You go to sit at the table and set the camera there then start playing with Holly when your boyfriend suddenly calls for you.

“You want me to do some pancakes?”

“Okay.” You smile to him and get back playing with the happy ball of fluff.

[Time lapse] During the week, we usually make each our own breakfast since we don't wake up at the same hour but for the weekends we do it together. I like to let him cook because I'm his biggest fan when it comes to food...

Food only? (you chuckle)

And usually I would unload the dishwasher or clean around the house a little, do some laundry, stuff like that.

At some point you get up and go help him with the cooking, setting the table, in between gentle kisses and lovely cuddles and eventually get to eat.

Morning weekends are usually spent with no phone, you know just to take a lil' break from the world for a while and so it's just us- *

And Holly.

And Holly.

Oh my god, just look at this food. I'm getting hungry.

Right... Even if we don't have anything in particular to say to each other, we enjoy our little moment... Damn, you're right this looks really good.

Right? I'm too good of a cook.

[cut]

Bathroom

“Now, that we've eaten and washed the dishes, I usually go back to my room change my clothes, just something casual, then come here and put on some little makeup — just on my face, I don't do my eyes — and get my hair done.” [Time lapse]

[cut]

Living-room

I usually go to watch some shows or shower with Yoongi — this time he's alone since I already did shower last night — or sometimes edit some videos... He's also getting ready for our walk with Holly so he can do, you know, his pee pee and poo poo

His what?

What? You don't like it? Did you just roll your eyes at me?

Outside

You're holding the camera up to record you and Yoongi walking side by side with your intertwined fingers while he holds Holly's leash.

Holly's is really gentle and kind when it comes to walks. Like, he doesn't go everywhere, listens to us.

He's the best.

Yoongi's the one cleaning after him. I, I just can't. I hate it. It stinks and no, no, no.

It's not that bad.

It's poop.

[cut]

Sitting on a bench in a park, you look at the camera lens while your boyfriend's eyes gaze at Holly playing at your feet.

“So that's it guys for our morning routine. It's nothing extraordinary, really... Obviously it's not always the exact same. But that's pretty much what we do in general. We're probably gonna get some lunch, now and get back home and … laze around.”

Yoongi's head is nodding promptly behind you. You catch him through the display, smiling at him.

[cut]

You aim the camera at Holly. “Holly, say 'bye'.”

[cut]

“Thank you so much for watching. Don't forget to do the usual. Like, comment and subscribe. My social media are in the description box down below. We love you guys and I will see you in the next video. Bye!”

Masterlist

[the-miss-mousie]

He’s Home

Angsty Klance fic. Also on Ao3.

The weather is scorching hot, but, regardless of how hard the sun beats down on, he has work to do. Besides, it has been raining the past few days, and he hasn’t been able to work in the garden because of it. He isn’t about to risk wasting another day, especially when the clock is ticking.

Lance stumbles out of the old, large, log house that once belonged to an elderly couple that he had worked for (they were practically family in a way). They have been long gone now and weren’t ever returning. After winning a lottery, the elderly couple decided to live in a fancy house somewhere in the tropics. They had generously gifted the house and land to Lance.

As soon as he was able to, Lance took up residency here. He was familiar with the property due to his time working for the elderly couple, so it was easy to make it home. He was surprised, however, when his friends ended up moving in too.

Said friends had taken a trip to town this morning and would not be back until just before noon. That meant it is up to Lance to hold down the fort and get to work in the garden, along with some other chores.

Lance could hardly tell that it was raining yesterday with how dry the dirt is, only a few, stray damp places remain but would soon be sucked up by the heat. There’s a faint wind that rustles the large, pine trees that surround the yard, and only brings a touch of coolness to his skin. The sky has just a few small clouds, but those little clouds could very quickly be replaced by larger, grey ones. He doesn’t want the rain to come back, but he’s no rain god, and he doesn’t know any dances to scare away the ran.

As he approaches the gate to the garden, he tugs his shirt off and tosses it onto a fence post. Honestly, he isn’t sure why he came out wearing a shirt to begin with.

Grabbing a set of gloves from the shed and a few tools Lance figures he’d need. Although Lance doubts he’ll actually use them. His primary focus today is to get rid of the weeds and fertilize the plants. He’ll have to check for any diseased plant as well, but he doesn’t need to be concerned with watering them. He’s got some of his work cut out for him at least.

Lance doesn’t have a problem with getting down in the dirt, although it is annoying to clean the dirt from under his fingernails only for more to reappear. His hands have become a disaster since he started living here. They’re calloused and scarred, but stronger. This non-stop work has been taking a toll, and he finds himself more tired with every passing day. He doesn’t stop working though. It keeps his mind occupied.

Some of the weeds are difficult to tug out and even poke at him through his gloves, but he is able to rid the garden of its weeds. Luckily, Lance finds no diseased or dying plants too. In fact, everything looks better.

He used to have a lot of issues with the garden – like a lot. There were almost always several dead or wilting plants and every time he’d uproot them more weeds would sprout back up in seconds. Last year was incredibly rough, resulting in only a single bucket of decent potatoes and about a large bowl of carrots. He was ready to throw the towel in last year.

That was also the year his friends had decided to move in with him too. Well, Hunk chose to move-in first. He had practically kicked down the front door, a bag thrown over his shoulders, and a look of determination. He and Lance had a solid thirty-second staring contest after he said he was moving in before Lance had shrugged and said “okay.” Hunk sleeps in the spare bedroom across from Lance’s.

Within a week after Hunk had settled in, Pidge was kicking down his door with a suitcase in hand. She sleeps in the bedroom next to Hunk’s.

Not even a week after Pidge arrived, Matt, Shiro, and Allura knocked on Lance’s door. Lance simply just told them that there were two spare bedrooms left and someone would have to share.

Luckily, Coran, the blessed man, didn’t move in but he had taken up residence in a neighbouring house. By “neighbouring,” Lance means it’s about a 20-minute walk away. He visits every now and then, generally with a pie or something else he cooked up.

While it was nice to have friends so close by, it can often be a little overwhelming. When it gets too crowded, and he feels like he might suffocate, he just heads down to the beach, digs his feet into the sand, and listens to the waves. Sometimes, though, the others will notice and give him some space much like today.

There are times where Lance can’t help but feel… guilty. Like he’s a burden or that he’s only causing trouble. He’s not the only one here still hurting, yet he acts like he is. They all are all in the same boat. All Lance really needs to do is remind himself that they moved in on their own accord, and not just to help him, but to help themselves too. This living arrangement benefits all of them.

They’ve become a family that relies on each other, one that stands sturdy together. It’s likely that they’re the reason why the garden isn’t terrible this year.

Yeah, they’re definitely the reason, he thinks while he puts the tools away. The garden shouldn’t need any tending to for a while now.

As he pats his jeans clean, he notes that the knees of them are starting to wear thin and are stained beyond repair. No cleaning detergents will save them now, but that’s why they’re his work jeans.

He puts his hands on his hips and looks around the yard. The grass has gotten longer. Mowing the lawn has never been his favourite chore. He hates the lawnmower they own because it’s old, rusty, and pretty much a death machine.

“I leave it for someone else to do,” he says to himself. He grabs his shirt from the post and pulls it back on, grimacing as he realizes just how sweaty he feels. A shower will be needed.

The house is cool and air-conditioned as he goes back in. Kicking his shoes off next to the door, he steps into the kitchen.

The kitchen is just how one would imagine a kitchen would look except it lacks the pile of dirty dishes because Shiro is a gentleman and better than those other “hoes” who try to sneak in dirty plates while you’re washing the dishes… Lance can’t deny that he, in fact, is one of those “hoes,” except he’s not sneaky.

They had recently done some minor renovations after Hunk accidentally tore one of the cupboards doors on its hinges. So, all the cupboards are new as well as the countertops even though there are already dents and scrapes in some places. They also got new appliances as demanded by Hunk who nearly had a heart attack when he saw the old range. So they have a new, sparkly range, microwave, and refrigerator. Lately, they’ve been considering on getting a dishwasher.

