#I drew between midnight and 2am

[small-sparkofhope]

Last week, Sweet Anon and Dead Hater Anon broke up on @tulipsempai 's blog. A situation that we silently witnessed. For my part, it was alongside @snickeruwu; where this came out:

Which probably gave us something like this:

[nitrochiralfan]

The Day is Dawning [Tokiakari]

All credit to the transualtion of the novel chapter belongs to memera and their hard work don’t repost without crediting them.

That day it had rained since morning. That’s why for the entire day, the sky had been so dark you could not tell if it was noon or night. Right now the time was 2am. Akira breathed out a sigh as he gazed out the window. Occasionally, a straight line of light from the east flashed through the rain.

Isn’t he kind of late?

As Motomi worked as a journalist, it wasn’t surprising that he often came home after midnight, but today’s case was supposed to be a simple one.

Akira’s eyes darted over and over to the clock hanging on the wall.

So slow.

In this room lighted by only a small lamp, Akira had lost count of how many times he had sighed as he looked at the empty road outside through his own reflection on the window. They had moved here for only a month, but it wouldn’t be long before they moved again.

What’s the next case? Your work seems to be going smoothly.

At first Akira had simply been cluelessly following along, but he had quickly become a proper assistant. It had been years since the happenings in Toshima. It wasn’t always peaceful, but their life had never had any serious problems.

Travelling around with Motomi had been quite exciting and fun.At one point he even thought he could do this forever.However, sometimes the little flickers of doubt would cross his mind.

There’s no such thing as forever. Surely someday, something bad would happen.

Usually Akira could erase those thoughts quickly, but today, he couldn’t even push them away. The thoughts were quickly piling up instead.

I hate this feeling, but what if something bad had really happened?

Unable to suppress the bad feelings, Akira clenched his teeth as he stood in the dark watching the rain fall outside.

It was then that it happened. A faint sound came from the front door. Was it the sound of footsteps? It seemed too uneven and irregular for that. Just as Akira was cautiously approaching the door, an unnatural sound thumped against the door.

“….!”

Akira tensed up. He pinned his eyes at the door instinctively. The door stood in the dimly lit hall way, as the sound of someone shaking the door repeatedly could be heard.

Is it a robber or a thug?

Akira held his breath and watched silently as the door unlocked and slowly opened. Akira concentrated hard, his body ready to pounce.

The silhouette that the dim lights were showing was——

Akira breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that face.

It was Motomi.

Was that unsteady gait because he’s drunk?

Motomi’s brows were furrowed as he tried to call out Akira’s name.

Motomi did not seem to enter the room. His posture was unnatural, and he leaned heavily against the door. A droplet dripped down from his right side. At first Akira had thought it was a raindrop, but as soon as the light in the room hit Motomi, Akira knew he was wrong.

——It was blood.

“Old man…!?”

“Akira… sorry but… could you lend me a hand?”

Motomi’s voice was slow and unconcerned, a tone completely opposite to the severity of the situation. Akira immediately went up and put Motomi’s outstretched arm around his shoulder. The dark orange shirt he wore under his coat had a huge black stain on it. Just that alone drew Akira’s attention to the blood.

Motomi leaned against Akira and they moved slowly, his face frowning and his one eye squeezed shut in pain. Motomi gave a bitter laugh.

“Ow…ouch ouch. They really did me in this time.”

“What in the world happened?”

“Mm, well, you know…”

The talk can wait. Right now the important thing was to tend to these wounds. Carefully supporting this body so much bigger than his, Akira led Motomi to the bedroom.

“Man, I’m beat.”

Motomi breathed out a large puff of smoke from the cigarette he had taken a deep puff from, and fell onto the bed he was leaning on. Akira took out some bandages from the first aid kit and sighed as he closed the lid. They had prepared this kit in case of any injuries on their travels.

The hospital was closed at this hour of night, but thankfully his injuries were not too serious.

Rest for now, we can go see a doctor tomorrow.

Motomi’s right torso had been slashed with a knife.

Akira had since wrapped it in bandages cleanly. Motomi had been bleeding so bad before the bandages, yet now after it was so nicely wrapped up in white, it almost looked like there hadn’t been a wound at all. But one look at the blood-soaked towel used to clean the wounds, and you would know that wasn’t true.

“So?”

“Huh?”

“Don’t ‘huh’ me.”

Akira glared at Motomi, who was lying on the bed acting like there wasn’t a problem. Even without using words, it was obvious Akira had a billion questions he was demanding answers to. Akira haphazardly left the first aid kit on the side table and sat down lightly on the bed.

“Mmm? Well yeah…” Motomi scratched his nose with the hand holding his cigarette and replied lazily, “Maybe it was just a random attacker or somethin’. I dunno.”

——Something must’ve definitely happened, Akira thought.

If Motomi was brushing it off like that, it must’ve been something he found hard to talk about. But that was also why the silence that Akira returned was filled with serious anger. He wasn’t mad that Motomi was pretending to make light of the situation, he was mad that it was something so bad that would make Motomi clamp up in silence. Motomi peaked at Akira, saw his glare, and quickly looked away.

Silence.

Akira held his glare steady, never looking away. The smoke from Motomi’s cigarette filled the space between them.

Motomi emptied his cigarette ashes into an empty can on the side table. Even a movement as light as this, sounded extremely loud in their silence. It was a brief minute, but it felt like an endless moment of tension and nerves.

“Geez, I just don’t know what to do with you.”

Motomi let out a laugh of defeat as he put out his cigarette on the brim of the empty can. His brows were furrowed as he tried to get up.

“Does it hurt?”

“…Sort of. But I’m fine.”

Motomi supported himself up with an elbow on the edge of the bed, and leaned against the wall. He looked straight into Akira’s eyes. “Well, the situation was like this. I was attacked suddenly. There was a back alley, away from the main road. It was dark and narrow. They hit me from the back when I was passing through.”

“Did you see their face?”

“It was too dark and too sudden. I didn’t. …But well my guess is…”

Motomi stopped there, rubbing his chin like he was thinking of something.

“Your guess is…?”

“Nah, it just feels like it was a face I had seen before somewhere. …My guess is it’s someone from Rabbit, maybe.”

“Rabbit…”

——The pharmaceutical company, Rabbit. A big-named company that everyone knew. In reality, it was a coverup for the research institute ENED, that was the cause of all the tragedies in Toshima.

“But why would they do that to you, old man?”

“Well, I can think of a million reasons why. After all, I am a journalist of the truth, ya know?”

Saying that, Motomi shrugged his shoulders in a joking way.

I want to bring to light the truths that were twisted or silenced —— That motto of his was what led Motomi to do this line of work even to this day. Of course, he had also tried to reveal as much as he could about what had happened in Toshima, even though that had put his life at risk. It was also the reason why they never stayed put in one place too long. But because they had never actually gotten seriously injured before, Akira had grown complacent and ignored all the occasional little worries that would appear in his head.

If only we could just keep on living like this peacefully and carefree, he had thought.

But of course…

“Well, this could also be considered a scoop! ‘Employee of a seemingly-good company, attacks a civilian!’ or something like that.”

“Is it really the time to be joking?”

“Mm?”

The words that escaped Akira’s lips sounded calm, but inside he was mad at how Motomi always acted like everything was a joke and nothing was serious to him. Like his wound just now. Even though it wasn’t a deep injury, he had lost a lot of blood.

So much blood.

…Blood…

“…Hey. Akira?”

The sight of Motomi’s bandages was wavering in Akira’s vision.

Motomi was frowning as he peaked at Akira’s face.

Under all that white bandage, was all red. The white hides the red; the color of emptiness. Suddenly, Akira’s anger evaporated and he felt absolutely nothing. He felt separated from his vision and from his consciousness, as if he had gone into someone else’s body. An image appeared, overlapping with what his eyes were actually seeing before him. A world covered in red. A reality that felt so far away. The scene that was flashing before his eyes was not that of the room he was in.

It was dark, and dirty; a scene of Toshima.

“Oi! What’s wrong?!”

Motomi’s voice was far, far away. Akira felt like his consciousness was being swallowed up. A nausea started to bubble up in him. It felt intolerable.

“Akira? Akira!”

When Akira’s eyes opened, the first thing he saw was the beige ceiling, dimly lit by the room lamp.

—— This isn’t Toshima.

When Akira realized this, he slowly let out the breath he had been holding.

Akira had covered his eyes with an arm. When he blocked his sight this way, he could feel his heartbeat was pounding faster than usual. On that same arm, Akira felt something dry and warm touch him.

“…Are you alright?”

When Akira uncovered his eyes, he was looking right into Motomi’s gentle eyes above him.

“…Old man, what about your wound?”

“Idiot. Worry about yourself right now, not me.”

Even though Motomi’s words sounded surprised, it was dipped with concern. Motomi lifted the hand he was holding Akira’s arm with, and touched his forehead.

“You don’t seem to have a fever. How are you feeling?”

“I’m ok.”

“Do you want to eat something?”

“No.”

“But let me guess, you haven’t eaten a thing since morning right? The contents of the fridge and the food stocked up haven’t changed since I left.” Motomi looked so brusque, yet because of his work he had a surprising eye for detail.

Weirdly touched by this thought, Akira shook his head.

Although Akira had always been this way, always having little to no appetite, it was especially so when he was left alone. He just simply did not feel like eating when he was alone, and he often went the whole day without food.

Although he was usually alright without food, today he just felt rather out of it. He was starting to feel like he might have a fever.

“Even if it’s just a bite, you have to eat something. Hang on.”

This time Motomi really sounded teasing. He got up as if to go to the kitchen, but he suddenly stopped in his tracks and turned around, looking surprised.

Confused, Akira followed Motomi’s eyes right down to…

Akira quickly let go of his hand.

Instinctively, he had grabbed Motomi’s shirt. Maybe it was the fever frying his brain, but he himself had not realized what he had done.

——He’s going to tease me…

Although Akira had braced himself, Motomi said nothing, but instead cracked a small smile. He lowered his big hand and patted Akira’s head.

“What’s wrong? Are you worried?”

“…….”

“Well we did have a smooth trip so far.”

Even though Akira did not say a word, Motomi probably knew what he was thinking. Motomi sat back down on the bed. The bed springs bounced lightly. Because he was wearing a shirt, the badges on his torso were not visible.

“Well, anyway, I kinda figured something like that would happen one day. …But really, relax! It’s nothing for you worry about at all!”

His rugged fingertips brushed against Akira’s cheek.

“I said I would bring you with me, even to my grave, right? A man never goes back on his words. Anyway you’re the dangerous one.”

“What the heck does that mean?”

“It means I can’t leave you alone. You’re always so freaking stubborn, yet also surprisingly frail.”

Akira opened his mouth to argue, but he could not find the words, so he averted his eyes instead. He could not disagree. After all, he had just passed out for no reason.

“I won’t die that easily even if I’m killed.” Motomi laughed.

Akira glared at him. “Stop that.”

“Hm?”

“Don’t talk about dying and stuff.”

Motomi might have been trying to be funny, but Akira thought it was extremely unpleasant. It was not something Akira thought one should be joking about. Motomi looked surprised for one second, then he quickly resumed his smile.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

Two thick arms slid around Akira, and carefully pulled him into a huge hug.

Akira instinctively wanted to struggle against it, but his body went limp as it was engulfed in Motomi’s.

I almost forgot he was injured. Better not struggle.

But even if Motomi had not been injured, Akira somehow guessed that he would probably not have struggled either. Akira rested his chin on the strong shoulders before him. Usually at this point, Motomi would be teasing Akira, but instead of doing that, he was quietly and gently patting Akira’s back.

“Ok, how about this. I won’t die. You won’t die either. Until the day you tell us to go and die, we will keep living on for a hundred, no, a thousand years. Yeah?”

“I don’t want to live for that long.”

“Haha, I see.”

Akira could feel Motomi’s warmth from the arm he was resting his cheek on. He was wrapped in Motomi’s smell.

To be honest, Akira was surprised at himself. Despite that bad memory that had flooded his head just as he was about to pass out, Akira suddenly felt like everything was ok now. He felt like he could “exist together” with this memory. But it was just too vivid to think that way. Without losing its color, the pain would slowly but gradually overflow.

But was that alright? Akira thought. No, more like, it is alright. These wounds embedded deeply in him from all that he had lost, Akira had decided to accept and live with them from the day he left Toshima.

And thus, this pain and this fear, they were necessary. He must never forget them. They were the undeniable proof that right now, he was breathing and living.

And right now, he had someone who could share his pain and support him. Just this alone filled Akira with joy.

If Motomi said he was ok, then Akira wanted to accept that and wanted to believe in him.

Akira found it funny and a little strange that he was now able to to think this way. The large hand that was patting Akira’s back, moved up to caress his cheek. The distance between them shortened.