The dining room used to be closed off from the kitchen, but the increase of roommates made it a little too crowded. It was Allura who had taken the pleasure of busting down the wall, merging the dinner area with the kitchen in a more modern, open-concept style.

There’s a small pile of mail on the wooden dining table. Lance flips through the envelopes looking for the bills, and when he finds none, he curses Allura. She got to them before him and is most likely paying them as we speak. Didn’t they all agree to split the cost amongst them?

Sure, sure, Allura, you’ve got the money, but this ain’t even your house?

Lance sighs and drops the mail back onto the table. None of the letters are addressed to him, so he’ll leave it there for the rest of the gang to snoop through.

His next stop is the laundry room which contrasts the kitchen as it is piled up with laundry. The clean, dry clothes are tossed into a basket which is shoved out of the crowded room. He tries to push as many clothes as he can into the washing machine but makes sure to not overload it. The last thing they need is a broken washing machine. The room is neater when he leaves it, picking up the basket and heads into the living room.

The room is quaint with a warm glow. There’s a clean fireplace in the corner of the room, and on the wall adjacent to it is a big TV that Pidge had brought with her. Next to the fireplace is an old armchair, and next to that is a large, antique bookshelf that was left behind by the previous owners of the house. He was actually surprised that it was left behind and even contacted the elderly couple about it, but they just told him to keep it. Lance only had a few books to place in it, but the others definitely put it to use.

Lance places the basket of clothes on a coffee table in front of a long couch that is parallel to the Television. Adjacent to the long sofa is a loveseat that is covered with a large blanket that has a picture of a roaring lion printed on it – Allura’s blanket. Lance grabs the sheet and folds it up, setting it on the arm of the loveseat, before sitting down on the long couch and begins folding the laundry.

Geez…

When did Lance become such a mom?

He honestly can’t remember the last time when he did something completely irresponsible, like the immature little shit Lance was, and now here he is folding laundry and cleaning the house. If he had to guess, last time Lance did something wild was probably… his 20th birthday which had gotten way out of hand – the silver ring on his finger is proof of that.

Lance pauses a moment to stare at the ring. He hasn't taken it off since he received it. It’s precious to him – always has been and always will be. But lately, he’s been thinking that it’s time to let it go. Time to move forward.

But he doesn’t. He stares at it for a long moment before continuing with his task. It doesn’t feel right to let it go just yet. Not today, at least.

The laundry is folded and placed neatly back in the basket for the others to go through. Lance picks out his clothes and takes it up to his room. His room is the master bedroom of the house because it’s his house.

You know those beds that look like they popped out of a fairy-tale (the canopy beds)? Well, Lance has one of those. It’s one of the comfiest bed’s he’s ever slept on and owned. He remembers shopping for that mattress too; the classical montage of jumping on all the beds in a store without a care in the world. He’s wasn’t alone then. Keith was right there with him when they nearly got kicked out of the store.

There are photos of to prove it too, one of them is sitting on the dresser that is on the other side of the room. Lance approaches the dresser, shoving his clothes into it quickly, eyes stuck on a particular photo of himself with Keith at a park.

He was with Lance during a lot of things. Keith was with Lance during high school – they were best friends. Keith was with Lance when they both went to the same college, and they were together when they dropped out. Keith was there when Lance got kicked out by his family, and when everything seemed to fall apart. He was there to help Lance get back on his feet. Keith was with Lance when he moved into this house – they moved into their house. For what seemed like forever, Keith had been a firm fixture in his life. But…

Then Keith chose to leave.

And he didn’t come back.

Lance… Lance was a mess, an absolute wreck. It took a long while to get over it, but even now the ache still lingers. First, he was in denial, and then he cried, mourned, and then he got angry, resentful, and he hated Keith for everything. Eventually, he accepted it and tried to move forward with his life. He’s still working on it.

He looks down at the silver ring, twisting it around on his finger. He should really take it off. Should let go and carry on.

Taking the picture from its place, he stares at it for a good few moments before placing face down back on the dresser.

A roaring of an engine comes from outside. Looking through the window, Lance sees an old, rusty, red pick-up truck pull into the driveway. The others are pilled up into the back of it, with Shiro driving and Matt on the passenger side. They start unloading themselves from the vehicle, groceries in hand.

Lance leaves his room to meet them at the door. He comes to the entrance just in time to catch part of a conversation that instantly grabs his attention.

“Like hell will I ever do that!” Pidge yells as she opens the door for the others whose hands are full of groceries.

“Do what?” He asks with a smirk.

Pidge snaps to look at him with wide eyes. She glares at him and says, “Nothing.”

Matt is the first to come through the door with two massive grocery bags in both hands, concealing the large head of his. “She wants to ask a girl out, but won’t listen to any of our advice,” he supplies.

“Ah, need some help with that,” Lance asks, reaching out to snatch one of the bags.

“Nope! I got this!” He slips past Lance quickly, nearly stumbling over his feet as he heads to the kitchen. Lance shrugs and looks back to Pidge.

“So, a girl, huh? Is this the same girl that saved you from nearly being blown to pieces?” Lance inquires as they both move out of the doorway to let the others throw. Shiro and Allura come in with just as large groceries bags as Matt had.

“Maybe,” she says, pushing her glasses back up her nose. “They all keep telling to do dramatic things or to just walk up to her and tell her how I feel. I’m not going to do that! Both of those are just asking for embarrassment.”

Lance rolls his eyes. “Yeah, okay. Why don’t you invite her out the Summer Festival that’s happening this weekend? Hang out, have some, and then make her swoon with your made carnival game skills.”

“See, now that’s a good idea!” Pidge says, directing her speech to the others.

Hunk stops on his way to the kitchen to look back at the two of them. “I still think you think a candlelight dinner is the way to go.”

“Hunk, that’s for when you’re already in a relationship. Pidge is still clearly in the warming up to the possibility of a relationship stage. You have to go with subtle flirting,” Lance counters.

“Sorry, Hunk, but I’ll have to side with Lance on this one,” Pidge says. “But I’ll let you help with candlelight dinner when we get there.”

“Yes!” Hunk smiles and continues to the kitchen. Lance and Pidge chuckle.

“Are there any more groceries that need to be brought in?” He asks Pidge as he goes over to the door.

“Nope that’s everything.”

“Thought so. Those were some heavy looking bags they were carrying in,” Lance comments and closes the door.

“Lance?” Allura calls from the kitchen, her head peaks out from the side of the archway.

“Yeah?”

“Coran’s coming over tonight for dinner. Also, we might get a visit from Kolivan,” she says.

“Really?” Lance frowns. The last time he saw Kolivan was… two years ago. Why would he be coming for a visit?

“Yeah, Shiro invited him. We thought we could do some catching up on things,” Pidge explains.

That doesn’t surprise Lance that Shiro was the one to invite Kolivan. They’ve remained in contact with one another for some time. After all, it was Ulaz, an old friend of Kolivan’s, who got Shiro out of that wreckage of the base down in Olkarion. Shiro would be dead if it hadn’t been for Ulaz, but, unfortunately, Shiro still lost his arm. Sadly, Ulaz is no longer with them which had been a harsh blow to many especially Shiro.

So, Lance supposes that it makes sense. He can also guess that there’s more to inviting Kolivan over. After all, Shiro is well aware of how Lance feels about the Blade of Marmora.

Lance simply shrugs and says, “Okay.”

The way Pidge and Allura seem to relax doesn’t slip past him.

“Oh! By the way, Allura, you wouldn’t happen to notice what happened to the bills, would you?” Lance asks, eyes narrowing at Allura who smiles innocently.

“What bills?”

“Wait, were those the papers you had when we left?” Lance hears Hunk ask from wherever he is in the kitchen.

“Allura,” Shiro says in a disapproving tone.

Allura looks back at Lance with a glare. “Snitch,” she hisses.

Lance smirks and gives her a fake-apologetic shrug. He turns to Pidge, and asks, “Want to watch some TV? I think the Revival is on soon.”