Akira waited for Motomi’s gentle eyes to close, then he too, did the same.

“…nn…”

They touched. Their lips met again and again. Slowly Akira got used to the prodding tongue that carefully pushed into his mouth. Motomi’s rugged fingers treated Akira like he was glass, occasionally a bit rough, but always gentle. These fingers ran through Akira’s hair, clasping. The occasional wet sounds made Akira feel embarrassed, but their intertwining, fluttering tongues quickly made that embarrassment disappear.

“…I can’t get enough of you, seriously.”

The words that Motomi had blurted out in the heat of their kiss lit a fire in the pits of Akira’s belly.

He’s always like that. He always says things that he knew would embarrass Akira. And worse, he always knew the worst time to do it.

“…That’s enough.”

Akira had pushed his arms out, trying to get away, but even his entire resistance was swallowed up in an embrace.

“Let go.”

“Sure, sure.”

“I’m telling you to let go.”

“Well that’s going to be a problem. ‘Cause I’m mad…”

“…Mad about what?”

“This old man. Is mad. About you.”

“…….”

Clearly Akira’s words were not getting into Motomi’s head. He was starting to feel super annoyed, and he let out a loud sigh. As if to scoop up all of Akira’s sighs, Motomi broke into a small smile as he pressed their lips together again.

As Akira slowly gave in, he thought, I don’t exactly hate this.

When did I start to feel comfortable with this feeling of excitement?

When did I start to feel relief whenever Motomi’s hands touched me?

This is how two people shared their feelings and accepted one another.

Since when did I start to realize this?

After a long kiss, Akira felt the springs of the bed on his back. He took in a deep breath.

———

“You know, I’ve always thought this.”

“Thought what?”

“That your cooking is really bad, you know….?”

“……”

Akira pouted and muttered unhappily to himself.

“Well fine, then don’t eat it.” Akira said, as he slammed the table with one hand and stood up.

Who was it that said they were busy so they wanted me to cook?

When they had just come back from the hospital, a work call had come in. Akira had tried to tell Motomi he should rest instead, but it was a major client so Motomi could not refuse. Akira narrowed his eyes at the gentle sunshine coming in from the window. The sky was so clear today that the dark rain from yesterday felt like a lie. Ever since he started living with Motomi, he had tried to do housework. Maybe it was because Akira never had a homely lifestyle before, but no matter how he tried he just could not get better at it.

Especially when it came to food.

Akira had always felt he was ok even if he didn’t eat. Needless to say, he did not care about the taste either.

Motomi raised a brow and seemed to want to say something but he couldn’t decide how to put it.

“Well I mean……, the person who marries you is gonna suffer.”

“Not really. It’s not confirmed that I’ll be the one doing the cooking.”

“Hey you never know. Housework and child raising is too hard for only one party. It’s important to share the workload, you know?”

After swallowing the ‘thing’ on his spoon, Motomi made a weird face. He then pressed his index finger to his wrinkled brow in a deliberate manner. It got on Akira’s nerves the way Motomi was talking him to like he was arguing with a child.

“In the first place, who would I even marry?”

“Hmm, who knows?”

“……”

Hearing that answer, Akira grew increasingly irritated.

When he said they would be together to the grave, didn’t he mean they’d be together till death do us part? Wasn’t it Motomi who said that?

But despite that, it’s not like Akira had ever gave any thought about their relationship or anything like that. It’s not like Akira had ever expected ‘Forever’ or other words like that. He just thought he wanted them to be together, for as long as possible. That was all. However, hearing such words and their vague meaning wasn’t pleasant at all.

Was it ok for the two of them to be together? Or was it actually not ok, but they just kind of ended up together? Such thoughts started to flood Akira’s head. Leaning with one elbow on the table, Motomi looked up at Akira, grinning.

“Ohh what a poor thing! I feel so sorry for the poor person who has to marry you.”

Listening to what was Motomi’s obvious teasing, Akira’s irritation turned into anger.

I was an idiot to think about our relationship so seriously!

“Old man.”

“Hm?”

“Are you done?”

“With what?”

“…Are you DONE—“

With a swoop, Motomi had suddenly stood up and slipped his arm under Akira’s thigh and arm. Akira was so shocked he forgot what he was about to say, letting his guard down. In a scoop, Motomi picked Akira right up.

“……oof, you’re really heavy.”

“Yeah no shit. PUT ME DOWN!”

Motomi grimaced and gave a bitter laugh.

He was injured just yesterday. It wouldn’t be a surprise if doing this was painful. “Ow ow ow. Don’t struggle, it makes my wound hurt more. Well anyway, don’t you think there’s at least one of these poor sobs in the world who would? Huh Akira?”

“…What?”

“I mean if it was me I’d even cook delicious food.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Akira was so busy trying to figure out how to get down that he was not really getting what Motomi was talking about. In fact, Motomi’s words were going in his right ear and exiting right out the left.

Motomi happily squinted at Akira struggling in his arms and the corners of his mouth raised  into a grin.

“In fact, how about we get married right now?”

“!?”

The words were so shocking that it snapped Akira right back into attention. He stared at Motomi’s face.

What the heck was this old man talking about?

…Was my cooking that bad that it had made him go strange?

While these thoughts were racing through Akira’s mind, Motomi’s grin got wider and wider. Akira suddenly got really mad, and ignoring Motomi’s injuries he struggled wildly to get out of Motomi’s grip.

Motomi watched Akira’s reaction but continue going on about how painful his wound was, as he quietly adjusted his balance and tightened his grip so that Akira could not get away.

“Idiot! Let go!”

“Hahaha!”

Motomi’s joyful laughter reverberated from the rampaging Akira under his chin, all the way out the open window, into the bright blue sky.

END

First Publication: Cool-B 2005 vol. 3 / 2005 August 4th

——

The Day is Dawning Explanation

This was a short story published in Cool-B. The theme was Motomi and Akira.

I was trying to write that Akira, who was completely indifferent to the warmth and connection to other people, gradually beginning to realize that it was ‘good thing” after being near Motomi. And once he slowly began to accept it, he would start to try approaching people on his own accord. Akira would also start to worry about how vague the future is, and I think this shows a change in how he thinks now.

I also did not plan for Motomi to say “Let’s get married” at all, but somehow Motomi just ended up saying it (LOL). When it comes to Motomi, he seems to write himself often, just like his “Bring you with me to the grave” words.