“Oh my stars, I can’t believe I nearly forget about the new season!” Pidge exclaims and vaults of the couch to snatch the remote.

“Hey, you aren’t starting it without me!” Matt says, and he slides into the living room, launching himself onto the couch.

Lance snorts he face plants into the cushions. “Stars, you’re like an excited puppy.”

Matts sticks his tongue out at Lance. Lance sits down on the couch, and Hunk comes in, making his way to sit next to Lance.

“Wow, you guys are such nerds,” Hunk comments.

“Takes one to know one,” Pidge says.

“That is true.”

**

Shiro’s hand on Lance’s shoulder shocks him out of his daydreaming. He jolts and looks up the other who gives a small, apologetic smile.

They finished watching the new episode of the Revival a while ago and had all separated to do different things. Hunk and Allura decided to work on getting the preparations for dinner done, and Lance has no idea what the Holt siblings are up too.

Since it had cooled off a bit outside, Lance decided to take a nap on the porch swing. It’s nice when you aren’t doing any work out in the scorching heat. He thinks he managed to get about 20 minutes of rest until it had been disturbed by a sudden firm hand.

“Yeah?” Lance asks, rubbing his eyes.

“You ready to go?” Shiro asks. Lance frowns and gives the older man a quizzical look. Shiro returns his look with that of tentative surprise. “It’s the 21st today.”

Oh.

“I guess I lost track of things,” he says quietly.

Shiro nods, understanding, and says, “I’ll go start the truck.”

Lance hums and looks down at his hands. The ring feels heavy on his finger suddenly. It’s been officially two years now. He honestly can’t believe it. It almost seems like a weird dream. He never expected to end up at the two-year mark. Then again, he figures that his friends would have ensured that he would make it – by any means necessary.

Lance gets off the porch-swing and makes his way through the house to the front door. Shiro’s leaning against the driver’s side of the truck, and when he hears the front door close, he turns to see Lance. They give each other a silent nod, and then they climb into the truck. There’s a small bouquet of flowers resting on the passenger seat that he takes and set on his lap.

It looks like he made a smart choice in changing out of his work clothes before he took a nap. He’s in cleaner, more appropriate attire, for where they’re headed now.

“Let’s make it quick so we can get back before dinner,” Lance says. Shiro doesn’t say anything, but Lance can tell that he’s giving Lance an odd look.

Shiro pulls away from the house and drives out of their yard, heading down the road that will take them into town. It’s a twenty-minute drive that Lance spends staring out the window until they finally come to their destination.

The pick-up truck pulls up to the sidewalk. There’s a large, metal fence on the other side encasing the well-kept land. The cemetery is practically empty save for the same, few people who are here annually as well. Lance hops out of the truck with the bouquet in hand while Shiro sets the truck in park and quickly follows.

Lance could guide through this place blind if he needed to and he’s willing to bet Shiro could too. So, they take their time, keeping to themselves and letting the other mourners have their peace.

They come to a small headstone. In large letters, the name ‘KEITH KOGANE’ is etched into the dark marble. Under the name are a few words: “BOM, 2080-2103, A LOVED SON, BROTHER, AND FRIEND.”

It was short, not too complicated, but sometimes Lance wishes more could have been written. The short phrase doesn’t nearly grasp everything that was Keith.

Lance frowns tiredly at the grave. It’s been another year. Lance still can’t believe that it has been two years since Kolivan came knocking on his door with news that had left him in shock.

He had been told that it had been a great sacrifice. One that was key to ending the war. Keith took out a crucial weapon that left the strongest part of Daibazaal defenseless. But it had cost Keith his life.

The massive war that had wracked the country left thousands in despair. Even though Altea had won in the end, everyone paid the price, not just Keith.

Keith had chosen to join the Blade of Marmora, a rebel group that worked undercover in Daibazaal. Since Keith had Galra heritage, he was able to join the Blade and fight for Altea from the inside. Little did he know that it would cost him his life.

Sometimes, Lance doubts that Keith would have changed his mind if he knew he was going to die. He’d always had been the sacrificial hero type. If it meant saving thousands of lives, his didn’t matter. And logically that made sense, but sometimes Lance wished Keith had been more selfish.

It hurt when Lance came home from work that day, three years ago, and found that Keith had his bags already packed. Keith had avoided making any eye contact with Lance when he told him what he planned on doing. There are times when Lance wonders if he could have stopped Keith and convinced him to stay, but Keith was just as stubborn as Lance could be. Lance convinced himself that there would not have been any talking Keith out of it.

In the end, Keith has been gone for three years and has been dead for two of them.

Shiro rests a hand on Lance’s shoulder, causing him to flinch. Shiro mumbles an apology, giving Lance a sympathetic look. Lance’s eyes flicker up to Shiro before gluing themselves onto the headstone. He can’t bring himself to say anything, mostly because there’s nothing to be said. Everything that has haunted him has been spoken of already, and they’ve worked through.

Even so, Lance still feels bottled up.

“It’s going to better,” Shiro says.

He knows how Lance feels. They’ve gotten to know each other more since they lost Keith. They talked, they mourned, and they worked together. The others did too, of course. They were all friends with Keith, maybe they weren’t as close to him as Shiro and Lance had been, but they had seen him as family. It’s why they all came together, after a year of fooling themselves into thinking they could handle it.

Keith’s death had hit them harder than any of them could ever anticipate. There’s a hole now, and it hasn’t been replaced because it can’t be. A puzzle piece is missing, and it won’t ever be found.

Lance sighs and kneels down in front of the headstone to place the bouquet of flowers in front of it.

It’s time to head home.

**

It’s another hot day, but he’s sure that it’s hotter than it was yesterday. Then again he thought the same thing yesterday. At least, it was not raining harshly like had been a while ago. That was annoying to deal with.

His feet hurt, he’s sweaty, tired, and his back is even getting sore from carrying the bag over his shoulder for so long. But, he doesn’t stop moving not when he is so close to home.

Keith has been hitchhiking for the longest time now, and he has been putting with some of the wildest shit to get to where he is now.

Vaguely, he recognizes this dirt road, but he can taste home in the mist of coming off of the lake just across from him. Keith knows the way from where he is right now, but home is still ways away. If he’s right, he should just be outside of town.

But, it’s been a long three years.

The gunfire still echoes in his head every now and then, but it never compares to the cold-sweat he wakes up in almost every night. The nightmares have been weakening him emotionally, physically, and mentally. The explosion, the camp, the torment and humiliation, and then finally tasting freedom only to have it tainted with blood.

Besides that, there’s another thing that has been bothering him, even more, the closer he gets to home. He’s not sure if there’s even still one to go back to.

Keith has no idea what the others know or have been told. They might think he’s dead, they might have left, and he might still be alone and lost. If Keith could have contacted the Blade, he would have, but they’re not ones to be open about their presence. They might have disbanded now that the war is over.

Keith’s been shut out of the world and thrown out of the loop. He has no idea what exactly is going on. Not to mention, it’s hard to get help since no one really likes talking to a Galra. People glare at him. Even though he looks more human than Galra – they seem to just know. So, he’s been alone for this long, agonizing journey.

The land around him doesn’t seem to have changed, which is honestly a relief to him. He’s changed so much, so it’s nice to have something familiar and consistent be present.

A sharp pain travels up Keith’s foot, and he stumbles. Cramp. He moves to lean against a nearby tree, pulling his show off to massage his foot and get the muscles to loosen. The throbbing fades after a minute or so, and Keith drops to the ground.

Might as well take a small break. Grabbing the water bottle from his pack, Keith drinks it all in a single gulp. He’ll have to stop in town and get some more. For now, he relaxes against the barky surface of the tree and sighs, eyes closing. The fresh is air is nice, and the shade provides refuge from the heat.

After about five minutes, Keith gets back up, puts his shoes back on, and carries on down the road.

He follows the road around the bend, and he can see the small shapes of houses and building mixed in with the forestry. It’s about a 40-minute walk from the looks of it. The road is in between the shore of the lake and the forest, so it’ll lead him right to the edge of the town. He's not sure if it’s sweat or tears, but he wipes his face clean of it with the back of his hand.

The sound of a truck engine makes Keith instinctually move to the side of the road, out of the vehicles way. It comes up the slope of the road, towards him. He pays it no mind because like most others it won’t be picking him up for a ride. It’s a red pick-up truck, an old rusty one probably on it’s last few legs, and it passes him quickly.

Keith is still walking when he hears the loud screeching of the brakes. He glances back to find that the truck has stopped. The driver door opens, and Keith stops in his tracks.

Shiro.

“Keith!?”

He stumbles out of the truck, and they stare at each other in shock, disbelief. Then Shiro’s running over to him, and Keith barely has the chance to steady himself as they collide. Shiro’s firm arms wrap around Keith tightly. It takes Keith a moment to gather himself, and he tentatively returns the embrace. That’s when he notices the tense trembling of Shiro’s form.

“Stars, please tell me you’re real and that this isn’t some fucked up joke,” Shiro says – begs.

“Shiro…” Keith says. His mouth hangs open as he tries to find the words, but nothing comes to mind. So, he lets his actions speak for him, and he holds Shiro tighter.

“Holy shit…” A familiar voice says. Keith looks over Shiro’s shoulder to see Matt staring at them in shock. Keith can’t help but notice how different the Matt looks. He is missing his glasses, but he eyes are still as wide as ever when he stares in shock. “Keith?”

“Hey, Matt,” Keith says, and gives him a little wave. Unfortunately, Shiro takes that as a signal to move away from Keith. But just as Shiro moves, Matt is instantly there in his place. He pulls Keith into a hug that doesn’t last as long since he pulls away to ogle at Keith’s face.

“You look different,” Matt says. “Dude, where the hell have you been?”

“Um, it’s a long story…” Keith replies, shifting on his feet. He’d rather not relive any of it.

“That’s fine,” Shiro says, hooking his arm around Keith’s shoulders in a mock hug. “What matters is that your alive and here now. You can fill us in some other time. Let’s just get you home; that’s where you were headed, right?”

Keith nods, “Yeah.”

He almost can’t believe it when he’s ushered into the truck. Matt hops into the back, and Shiro returns to the driver’s side. Shiro turns the truck around and heads back down the way they came, towards home.

It almost seems to good to be true. Keith’s going to be home in just a few minutes. He can relax. He should relax. He’s going home.

Home.

This can’t possibly be real. This has to be some dream. Keith’s going to wake up and find himself back in that hell hole. This is probably another twisted mind trick.

But the way Shiro keeps looking over at him, as though he’s making sure he’s still there, makes him feel… reassured. He’s not the only who’s not sure if any of this is real.

Then Shiro reaches over to rest his hand on his shoulder, giving it a little shake that brings him out of his shock.

“It’s good to have you back,” he says. His eyes are glassy, and Keith’s feels a pang of guilt for being the cause. But he’s pretty sure there are some tears in his eyes too, so they’re even.

It’s been way too long.

The ride, thankfully, doesn’t feel long as they pull up to an old, log house in a matter of minutes. He stares up at the house and is almost shocked how it looks the same from the outside as it did when he left three years ago. Something tells him the interior will be different though especially when he notices Hunk outside, chopping firewood.

Hunk used to visit all the time, but he sure never helped with things like chopping firewood. He looks up from his work to give them a confused look, no doubt wondering why they are back so early. Keith see’s Hunk gaze look over to Matt in the back and then look back to the passenger seat. His brows furrow even further.

Shiro moves to get out of the vehicle and Keith takes that as his cue to follow suit. The second he steps out of the truck he makes eye contact with Hunk whose eyes widen in shock. He goes pale and rubs his eyes as though they were playing tricks.

“What. The. Fuck!?” He yells, and Keith winces. Clearly, Hunk has gained quite the potty mouth since he’s been gone. “No. No way.” He’s shaking his head but walks forward to stand right in front of Keith. Suddenly, large hands are holding Keith’s head, moving it around as Hunk checks him over.

“It’s him, Hunk,” Shiro says with a faint hint of amusement in his voice.

“Trust us, we checked,” Matt comments.

“It’s really you?” Hunk asks, ignoring both Shiro and Matt.

“Yes, Hunk, it’s really me,” he huffs. However, that reply seems to snap something in Hunk because in the blink of an eye there are tears in his eyes and then Keith’s pulled into a bone-crushing hug.

“O-oh stars! We all thought you were dead!” Hunk chokes out.

Keith stiffens in Hunk’s hold.

Dead? They were told that he died? That can’t be right. Keith tries to remember the last time he came in contact with his allies. He tries to think of the what happened that gave them that impression that he was gone. The only thing that comes to mind is when he took out the Galra’s weapon by flying one of their crafts into it…

Okay, so that would definitely have them thinking he went down with the plane. But he didn’t. Instead, Keith had jumped out of the plane last minute, parachute in hand, and ended up landing, unarmed and alone, in Galra territory. The second he was spotted by Galra soldiers he was taken to a prisoner of war camp. He doubts that Altea is aware that those camps are still running and holding their lost soldiers.

Hunk’s babbling turns into downright sobbing, so Keith starts to reassuringly rub his back.

“I’m alive, Hunk,” Keith says, “Not dead. But could you loosen your grip a bit? I’m having trouble breathing here, bud.” Thankfully, Hunk’s death grip loosens up. Otherwise, Keith would surely be dead. Death by hugs sounds a lot more pleasant than a fiery explosion.

“What happened, man?” Hunk manages to ask, his sobbing finally turning into little sniffles.

“Long story. I’ll explain later,” Keith answers. He just wants to see everyone. He just wants to relax and feel safe again.

“Okay, but you better not forget,” Hunk says, and he finally moves back out of Keith’s space. “Let’s get you inside. I’ll whip you up something to eat. Seriously, you feel like nothing but a pile of skin and bones right now, and that can’t be healthy.”

Keith lets himself get pulled along by Hunk into the house, and Matt and Shiro follow them. It’s been a while since Keith’s had a home-cooked meal. Most of his food has been consisting of things he could scavenge or buy when he managed to get some spare change. The idea of eating Hunk’s cooking makes his stomach growl.

When they enter the house, he notes that he was right in that fact the interior changed, although not by much. That TV’s new, and he doesn’t remember there being that many books in that antique bookshelf. The house looks more lived in than it had before.

What surprises him the most is that Allura and Pidge are relaxing on the couch, watching some movie that Keith doesn’t recognize. Pidge look back at them as the door closes.

“You guys are back early-” Pidge says, and then, like everyone else, is speechless. Her eyes widen, and her mouth hangs open. Allura looks at Pidge, perplexed, and then looks back at them. Her reaction is more sudden.

“Holy fuck!” Allura vaults over the couch which, honestly, surprises the hell out of Keith. She grabs his shoulders and looks him up and down and then she forces him to spin around because apparently, she needs to look at his back to make sure that he’s real. “What?! How?” She says after she brings him back around to face her.

Hunk and Matt laugh at Allura’s reaction. Look’s like Keith’s not the only shocked by her.

“Long story,” Shiro says for him. “We’ll get it later.” Shiro and Matt sit down on the loveseat, and Hunk heads to the kitchen to make something up for Keith.

“Um, no. I’d like to know right now,” Pidge says from her spot on the couch.

“Pidge,” Shiro gives her a look and Pidge slumps.

“Fine, but I need it in detail,” she says.

Internally, Keith thanks Shiro for cutting in. He’s not sure if he’s ready yet. A lot has happened, and a lot of it he would rather them not know.

“Come on, sit down with us,” Allura says, and she moves to guide him to the sofa. But Keith frowns. Almost everyone’s here, except Coran and Lance.

Where’s Lance?

“Garden,” Pidge says and gives him a knowing look. Oh, he said that out loud.

Keith nods and says, “Okay, thanks.”