I chose this title (Tokiakari) after seeing the dictionary explanation: “As dawn breaks, the eastern sky becomes slightly brighter, or, when it’s raining, the clouds occasionally part, and the sky become brighter”.

—Fuchii Kabura

[octalove]

VI: The Dotted Line

(Batgirl/Red Hood)

Description: Jason extends an offer. Part one, two, three, four, and five.

Note: someone said Batgirl and Jason mission, and i am but a humble servant of the people. also, i almost named this chapter “Carolyn Crawford”. Hope you like❤️

TW: Decription of sex work (barely), very light gore

Being back at Batman’s side was a peculiar thing these days. Soothing and suffocating all at once; like returning home after a long, liberating trip. It felt easy, and safe. I was reminded of the first time he brought me up to a towering building top. I clung to Nightwing like a life preserver.

Once I found my footing, the building tops were the only place I felt safe. The taller the skyscraper, the higher and farther from the grim city that raised me. I wondered what would happen when I outgrew the skyscrapers, too.

November was settling like an icy blanket over Gotham. My breath wreathed around me as my chest heaved from scaling the office building I was settled on, hoping to catch a glimpse of the gray dawn as 2am turned to 3am. I could see Robin’s breath too, as he crouched like a gargoyle on the balls of his feet. Even when I pushed his arm lightly, he glared, but didn’t move. The kid had incredible balance.

“I was beginning to enjoy your absence.” He muttered.

I smiled at him. “Are you kidding? Patrol is boring without me.”

“Patrol is boring without brainless plebeians to subdue. I can make due without you.”

“So you’re saying you don’t consider me a brainless plebeian?” I replied.

His lip twitched. He liked this game. It was the birthplace of many of his preferred insults.

“Closer to a bumbling fawn.”

“I like that one.”

Damian’s disinterest in all things regarding my thoughts and feelings was a good distraction. I’d been using him for the past week since my latest brush with Red Hood. Well, Jason. It was still hard to wrap my mind around.

I knew him. He knew me. I shouldn’t have been worried; he knew nothing about me. Nothing other than who I was, anyway. I wanted to ignore whatever residual feeling was left from fighting him on the docks, and I really wanted to say I hadn’t thought about the last thing he said to me. But in truth, I’d thought of little else. The large gaps of time between our meetings left time for that.

We were looking for him tonight. More specifically, Batman and Nightwing were. Robin and I were sent to the quiet apartment rows of Crest Hill, watching over nothing in particular. Sent to keep us away from the fray. Even Robin knew it. When Batman said we’d be patrolling here, he looked like he could rip the head off a puppy.

“Movement in Coventry.”

“On it. Thanks, Oracle.”

One of the better quirks of Damian Wayne was that in the case he was spurned by his favored allies (Bruce, Dick), he quickly formed new alliances (me, Tim). Bumbling fawn comment aside, I could tell I was in his good graces tonight by utter happenstance and Batman’s shortcomings. I was nothing if not opportunistic.

“We can get to Coventry before they can.” I said quickly, keeping the nervous excitement in my voice to a minimum. He eyed me cautiously.

“Batman may be trying not to take risks, but we can handle a couple of goons. Besides,” I added. “Red Hood will probably be gone by then. He always is.” I was overselling it; Robin was already standing, eyes roving over the city scape in search of the best route to Coventry. I stood with him, then let the free-fall adrenaline send exciting jolts through my stomach as we grappled toward our destination.

I could see him, in my mind. His face on the docks, bathed with the flame of his lighter. Hear his voice, full of purpose and noble fury as he promised revenge. I understood his cause, but didn’t understand him, and that was the mystery that poisoned my mind and stole my ability to sleep. Not Red Hood. Jason Todd.

*

Robin and I perched over a factory compound on the water’s edge, Sprang River’s lower fork rushing by at the end of the factory court. A handful of men moved like ants in the flooding white lights that lit the exterior. The wind distorted the sounds of their voices. Robin must have had the same thought because he moved soundlessly to a lower roof panel, advancing on the building. I followed. One man began shouting.

“I’m going to the Northern pylon.” Robin whispered. Divide and conquer. I wasn’t going to argue. I kept my eyes on his silhouetted form to ensure he didn’t encounter any resistance on his way, then worked by way around the court, hoping I could get a good idea of the place before he reached his vantage point. The sky was lightening, and we were losing time.

Just as I was about to check the lot on the opposite side of the factory, a metal door swung open, scraping against the metal parapet. Red Hood walked out, accompanied by a man in a factory jumpsuit. I couldn’t make out their conversation.

I crept along the high factory railing as they meandered across the court, deep in conversation. I kept it up for around six minutes before his companion departed, heading for the lot.

“Robin,” I whispered into my comms. “There’s a man heading toward the parking lot. Trail him.”

“I see him.”

With Robin in the Southern parking lot a safe distance away, I watched Red Hood slowly pull away from the lights and people, heading toward the darker exhaust plants East of the court. It became a struggle to keep and eye on him and my footing at the same time, but I did it. He stopped at a motorcycle parked behind an electric turbine about a klick from the factory. The sky was a pale gray now, ever-lightening with the dawn, and the shadows were burning away with it. I lowered by self behind an electrical box attached to one of the turbines.

“We’re en route- wait, Robin-“ The comms rang in my ear.

“I gave you a direct order.” Batman growled.

“It was a stupid order.” Robin clipped.

“Where’s Batgirl?”

Red was about to replace his red helm with a motorcycle helmet, but paused. He seemed to stall for a moment, before calling out.

“Come here, little bird.”

I was more annoyed than anything. I was ready to be a step ahead of him for once. But then, I couldn’t resent him for giving me what I wanted. I stood, and took in his empty hands before approaching. He’d leaned against the metal turbine, arms crossed as he regarded me with an unreadable expression.

“They’re here, you know.” I warned.

“Call ‘em, then. I won’t move. I know I’m good, but I’d be outnumbered. Bad odds.”

I scowled. “I’m not gonna do that.” I said it because he already knew it. We both did. He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms.

“You thought about what I said.”

“Of course I did.”

He glanced around, then pulled himself up straight and moved toward me. I took a few steps back, prompting him to flash me his empty hands, raised in surrender.

“Relax, darlin’.” He said. “You don’t need to be afraid of me. I don’t want you to be. I want you to understand.”

“How? How do I understand?” I’d been trying for a month. He pulled a small piece of paper from his jacket pocket, holding it out and letting me take it, keeping a safe, considerate distance. Inside, was a number.

“Come with me. One job. Nice and easy.” He said.

“I’m not killing anyone.” I said sternly, voice dropping.

“I’m not askin’ you to.”

“And I’m not standing by and letting you kill anyone.”

“You drive a hard bargain. Fine. We’ll do it clean.” I didn’t even know if I believed him. But I was tired of trying to understand him from a safe, considerate distance.

“We’re almost at location. Four minutes.” Nightwing’s voice almost made me jump. I lifted my eyes.

“You need to go.”

He was already turning on his heel.

*

It was two days before I texted him. I got a glorious three hours of sleep over the course of them, and I kept running down either respective fork in my road before turning around and running back. In the end, I subsided to the fact that I was raised by two business-women, and Jason’s offer was at worst an opportunity. If it all went to shit, and he tried to kill me, I’d at least have some information to present to Bruce, notwithstanding the lifetime of punishment that would get me.

Our rendezvous point was in Lower Gotham Proper. By the time I got there, it was midnight, and a rolling mist had blown in from the harbor, mixing with the smog that hugged the streets and making it nearly unsafe to drive. I silently hoped Batman and Robin were okay.

As I worked my way down a narrow street, the moisture in the air was choking; causing the fabric of my pants and jacket to cling to my skin. I’d almost prefer rain to the way the mist stood still, forcing me to muddle through it. It was dark. The lights and signs on surrounding buildings didn’t seem to be able to preserve through the fog.

I saw a figure pressed against a building that looked tall enough to be Jason. As I approached, we regarded each other’s forms apprehensively. When he tilted his head, I knew it was him. I drew close.

“Jesus.” I mumbled. “Could you have picked a spookier place?”

“Don’t tell me you scare easy.” He said through a cigarette. His helmet was in his hand, but it could’ve easily been mistaken for a motorcycle helmet. The whole get-up was kind of biker-esque. I didn’t answer. Just glanced around.

“Come on.” He said. “It’s not far.”

As we began walking, it struck me how much more relieved I felt to hear his footsteps alongside my own. I was capable; willing and able to fight just about anyone Gotham could conjure up. But still, walking with him was comforting. Like I had someone to watch my back.

We even eased into a bit of conversation. Small things- things we agreed upon. Rich society, and Gotham’s war on the poor. Politicians we wouldn’t mind going missing. If you had showed me his picture next his crime scenes, I wouldn’t have pinned him.

Jason wasn’t unpleasant; it was just that his disposition was highly aloof and somewhat irritable. He had rich bronze skin, and full lips that I was sure made for a charming smile when he decided to do so (not a grin, a smile). The composition of his face was very sharp and neatly symmetrical, but still held some gaunt exhaustion, revealed by the constant tense of his jaw. His attentive dark eyes were almost always narrowed in some fashion of distaste. He never once looked at peace.

It seemed to me that he was disinterested in most anything having to do with my life, other than that he wanted me with him. His entire being was an oxymoron; a juxtaposition of unexpectedly soft and startlingly sharp and there wasn’t a way to tell which it would be.

Finally, we approached a small, industrial building with a neon sign of red, blue, and green.

The Lion’s Den

Burlesque and Drag

I raised my eyebrows. A bit on the nose if you asked me. If the name didn’t give it away, the posters and marquees adorning the brick exterior did.

“We need to talk to someone here before we go.” Jason said, pulling on his helmet, and unzipping his brown leather jacket to showcase the bat.

“Lead on.” I said, pulling up my own mask.

The music was so loud, I could barely hear myself think. The led lights lining the ceiling were cycling warm colors; red, pink, orange, yellow, the glow burning through the smokescreen that was nearly as thick as the mist outside.

Women were dancing, in lace or topless, spinning on poles and otherwise moving gracefully to the heartbeat of the place. But that wasn’t the main event- a stage lit with marquee lights, the centerpiece of which was a table, where three women sat. Their outfits were something out of Marie Antoinette’s personal wardrobe. And that’s where Red Hood was headed.

We walked up onto the stage, and while it all sort of mingled with the dim neon in the rest of the building, I still felt oddly seen. I placed myself behind Red Hood, inserted between him and one of the women. They appeared to be playing cards.

“Well, well.” Said one of the queens, with blonde hair curled and blown out like something out of the 70’s. Her exaggerated, colorful makeup was a work of art- Picasso, perhaps. “Gonna stick around for the show this time, sugar?”

Red sat down, leaning so that his arm rested along the back of the chair, lights glinting off his helm. His relaxed composure made me nervous- but perhaps it was the lack of information.

“Not this time, Trixy.” He answered.

“Pity,” Said the broad redhead beside me, her voice a low, soothing timber. “You neva’ do.”

“Don’t be rude, Sasha.” The third woman scolded, throwing down an Ace of Spades, to the visible dismay of the others. “He’s a busy man.”

“Who’s your friend?” Trixy asked.

I glanced at Red Hood before answering. “Just a little bird.”

“How delightful. Let’s get down to the nitty gritty, shall we?” Trixy said. “Did Dominique get the message to ya?”

“Refresh my memory.” Red Hood said- for my sake, I’m sure.

“Bout a week ago, a bunch of girls from the Row went missin’. Ain’t unusual,” Trixy said darkly, “Most don’t got no family or nothin’. Just us lookin’ out for ‘em. When we run outta beds here, that’s when they go missin’. But it’s different this time. Buncha girls all at once- including one ‘a the queens.”

“Tiffany Spice.” Sasha said, a solemn look on her face. “She was just comin’ into herself. Lord, I’d be devastated if somethin’ happened.”

“Some a’ the row girls been talkin’ about this real shifty fella- Baron Haus. New guy. Used to pimp out girls from the Narrows.”

“And the girls disappeared when he showed up.” I said quietly.

“Bingo.”

“How many?” Red asked.

“About eight, Tiffany included.”

“And you know where he was working from?” I inquired.

“Sha’ do. China Town. Club there called the Moonlight.”

Red Hood nodded. “Anything else me and my little bird should know?”

Trixy thought for a moment. “Baron’s got some friends in GCPD. Had some uncles in the force, or somethin’ of that nature. He’ll be missed. More dead.” She spit the term bitterly.

“They always are.” He responded, getting up from his chair.

“And Hoodie, sugar!” She called after us. “You’re a doll for this.” He didn’t reply. As we worked our way back toward the front, he spoke quietly.

“I thought it’d be better if you met ‘em yourself. Always makes it more personal.”

Batman never did that.

“Do you always make it personal?” I asked.

“It’s not fun if it isn’t.”