He leaves them in the living room, and where they’ll patiently wait. He passes through the kitchen where Hunk gives him a small nod. He lets the drastic changes of the kitchen pass him as he exits through the back door. The lawn has been freshly cut, he notices, as he heads to the fenced up the garden.

As he gets closer, he can the soft humming of a song that helped him fall asleep at night for the longest time. Over the fence, he can just see the to top of a head with shiny brown hair.

He opens the gate and steps into the garden. But then he stops just a few feet behind Lance.

What should he say? ‘Honey, I’m home! And not dead like you thought?’ No, that doesn’t sound like him. Something tells to just call out Lance’s name, but his throat closes-up on him.

Lance doesn’t even notice his presence, completely entrance on picking small weeds. He wonders how much Lance has changed. He wonders if Lance still loves him. A voice hisses, no, he hates you. You left him. He wouldn’t blame Lance for hating him. For wanting nothing to do with him. He’s probably moved on.

Something sparkly on Lance’s finger catches his eye. First, he wonders why Lance isn’t wearing work gloves, but then he remembers that their work gloves always liked to disappear on them. Second, he realizes that that ‘sparkly thing’ on Lance’s finger is.

It’s his ring.

The one he gave Lance on his 20th birthday when he drunkenly thought that Lance was the man he wanted to die for. He still thinks that except he’s sober now rather than drunk. But that’s not the point.

The point is that Lance is still wearing that ring.

He hasn’t given up on him yet.

“Lance,” his voice comes out soft, and quieter than he intended. But Lance hears it anyway, and his movements freeze.

He stays still for a long moment. Not moving, and he doesn’t even appear to be breathing.

“Lance,” Keith says again, louder this time, and he ignores at how it cracks.

Slowly, Lance stands up. He moves like he’s being held at gunpoint, slow and cautious. He turns around and looks at Keith with scared, wide eyes. His eyes are still as blue as ever, but he hates how they look at him.

“Keith,” Lance whispers. He eyes are searching, rapidly moving over Keith’s figure. Keith can only imagine what Lance is thinking, but he’s pretty sure that Lance’s doesn’t believe that he’s here right now.

Keith takes a step forward.

Lance takes a step back.

Keith sighs and stays in his spot. They’re at a standoff. He’s not sure what’ll happen if he tries to push against this barrier between them.

“Lance,” He says again. He gathers all his courage and continues, “I know you were told that I was… dead, but I’m not. I’m really here.”

Lance says nothing.

“I know you that you’re mad at me,” he says, “and I know you probably don’t want anything to do with me right, now. I can leave if you want me too-”

“Don’t!” Lance chokes out. He looks panicked like Keith leaving is the worst thing right now. Frankly, Keith feels the same. He doesn’t want to leave again. “Don’t… Please,” Lance says.

There are tears in his eyes. Oh so desperately does Keith want to wipe them away and hold Lance. He doesn’t even notice that he’s moving forward again.

Lance doesn’t move away from him this time, but he does tense up when Keith cups his face, running his thumb over Lance’s cheekbones. Shaky hands reach up to cover Keith’s, grabbing a hold them and squeezing them tightly.

Lance eyes wide and he meets Keith’s gaze. “Oh, stars. You’re – you’re…!”

“I’m here.”

Instantly, Lance wraps his arms around Keith’s shoulders, bringing him into a tight embrace. That’s when the sobbing starts, and at first, it’s just Lance, but then everything comes crashing down on Keith and finds himself trembling Lance’s arms.

Lance pulls away, only slightly, to presses kisses to Keith tear-stained cheeks.

“You’re home,” he cries. “You’re home.”

With desperation, he kisses Lance. He kisses him until he can’t breathe. It’s been three years without so much as an embrace, and he’s finally safe and sound, in the arms of someone he loves, surrounded by his friends.

Finally, he’s home.

[transitverse]

Eggshells: Chapter 3

WORDS: 3024 CHAPTERS: 3/9 CHARACTERS: Aubrey, Kaveh

Soundtrack: It Follows - Nervus

You end up visiting Aubrey every day. The doctors pose no further problems for the rest of her stay, thank God. It’s still obvious that she hates being there, but you don’t see any more of the sheer panic that overtook her at the prospect of an extended stay. Despite her disdain for the situation, she doesn't ask anything of you beyond your company, even when you offer to pick up food or drinks or things for her to keep her mind occupied. There’s the TV in her room, and her cyberdeck, so you guess that’s enough, but it can’t be pleasant for her, being shut away inside her own head all day.

Unsurprisingly, she's itching to go, the day she's discharged. When you arrive, she's already packed up and waiting, dressed back in the casual wear from her locker. She looks like she wants to take off at top speed down the corridor to the exit, but she doesn't, and definitely couldn't, even if she tried.

"Can I have my ammo back?" she asks the secretary at the desk, as she’s in the midst of signing one of the numerous forms she’s having to swipe through on a screen in front of her.

"Your...?"

"My ammo. The magazines for my guns. They're cybernetic. They took them out when I was anaesthetised. They told me I'd get them back when I was discharged."

"Right. One second." The secretary stands and disappears through a door in the wall behind her. A minute later, she re-emerges and presents Aubrey with two large magazines, which Aubrey takes and quickly slots back into place in her arms via panels that open on the undersides. You didn't realise before how beefy those guns were. They look so unassuming when all you can see are the tips of the barrels in her palms. What would she need something like those for?

You don't have long to ponder the question. The second the last form is signed, Aubrey drops the pen and turns to leave.

Once outside, you lead her to your car and help her into the passenger side before hopping into the driver's seat. She plugs her address into the GPS while you manoeuvre out of the parking lot, and once you’re out onto the main road, leans her head against the window and stares out absently as the world rushes by.

The more time you spend with Aubrey, the more questions you have, and answers are scarce. You didn't learn much about her during her hospital stay; only that she spent most of  her life on bad terms with her family, and that she’s prone to troubled sleep. Everything else you've pieced together from the implications of telling comments, or the process of elimination. You know one thing for certain: at nineteen, she's been through more hardship than some people experience in decades. If this girl needs anything, it's a friendly shoulder to lean on. The least you can do is try to give her that.

“Do you want to stop for anything on the way?” you ask, trying to jumpstart any kind of conversation to break the stifling near-silence filling the car over the quiet hum of the radio.

“...No, I’m good. Thanks.” Aubrey turns to look at you, just for long enough to shake her head, then fixes her attention back on the outside world. There’s a long pause, and then: “Are you sure you can’t just leave me when we get to my place?”

“No,” you answer firmly. “I know you don’t like this, and I know you want to be at home, but that’s not an option right now. I’m sorry.”

Aubrey falls silent again, and remains so for the rest of the ride.

The tower block the GPS leads you to is bland and unassuming, sitting among a row of several identical buildings in an equally bland and unassuming area of town. You ride an elevator that’s seen better days to Aubrey's floor and she jams a card key into the slot to unlock her door.

The tiny studio apartment inside is... a mess. The mattress on the floor with a collection of pillows and blankets heaped on top of it looks more like a nest than a bed. The kitchen is the cleanest part of the room, but judging by what you usually see her eating, you can safely assume that it's because she never actually uses it. There's a coffee table, stacked with empty drink bottles and plastic food packaging. A TV screen sits propped precariously against the wall beside what you assume is the bathroom door. While you’re taking it all in, Aubrey heads for the mountain of junk in the far corner, but you catch her wincing as she kneels to begin rummaging through it.

“Hey. Let me take care of that.” She looks up at you as you stride into the room and stares at you for a moment, then concedes without argument, dragging a battered duffel bag into sight and sitting back.

“Go ahead. But I don’t know where anything is.” She pulls one hand through hair greasy from a lack of washing, and grimaces as she teases out a loose knot. “I don’t even know if I have any clean clothes.” Everything she owns--which doesn't appear to be much--is heaped haphazardly around the room, so confirming or denying that is… well, you’re inclined to assume the negative.

"It’s fine. We can do some laundry when we get to my place." She visibly perks up, like it’s a privilege she’d never even considered, and immediately starts pointing you towards various indistinct piles of clothing.