The freezing moisture in the air bit fiercely as we pushed open the metal screen door.

“Right.” I said. “So, the Moonlight. How are we getting there?”

“How do you think?” He said, stopping short of a rusted yellow fire escape on the side of the building. He surveyed it, then looked at me.

“Race ya.”

With surprising speed and grace, he scaled the fire escape, no sound in his wake.

“Oh, it’s on.” I fired, rushing to the bars and climbing like they were monkey bars. He disappeared over the edge of the roof, and as I made my way up, I saw him several years away, already conquering another building. I raced toward him, leaping over exhaust pipes until we were high above the fog. The city below looked like an illuminated ocean, twinkling lights just below a pillowy white surface.

I felt like a child again, overwhelmed, nearly brought to giddiness with excitement. Was this how Bruce felt, scaling rooftops with Catwoman? The small, but sure thrill of consorting with the bad guy- knowing that they were consorting with you in return?

I wasn’t a sidekick. There was no line to fall into. No predecessors, no successors, no beginning and no end. I moved like Batgirl across the shingles and concrete and metal scaffolding, but I was weightless without the Bat legacy on my chest. There was something deeply, shamefully freeing about that.

*

We were greeted differently in the Moonlight; a stark contrast to the warm welcome by the queens in the Lion’s Den. It was set up more like a smoky, refined gentlemen’s club. We drew attention from every walk of life inhabiting the bar- men in suits, women in silk, and slimy looking characters that grated offensively against the debonair theme.

Most leered for a moment, then cast their eyes away, like they’d seen something they shouldn’t have. Maybe you could consider Red Hood one of those such things.

“Mr. Hood!” There came a voice, cutting above the orchestral music- Nessun Dorma, if my musical sensibilities were still honed from my piano lesson days. “Welcome, welcome. I can only hope,” The man gave gritting smile, wound tight with visible anxiety. “That you’re here on peaceful business tonight.” He cast his nervous, monolid eyes to me. He was handsome, no older than thirty and wore a tight black vest. I didn’t let my body language give anything away; frankly, I was as in the dark as he was.

“Oh, you know me, Baron Jun,” Red Hood drawled, slowing to a halt at the bar, and leaning on it. “I don’t decide whether things stay peaceful or not. That depends on you.” I stayed standing, near his back, studying the security. Two lumbering men at the entrance, one behind Baron Jun. I wouldn’t put it past curvaceous bartender in red to have a gun, too.

“Lookin’ for Baron Haus. I heard a little rumor he works outta this quaint establishment now.”

When I’d considered the Red Hood’s contacts before, I pictured something like Batman’s relationship with Commissioner Gordon- figuring he had to have some corrupt cops or lowlife sleuths packing him with all his vast information. I never would have guessed it would be three drag queens playing cards.

A conflict passed over Baron Jun’s face, seconds long. “You… heard correctly. Word does seem to travel fast.”

“I need to pay him a visit. Remind him about some of my rules.” He admonished. It was a dripping warning, like the salivating jaws of an animal, teeth bared and pointed.

Baron Jun swallowed. “I see. Well, he um- he’s not actually here, at the moment. Maybe I can tell him you dropped b-“

“You know, Jun,” Red continued, ignoring him. “I got this really funny feeling you know what rules I’m talkin’ about.”

The look on his face was something to behold. I’d seen fear, briefly, on the faces of criminals before I subdued them and went on my way. But this was different. Fear induced by nothing but a conversation. Call it hive-mind, a power trip perhaps, but I felt this pesky sense of camaraderie that prompted me to take a few steps forward, shoulder to shoulder with Red Hood. Who was this vile little shitstain who made his living off men getting laid to play games with us? I thought about eight women, scared and abused. It was Baron Jun’s fault. Baron Haus’ fault. Everyone in this stupid bar, decorated to the taste of the men who abused them.

Baron Jun’s eyes dashed back and forth. Deny or ask forgiveness? I could see him running down those cross roads.

“He… he’s been running some shit I didn’t know about until last night. I swear I didn’t fuckin’ know.” He broke at last.

“Where are they?” I piped up.

“Who the fuck are-“ He was cut off with a bang and a scream as Red shot his knee. I was startled by the noise, but no one seemed to notice. It rang in my ear.

Give a girl a warning next time.

“Be. Fucking. Polite.” Red snapped, now advancing on the Baron. Only one of the three security guards decided it was worth the risk and stepped forward. Electric with the building energy of the whole night, I bolted forward and swung my fist into his throat. He made a choked noise and stumbled to the ground.

“Answer the question, Jun.” Red continued, this time in a taunting, sing-song tone.

“Oh, fuck,” Jun whimpered, cradling his knee. “Jesus- you- you shot me.”

“Always were a sharp one. I got a couple more bullets, and you’ve got another knee. So why don’t you sing before I get really impatient.”

“Christ.. they- they’re in the back. R-room fourteen.” His breath was labored with pain. I didn’t feel bad. Trusting that Red would handle the front and keep his promise of not killing anyone, I went to the back hallway, counting the doorways before reaching room 14. I made short work of the lock.

Some scuffling noises could be heard from the front room- but no further gunfire. I opened the door to reveal a velvet lounge, with red settees and satin curtains, along with fearful eyes looking back at me. I counted eight heads, including Tiffany Spice, who’d since abandoned his wig and gaudy attire. His make-up was streaked with long-dried tears.

“Tiffany Spice?” I asked, subservient to standard protocol despite my evening of rebellion.

“What’s going on out there?”

“Trixy sent us. You’re safe now.”

“Are the Barons gone?”

“They’re being dealt with.” I answered.

After finding them, the rest fell into place quickly. Red had indulged in some property destruction, and Baron Jun now reckoned with what appeared to be a shattered hand and some extra facial bruising.

I nodded briskly to Red and he, in turn, nodded to the bartender, who ushered the girls around.

Before departure, he knelt down in front of the Baron.

“You’re alive,” He said lowly. “Cause I’m doin’ someone a favor. If someone breaks the rules again,” He reached over and patted Jun’s pained face. “You be a good boy and come right to me. Okay?” Jun didn’t respond, nor take his bloodshot eyes off of his mangled hand, but Red straightened anyway and ushered me to the door.

Outside, we withdrew safely and quietly to a rooftop.

“Why did we leave them?” I asked.

“Trixy’s not my only contact. The bartender’s mine. She’ll get ‘em where they need to be.”

A beat.

“You knew Baron Haus wasn’t gonna be there.” I said quietly.

“Yeah.”

“That’s the only reason you promised me you wouldn’t kill anyone.”

Hesitation. “Yeah, it is.”

“Are you gonna track him down?” I asked. He didn’t answer. “Seriously.” I tried again. He sighed, then looked at me. I was seeing his eyes clearly for maybe the first time all night. It was sobering, and he held my gaze.

“Yes. Yes, I’m going to kill him.” He said firmly. I looked away.

“He’s got a track record.” He explained. “Does shit like this, gets caught, and then uses his friends in blue to get a lighter sentence. Three months, maybe. Then, he’s back. I’m not the first one to catch him. But I promise you, I’ll be the fuckin’ last.” His vitriol was oil on concrete, and I decided it was better not to light any matches. The rest of the walk was quiet, neither of us making the catalytic initiative to part ways, coming down from the adrenaline the way we’d built it; in each other’s uncertain company.

*

We settled on top of St. Luke’s Hospital, towering defiantly amidst the smaller, crowded inner city neighborhoods below. It was 4am, but I wasn’t tired. Quite the opposite; I was awash with energy, by grace of the night’s feat and the biting cold. Jason had pulled his helmet off, and was leaning against the steel exhaust pipe, myself nestled at his side.

“I have another place I need to go. Three days- Mafia business in Little Italy.” He said.

“And you want me to come?” I asked. He tipped his head.

“What can I say, doll? You’re good at this.”

I looked over the city, brow furrowing.

“Unless,” He added in a low voice, wry and challenging. “You think it’s wrong. I am the bad guy, aren’t I?”

I didn’t look at him, because I knew he was wearing a darkly arrogant expression, and I didn’t want to see it. No, there was nothing wrong about what we did tonight. Even if there was; I’d do it all again for the relief on Tiffany’s tear-streaked face.

“I’ll go.” I said. “But you have to tell me something. Honestly.” I said firmly, bringing my eyes to meet his. He cocked an eyebrow.

“Ask away.”

“Why me? Why don’t you hate me like you hate them?” Them. My family. Our family. Hate seemed a harsh word, but only after I supplied it, was I reminded of its truth. Jason studied me for a few agonizing moments, allowing only the sound of wind and distant, crying sirens.

“Carolyn Crawford.” He finally said.

“What?”

Carolyn Crawford.

I’d forgotten all about her. My life was sort of divided by this giant, barbed wire fence between before adoption and after adoption. Evidently, my brain decided that anything before adoption would be better of folded up, sealed with wax, and filed away. Traumatic memory suppression, the shrink Bruce sent me to called it- even though the only traumatic thing was the night my parents died, not everything that came before.

Nonetheless, Carolyn Crawford was somebody I hadn’t given any particular thought to in a long time. She was a woman of forty (at the time I was thirteen), and she had that snooty, Diamond District disposition that you only find in women who marry into wealth, but aren’t born with it. She was beautiful; pale skin, thin, with an air of 1950’s suave, accentuated by the auburn bob of artificial curls she always wore. Her husband was an investor in Wayne Enterprises, and she was sleeping with Bruce.

I had no reason to know, or care about this. But Jason did. When he found out, he was uncharacteristically devastated. I could imagine, in retrospect, that when you’re a boy of fifteen and you find out the man who adopted you- a man who was a holyfigure in your eyes, the good guy- was sleeping with a married woman ten years his senior, you may experience a bit of devastation. He had something, some virtuous perception of Bruce, ripped away from him, and he was given a concept that his father, too, had vices. His one vice; women.

Jason was angry. He wanted the world’s perception of Bruce to crumble alongside his own, and so he took all the valor in his teenage body and enacted his own justice.

An anonymous email was sent to just about every company partner or investor, including Carolyn’s husband, and my parents, disclosing a picture of Bruce in some secluded room at a gala, with his arm around Carolyn’s waist, leaning intimately into her ear. She had a wry smile on her face. Above the photo was a single tag line.

“Carolyn Crawford is fucking Bruce Wayne.”

My parents gossiped about the email, of course, when they thought I wasn’t leaning against the office door. But that was all I ever knew about it. Apparently Carolyn’s husband didn’t divorce her, but he did cut her off financially, which may as well have been the same loss.

That was all I heard of it, up until a charity event on a particularly cold January night. The January before Jason’s death. I was waltzing around as per usual, a cup of punch in my hand. Waiting for the clock to tick its way to eleven o’clock- when I knew my mothers would want to depart so they could get up for work the next morning. The music was lovely; fluttering strings.

“You!” It was a harsh sound, like a shrieking banshee, or the whining note of a violin when all the bow hairs are frayed.

Carolyn Crawford was marching right toward Jason, fury on her beautiful face. I didn’t catch the beginning of the conversation as I tried to make my way through the bodies, of which a few were also alarmed by the sound.

“...you’re the only one who could’ve done it, you little- don’t lie to me!”

Jason was defiant there, with his arms crossed and his lip slightly raised, but I could tell by the nervous look in his eye that she was pointing her bony finger at the right suspect. I’m certain it was Bruce who figured it out.

“What the hell are you talking about, lady?” He said.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. I know you sent that email. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“You’re outta your mind.”

“You’re going to regret this, I promise. I’m going to make sure that this follows you-“

“He didn’t send the email!” I said, pushing past a man who was eagerly watching, like it was the best thing he’d seen all night. I’m not even sure what possessed me to offer up the statement- maybe the way she was throwing her venom in his face and jabbing her finger at his chest.

“I did it.” I said. I didn’t look at Jason, but from the corner of my eye, I could see his mouth fall open. Carolyn Crawford turned on me.

“What?”

“I sent the email.” I said. We’d drawn more observers now, a small, hushed crowd of people too polite to intervene, but too curious to look away.

“Who the hell are you? And why would you do that?” Up close, I could see that she looked like she hadn’t slept. Other little things too; a pearl out place, stray hairs. She’d probably been through hell since Jason sent that email.

I leveled my gaze on her. “You really need to ask? What kind of wife-“

Slap.

Her open palm swung across my cheek so hard that I nearly stumbled into a donation table. There was a pressure in my ear, and then a stinging sensation. I put my hand to my cheek, and when I looked back up at her, she was eyeing the shocked crowd. Then, she turned, and walked briskly toward the exit, heels clicking on the marble.

Everyone stood there, looking at me. I flushed, shrinking under the weight of their eyes, feeling like an animal in a zoo. My mothers were nowhere to be found, and neither was Bruce.