Under her instruction, you manage to pack what looks like most of her figurative wardrobe into the bag before she decides she's done and ready to head back out. The drive back to your building is quiet and uneventful. You stop at the laundromat next door to get her clothes in the wash, then carry on up to your apartment.

"The bed's already good to go, if you want to make yourself comfortable," you tell her, as she slings her drawstring bag off her shoulder and hangs it on a coat hook; you leave the duffel by the door for later. 

She patters into the hallway and peers around the door into the living room, where you've unfolded the futon and made it as inviting as you can, with a generous pile of pillows and the comfiest blanket you could find. She gingerly takes a seat, then lies back against the pillows, unzipping her hoodie and throwing it off now that you're out of the early-spring chill outside. For the first time since… actually, maybe since you’ve known her, she actually looks relaxed.

"Do you want anything?" you ask, sticking your head in the doorway. "Something to eat? Drink?"

"A drink would be nice."

"Sure. What do you want? Water? I've got OJ, or I can make tea, or coffee…"

"...Water is fine. Thanks."

"Gotcha." You're out to the kitchen and back again in a few short moments, handing off the glass to her. “Is there anything I should know about before I make a start on dinner later? I’m flexible, if there’s things you can’t eat or don’t like.”

Aubrey bites her lip, and takes a slow sip from her water before she speaks.

"I don't… eat a lot of food. The textures gross me out, and I can’t taste any of it, anyway.”

“Wait, what?”

“I don’t taste anything. At all.” You feel like you should have known this by now, even though it’s perfectly reasonable that you didn’t.

“How come?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “I just don’t.”

“Huh. Well, that… sucks.” Is that the right response? God, you hope that’s the right response. “I guess that explains why you’re always eating the same things all the time.”

“Can I just eat what I normally eat?”

“If that’s what you’re comfortable with, sure. Ping me a list of what you like, and I’ll grab something from the store later. The offer’s always on the table, though. Literally, I guess. I don’t mind cooking for the both of us if you want a proper meal. How's your side doing?"

The smile that had been forming on her face fades, and she pauses and stares down into her water before answering.

"It hurts."

"Did you take anything for it?" She shakes her head. "Did they give you anything?" She nods. "Yeah? Where is it?"

"In my bag, on the hook. There’s two bottles. Antibiotics and painkillers." You turn and hone in on the grey bag hanging from one of the pegs in the hallway. There's not much in there. The pill bottles are the first things your hand finds. You skim over the labels as you return to the living room, then pop open the painkillers and shake a couple out into your palm.

"Here you go." You offer them out to Aubrey and set both bottles down on the end table beside the couch. "Is it worse than it was the other day?" She shakes her head as she swallows the pills down with a gulp of water.

"It hurt then, too."

"You told the doctor it didn’t."

“I know.”

“How come?”

That question might have been a bit much. She says nothing.

"You don't have to answer that, if you don't want to."

"Yeah. I don't want to."

"Okay. Do you want anything else?" She shrugs. So, that's a yes. "What are you thinking about?"

"I don't know," she says. And then: "Can we put the radio on? Or the TV? It's all wireless, right?"

"Of course.” You realise what she might be implying half a second later. “Oh, you--you want access. Right." With a few taps at the commlink on your wrist, her deck has access to control the handful of devices around the apartment you deem appropriate, and the TV flares to life almost immediately. This might take some getting used to. You'd be lying if you said it wasn't a bit unsettling.

Aubrey seems satisfied and burrows down into the pillows and under the sheets, setting aside her water. You've seen her training tapes, and you've seen her temper, and they both stand in stark contrast with how placid she looks now, wrapped up in blankets on your couch, of all places. She looks so... small. You're reminded again of just how much she's endured despite her youth. At least she's comfortable now. You feel better, knowing she's not stressed just by being where she is, and knowing nobody else is around to mistreat her in your absence.

"I have some things I need to do," you tell her, deciding it’s time you left her be. She might be comfortable, but she still looks wiped out. "If you need anything, just yell, okay?" Aubrey, now settled on her back, hands on her stomach, and looking more than a little drowsy, gives you a tiny nod in response. Perhaps she'll sleep better here. You can only hope. She deserves some real rest.

(Your comm buzzes once, before she drifts off: it’s her shopping list, and it’s short. You tack it onto the day’s to-do list.)

***

You're busy in the kitchen when Aubrey finally emerges from her nest on the couch, bleary-eyed and bundled up in a blanket.

"Hey." You glance up from chopping vegetables and shoot her a little smile. "How're you feeling?"

"Fine," she answers, padding across the room and peering over your shoulder. "What are you making?"

"Stir fry. Do you want some?" You can feel her hovering behind you, eyeing the pan.

"...No, I’m good. Thanks." She backs away, leaves and re-enters. "Can I refill my water?"

"Sure. First button on the fridge there, if you want it ice cold." You hear her top up, and in your peripheral vision you can see her take a seat at the table, still sporting her blanket. "Oh, your clothes are done, by the way. I went down and ran them through the dryer for you. Everything’s back in your bag."

"Thanks," she mumbles, metal hands clinking against the glass as she takes a drink. "Can I use your shower later? I didn’t get around to it while I was on the med bay."

"Of course, as long as it’s okay for your wound.”

"It's fine. I know how to look after it. I’ve dealt with worse." You pause with your knife mid-chop for a second, and… now that you think about it, yeah, she must have done. You saw the brutal scarring around her shoulders, earlier, where her cybernetics meet what scant little is left of the flesh of her shoulders. It makes the cleanly-stitched bullet wound pale in comparison.

“I picked up your stuff, too,” you continue, resuming your chopping and glad to be able to steer the conversation away from the uncomfortable off-road it was veering towards. “Like, the Soylent and everything. It’s up on the counter, there, if you want to help yourself.”

“Oh. Thanks.” She abandons her blanket and joins you at the countertop, picking through the packets of powder and nutrition bars. “You-- Am I supposed to pay for this?”

“No, no. Don’t worry about it.”

“No, I’ll--I can cover it.”

“You really don’t have to.” You glance up at her. “You have enough to worry about right now.”

“I want to cover it.”

“If you’re sure...”

“I’m sure.” Even as she’s ripping open one of the packets of powder and measuring water out into the beaker you left out for her, the commlink on your wrist lights up, notifying you of the money transfer. It’s almost dead on what you paid. She knows her stuff. The off-white drink she takes back to the table a minute later looks a lot less appetising than the pan full of vegetables you’re dumping a packet of noodles into, but she seems content enough with it.

“So,” you chime in, once you’re sat down and a couple of minutes into what had been an otherwise-silent dinner. “I’m back at work tomorrow, which means you’ll have the place to yourself for most of the day. I’ll… leave a note or something about where the important stuff is, in case you need it, but you’re all set for food, and you’re welcome to pretty much anything in the bathroom, if you want to freshen up.” She just nods. “How’s your side doing?”

“Fine.”

“Still sore?”

She hesitates, making brief eye contact with you, then nods again, slowly, as she stares into the cup she’s drinking from.

“Hey,” you murmur gently. “You don’t have to act all tough. If it hurts, it hurts. Better that you tell someone so we can pick up on it if something’s not right.”

“It’s fine,” she says, again, louder this time, sighing and rubbing at the side of her face. “It hurts, but… it’s fine. It’s not as bad as it was. I can take some more painkillers after I shower.”

“Okay. That’s all I want to know.” Satisfied, you can comfortably resume eating. “I just don’t want you popping a stitch or getting an infection or something.”

“I won’t. Or, I’ll know if something’s really wrong. I’ve had things go wrong before.” You raise an eyebrow. There’s a story--stor ies --behind that comment. It’s too tempting.

“What kinds of things?” You take the plunge and end up regretting it, as she turns her gaze up towards you and stares. Hard. It’s unsettling. You feel like you’re getting a taste of your own medicine; you’re the willowy little nurse being loomed over by a 6’4” security guard, except Aubrey doesn't need the height advantage when she's got guns in her arms.

“I’ve been hurt before. I’ve had surgery.”

“Right. Things go wrong. I get it.” You are suddenly very, very eager to move on from the subject. “Well, just--you know. If you feel off, let me know.”

Aubrey is quiet for the remainder of dinner and disappears into the bathroom once she’s done with her drink and rinsed the cup out. Later, after taking a shower yourself, you walk into the kitchen to find her at the sink, scrubbing away at the dishes.

"What are you doing?"

She locks up and whips her head around to look at you.

"I just thought I'd help, while you're-- I thought--"

"Hey, hey, don't worry about it. This isn't your mess to clean up, especially not right now. Leave the dishes. You deserve a break."

"I've been on a break. I haven't done anything in six days."

"Being on a medical bay for a gunshot wound doesn't count as taking a break," you tell her gently, picking up and offering out a towel for her to dry her hands off. "Don't worry about stuff like this. I've got it. We don't even need to do most of this by hand, anyway. The dishwasher can clean most of it."

Aubrey looks at you, then at the towel, then slowly takes it from you and rubs it over her hands.

"Okay. Sorry."

"Don't be. I appreciate that you want to help out." You give her a little smile. "But you're here to rest, not do chores. You can relax." She looks at you with uncertainty on her face, but it eventually breaks into a smile.

"Thanks."

"Hey, you're welcome. Go on, let me deal with all this." You nudge her back towards the living room, and thankfully, she doesn't flinch at the contact. When you're done tidying up and you go to check in on her, she's already fast asleep. You quietly take up occupation on the other side of the couch, and for a while, the two of you just sit there like that; your attention trained on the TV, her drifting in and out of consciousness. Surprisingly, it's not at all uncomfortable. It's the most at ease you've ever felt with her. That feels like progress.

You call it a night, eventually, leaving Aubrey to put herself to bed when she's ready. You're going to rest easier tonight knowing that she's safe in the room next door.

[littlehouseonthewater]

“She is clothed with strength and dignity, and she laughs without fear of the future.” Proverbs 31:25

I’ve been thinking a lot about this Bible verse this past week.  This past week, I have been surviving.  Temperatures have been in the twenties with wind chill near the teens.  The port turned off the water and pump out stations before the freeze hit last week.  We’ve been rationing our 150 gallons of water and 50 gallon black water tank, praying we didn’t run out or run over until the temperature rises.  Meal planning decisions have been based on how many dishes I’ll need to wash.  Sparing bathroom usage, I’ve been bundling our four children and escorting them to the restrooms more frequently than I’d cheerfully prefer.

Grumble, grumble, grumble….and I was the only one grumbling.  Why couldn’t I embrace this cold front and have fun with it, skipping down the frozen dock alongside my kids choosing to make this into a humorous, memorable adventure? Instead, I wanted to have a pity party, because the wind was blowing and it was so darn cold.  First world problems, I sulked to myself.  Missing the luxuries and comforts of the house we had last year didn’t help my motherly mood, I’m sorry to admit.

I WANT to thrive on this adventure, not just survive.  I know in my head I need to choose a positive attitude and perspective when facing each challenge.  My struggle is genuinely embracing each challenge with a cheerful attitude.  A paradox…if I didn’t grumble or complain through the hard times, wouldn’t I give the impression this is easy and convenient, and not a difficult struggle?  It dawned on me, being pessimistic or reserved is a form of self-protection.  I put my head down just to accomplish and survive the task at hand, not really thriving through the journey, as a way to protect my heart when uncontrollable circumstances get really tough.  Consider it all joy…is difficult…when I’m weary and tired. Matters of the heart is what Jesus is most concerned about, right?

“She is clothed with strength and dignity, and she laughs without fear of the future.”  Being clothed with strength and dignity, I can wrap my head around.  Beauty ultimately shines forth from the heart.  What would it be like to laugh without fear of the future?

I’ve been listening to a lot of podcasts from Beth Moore’s Living Proof Ministries app. One of my favorites so far is her powerful four part series called WaterMarked (https://subsplash.com/livingproofwithbethmoore/messages/li/+rrgpg4h).  Living on the water, Bible stories I know so well which involve boats, wind, or waves, have an intimate connection to my soul.  I’m learning to keep my eyes on Him to be our provider, protector, our ever-present help when we’re in need.  When fear grips my heart and accuses God has forgotten us, I pray and tell him what I’m feeling.  Soon my fear is replaced with peace, and my grumbling and complaining subside.  I give the situation into His hands, over and over again when necessary.  He wouldn’t bring us this far in this incredible adventure to let us drown from cold and lack of water.

Another wonderful series from Beth Moore that has challenged my perspective between barely surviving or successfully thriving, is called The Blessing (https://subsplash.com/livingproofwithbethmoore/messages/li/+p33qxgd).  Her key verses are Ephesians 1:3-14.  I know all too well the pain of not receiving sincerely spoken Blessing from people I longed to receive Blessing from.  I cried as Beth Moore summed up her series by speaking a blessing over her viewers.

“The God of all creation has known me by name since the foundation of the earth.  He has spoken blessing over me.  My life, and every season in it, are redeemed from the pit.  I don’t have to be in bondage to my past any longer.  In Christ, I am justified, sanctified and purified.  I am blessed from the crown of my head to the tip of my toes.  I have been empowered by God to be profoundly effective in my generation.  No devil can have me.  My eternity is sealed in heaven.  God has spoken His name over me.  I am Bountifully Loved, Extravagantly Saved, Supplied, Empowered, Delivered.  I am BLESSED.”          ~Beth Moore from The Blessing TV series https://subsplash.com/livingproofwithbethmoore/messages/li/+p33qxgd

Finding purpose and meaning through winter struggles, I have to keep my eyes on Jesus. He is how I can be “clothed with strength and dignity, and laugh without fear of the future.”  I hope my life and story is a blessing to others, just as reading other women’s blogs are a blessing and inspiration to me!  Hearing how God has been faithful to another is so encouraging, and that’s what I hope to be. 🙂

Today, the sun warmed our boat enough to open doors and windows and let the chilly fresh breeze come in.  The port turned the water on.  Giddily I refilled our tank. I was stretched a lot this week, but I survived it and grew some muscle in how I can thrive next time.

A captivating quote from an Adventures in Odyssey episode (https://www.oaclub.org) captions up my week accurately: “It’s not where you live that makes life exciting, but what you do when you live there that makes life exciting.”

Survive, or thrive?

Blessings,

Jacy

A thin sheet of ice encased our boat.

Keeping our sailing dream alive! Watching sailing vlogs. 🙂

Water!! Refilling our tank!

Snow!

The dividing line between Autumn and Winter Faries in Pixie Hollow. 🙂

Baby, its cold and icy outside!

Feels like 29, blowing 27 mph.

Getting laundry done, staying where its warm.

Joy and Ari are taking a break from math.

Felicity is doing math facts.

Caleb is playing with his cars.

School time.

Play time while mama works.

Getting ready for school.

Ryan hooking up our inverter so we have off shore power.

Ahoy there!

Royal Way at Jetty Island.

Two beautiful bald eagles perched in the trees.

Felicity and Caleb playing in the sand at Jetty Island.

Sunset from my kitchen window.

Blessings! Ya never know what you’ll find! 🙂

Survive To Thrive Through Winter "She is clothed with strength and dignity, and she laughs without fear of the future." Proverbs 31:25…

[childrencryinncoffee-blog]

Alcohol Was Invented by the Gods...for Parents

Today it's finally clicked for me, why there's so many memes and posts dedicated to Moms and their love of wine, or alcohol in general.

I am tired. I am chronically bitchy and irritable and stuck within 4 walls with 5 kids. Their personalities are as wildly varied as their ages; from newborn to teenager and I don't know how to parent each of them individually. You'd think, after being a mother for nearly 14 years, I'd be a veteran, I'd have this shit pat down.

Sure, being a SAHM is one of the toughest jobs a parent can have, and true, it can be rewarding, but at the same time it can be psychologically damaging. The constant arguing, bribing, negotiating, demanding...and that's all AFTER the civil conversations. My issues vary amongst the kiddos too; one refuses to do her chores correctly or just doesn't do them, another half-asses them and I have to go 'round and clean up what they supposedly cleaned and the other 2 just refuse to do their ACTUAL chores in favor of doing the easy things that'll earn them points on their chore chart. My oldest is lazy, which, I wish if I were as lazy as her, I wish I could be as thin as her. My son, though he is INCREDIBLY helpful and always asking me if I need anything; has a habit of forgetting to do things, things that are specifically spelled out in his chore folder. Then the little girls; they throw each other under the bus for playing rather than cleaning and they get distracted by EVERYTHING.

I didn't grow up as spoiled as my kids are. I didn't have Wifi and Social media. I didn't have smartphones, tablets, a DS, a PS4/PS3/PS2/Wii and Rockband equipment. I didn't have huge flatscreens with cartoons and DVR'ed episodes of the shows I loved. It took nearly a decade and a half before I had my own room; I almost always bunked with my little sister who's about 7 years my junior and we clashed all the time. I didn't have a bike, or rollerblades, or all the fun outdoor toys. And I sure as hell didn't have a huge 50x30 sized playroom FULL of hundreds of thousands of dollars of the coolest, most requested toys. I had books and paper to write on and had to ask permission to walk to the local library, where I'd spend hours of my free time.

And all I ask these kids to do is help out and keep their rooms clean. And even with their help; I STILL have a a lot to do daily myself. Laundry, especially the laundry, with 7 people, it's never ending. The bulk of my days are spent loading laundry to wash, starting the dryer, nursing a baby, folding laundry, putting it away, starting another load, drying another and nursing a baby again. And sprinkled in between those hours are dusting, making beds, straightening up, fixing the couch, picking random shit up off the floor, going through the always-present mountain of mail and school paperwork and bills. I wash the dishes and then wash the baby's accessories and by then someone needs to be nursed again. And I'm expected to not only find time to READ a book, but write 2 myself, as well as maintain a blog AND do my school studies? No wonder my blood is at least 50% caffeine.

Maybe having my mother move in would be a good idea, but after a long and thorough conversation with her and Derrick and the kids. Because sometimes her harping on my kids is far more of a hindrance to me than helpful. And I don't want my kids resenting me the way I did my mom for the longest time. But maybe her being here would allow me to focus on school like I should, and she could help me with a few of my chores when I'm busy with the baby--but I wouldn't blur the line between grandma and housekeeper. I hate being treated like a housekeeper, so I wouldn't do that to my mom. And who knows, maybe it'll be easier this time because my sister and her kids aren't here. It was a bitch trying to maintain this house with the three of them here, because she was lazier than Evelyn, didn't pay rent and ate up all my food and towards the end, I easily dropped a hundred or two on packs of cigarettes for her. WTF she was so stressed about beats me, if anything I could've used the $200 worth of cigarettes for my anxiety and stress, let alone poor Derrick who was keep all of us afloat.

But then another part of me worries about having my mom here. I become of two minds when she's around. She's the last parent I have left; after my dad choosing to not be a part of my life and Stephanie dying, so I try to maintain a relationship with my mom, because she's technically all I have left. But when she's here and she's either yelling at my kids or berating them to me; she doesn't recognize the repetitive exhaustion on my face from being tired of hearing the same "you're not a good enough mother and if these were my kids..." speeches. And at the same time, I'm so used to her yelling and berating from my childhood that I either ignore it or I tend to harp along with her to my kids. And I'm both a stressed out 32 year old mother of 5 who can't get her kids to listen, and she's grateful for the help...and then I'm also that 11 year old again, who's trying her hardest to be an Honor Roll student and keep a clean house just to "please" my mother.

Why the fuck do I do that?

And then she has the habit of making it worse by talking on and on about her workouts at Curves and how she's using this new weightloss pill and that weightloss pill and how these WorkIt Wraps are a Godsend and blah, blah, blah. And I'm like TRYING to get my mental and emotional shit in order so I can work on my physical appearance, but to literally have EVERY conversation stream from my kids' inabilities to clean properly to how I need to lose weight since she has, is really fucking damaging to my psyche.

And after I'm stressed out from trying to man my house, do chores, be a dairy-cow for a baby on demand, and try to parent my other 4 kids whom are capable of cleaning and following directions, to being a cook who's responsible for at least 2 meals a day, to dealing with guilt trips from my mom and her not respecting my mental boundaries with my grandfather and her constant pressuring to FORGIVE him so he can see my kids, to her bitching about my kids to me making me feel like a shit mother, to her going on and on about diets and pills and wraps and Curves and then her transition to shit about Keyre and then somehow she's bitching about Robert and the shit he took from her, to me needing to nurse again and swap the laundry again, then arguing with the kids about why their rooms aren't clean and it's 20 minutes till bedtime and showers need to be taken and there's more laundry and I'm counting down the minutes until Derrick gets home, so I can clock out...but then guilt hits and rather than "clock out" I make a drink and I UNLOAD all my stress of the day onto him.

I don't expect him to fix everything; but I married a smart man and damn; all this shit every day makes me hella indecisive and I'm left between a rock and a hard place.

I am struggling at this parenting thing.

I am struggling at this being an adult woman thing.

I am struggling at this being a wife thing.

Now that it's summer, I'm hoping like hell it'll get a bit easier. Done, for now, are the 5am alarms. So no morning madness rushing while sleep-deprived. I can nurse at 4am and go back to bed if Ivy allows me to. Hopefully I can finally tend to the personal goal list I made myself. I want to go to the gym and at least run on the treadmill for 30 minutes a day; listening to music, not newborn screams or little girls fighting over their Troll hairbrush. I'd like some help with the laundry; I don't mind washing and drying, but can someone else at least fold? And I don't mind doing the dishes; if someone else puts them away.

These kids have so many expectations this summer; from trips to the Great Wolf Lodge, Seaworld, the beach and hella activities...and my expectations? A clean house in case company comes over, where I'm not rushing to clean an hour before their expected to arrive and I'm a fucking bloody sweaty mess when they get here and I can't relax. I want time to READ an actual book. And yes, I expect a fucking getaway with my husband this summer, without the kids, because I am with them ALL THE TIME and he works so fucking hard to provide for us that he deserves to PLAY with some of his money, not just WORK all the damn time. 6 to sometimes 7 days a week, sometimes pulling 36 hour shifts, as a driver is fucking deadly for him. I am truly paranoid about it--but he does it to pay for the internet, the food, the electronics, a fresh supply of art and craft shit and so many other things the kids don't fathom.

Today is one of those days; where as soon as Derrick left for work, the baby became inconsolable and nothing I did calmed her down, until 3 hours later, I think she passed out due to exhaustion and screaming. The AC is still broke and it's over a 100 degrees here. I am pouring buckets while sitting here typing this AND I'm sippin' on an icy drink. The girls (ALL of them) haven't cleaned their rooms and I made the mistake of gifting Evelyn back her iPhone yesterday, in agreement that she'd keep her room clean--that worked out gleefully (sarcasm). Maverick is the only one who did his chores without asking AND he asked me if I needed anything else. There's still laundry, even though I've already done 6 loads today. But the garage is like a sauna and I'm trying to avoid it at all costs; but I tore our bed apart, to wash the sheets and blankets in Dreft...so I have to tend to the laundry whether or not I actually want to.

So I get it, moms who enjoy their wine. Except I need something with a higher proof.

But I can't get drunk or even buzzed, because I REFUSE to dip into my freezer stash of breast milk. That is SOLELY for when Derrick and I go away to Costa Rica later this summer and I am NOT fucking up my supply!

So I'm sippin' on my weak ass Mai Tai that's far more juice than rums and I say CHEERS to all the SAHP that are dealing with similar shit, just a different day. We'll figure this out eventually. And hopefully they'll clean up their fire hazard of a bedroom before they actually become fire hazards. Cheers!