In a swift movement, Jason grabbed my hand, shooting angry glares like daggers toward anyone who was looking, and ushered me into a secluded corner.

“Why did you do that? What the hell is wrong with you?” He whispered frantically, obviously battling whether he should touch my face or not. He decided not.

I gave him an insulted look. “I was helping you, jackass!”

“Well, you didn’t help!” He said, before adding, more exasperatedly. “You just got hurt.”

I shrugged, taking my hand off my cheek, probably to show him some modicum of strength, or defiance. “It’s not that bad.”

It was that bad. It was the first time I had ever been hit, by anybody. I actually wanted to cry. But I was dedicated to my tough girl role, so I didn’t.

“I’m sorry.” He said, surprising me with the fearful apologeticism in his voice. “I’m really sorry- you shouldn’t have done that. I should’ve said something. I just fuckin’ stood there like-“

“Hey! It’s okay. I did it because I wanted to. Besides, it really doesn’t matter who did what. She’s just mad she ruined her own marriage.”

He shook his head and slunk down beside me on the cold marble. The AC was offensively imposing for the middle of January, and I hugged my knees to my chest as we watched the guests disperse, dragging back the events of the night to gossip about later, like foxes carry prized rabbits.

*

“Carolyn Crawford?” I repeated. “That’s what this is about?”

Jason gave me a wiry look, a lopsided smile, then threw his head back and laughed, contagiously so. I let out a disbelieving chuckle.

“I mean,” He added, “Not all of it. A little.” There was residual laughter in his tone, and it made me want to lean into him.

“A ‘little’. Okay. Should I be getting in touch with Carolyn Crawford and thanking her for rekindling this little partnership?”

“Yeah.” He said. “Send her an email.”

I laughed again. “Seriously, Jason, what the fuck are you talking about?”

His grin lingered, and his eyes fell over the city. I could see the gears turning as he considered his response. Then he just shrugged.

“You covered for me.”

“Yeah.”

“And...” He leaned back, not taking his eyes from the sprawling lights. “Somethin’ tells me you still are.”

I looked at him for a while, trying to wait him out and make him elaborate. But he didn’t. I resigned with a sigh.

“Yeah, well.” I mumbled. “Carolyn Crawford was a giant bitch.” His lips fought a losing battle against another smile.

“Personally, I’m still a little impressed she had the gall to slap you.”

“Haha. Hey- did you actually take that picture?”

He shook his head, hesitating before adding. “Dick did.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious.” He chuckled.

“So I took the fall for both of you.”

“Yeah, you did, Princess.”

He had this familiar, juvenile grin stuck to his face. And for the first time in a long, long time, he was Jason Todd.

[emergenciesstory]

Marriage Interrupted

Writing prompt: “Where’s Marcus?” “You mean the guy you sent to kill me? At the bottom of a river.” “Ouch. Those cost quite a pretty penny. Please be more considerate of my money next time I send an assassin.” 

SSB: Vacation Ruined

Steve x Reader

“I have to go in.” Steve’s voice grumbled in your ear. You sighed, rolling over to face him in bed. The light from sunrise trickled into your loft as you opened your eyes. You curled yourself around Steve, a hum of discontent leaving your lips. 

“You could say you're sick.” You mused teasingly. “You did miss your run this morning.”

“After last night’s workout, I think I deserved a morning off.” Steve rubbed your noses together before kissing you softly. His pager beeped again, a special beep reserved for mission briefings. 

“Go. I’ll still be here whenever you get back.” You released your hold on him, rolling to your back. 

“One week.” Steve kissed your forehead as he flipped the covers off.

“Whatever you say.” You laughed, watching as he ventured to your closet. “If it looks like you’ll be late, let me know. I need 24 hours for Pepper to make the arrangements.”

“Yes ma’am, Mrs. Rogers.” Steve smiled, buttoning his shirt.

“Come home in one piece Mr. Rogers.” You teased before flopping back into the warm covers. “I’d like to marry someone alive.”

________

“She’s not a part of this life, you know? And after we get married, she will be in danger.” Steve said softly. 

“And she will have us and Shield protecting her. She’s one of us.” Nat said, looking over at Steve. 

“Yeah. I mean, Pepper wasn’t a part of all this, and she and Morgan are doing amazing.” Tony chimed in from his spot at the controls. 

Steve sighed, nodding his head. They were right, of course, but he didn’t want you wrapped up in it all. You were normal, you could walk down the street without risking your life or having to look over your shoulder. You weren’t as nervous about it as Steve, but something ticked in the back of his mind.

______

“We should be home tomorrow.” Steves voice came across the phone a week and a half later. You smiled thinking of the look of apologies on his face.

“Okay. I’ll tell Pepper Saturday?” you went to the fridge and wrote it on the board. “Friday we can go out with our respective friend groups and I’ll see you at the end of the aisle in the morning.”

“Sounds good. I miss you.”

“Then hurry back.” You mused. “See you after debrief.” 

Steve hung up, dorky smile on his face. Tomorrow, it wasn’t a lie. It would be after midnight when they landed. 2am, you’d be his. He already had someone from shield go pick up your favorite flowers before the store closed.

____________

Steve walked through the gardens towards your door. The lights were still on, the balcony doors open to the cool spring evening. Steve heard your laugh and slowed his walk, peering curiously up. A male voice drifted through the air, impossible to make out your conversation to the normal ear. 

Steve stopped, leaning on the wall under your balcony, listening. 

“By the way, Where’s Marcus?” The voice asked curiously.

“You mean the guy you sent to kill me? At the bottom of a river.” You chimed out casually.

“Ouch. Those cost quite a pretty penny. Please be more considerate of my money next time I send an assassin.” The man mused. Steve tried to process what he was hearing, were you in distress? Your laugh floated out again.

“Send a better one next time.” Two glasses clinked. Not distress, comradery? Steve didn’t know what he was hearing.

“The plan is in place.” The man said under his breath.

“By this time next week, it will be done..” 

“Are you sure I can’t convince you otherwise?” The man said. Steve didn’t hear you respond, just a momentary quiet before the soft voice broke the quiet. “Till I see you again, may it be in a body bag.” 

“And you with a gun to your head.” Your voice was reserved, but Steve couldn’t tell if it was from anger or sarcasm. He heard the door open, sliding around the building as to not be seen. 

Steve listened as the man came down the steps, moving to be able to see him, but he had vanished without walking through the gardens. Looking down at the flowers in his hand, he was torn. Who was this man? More importantly, who was the woman he was going to marry? Steve mulled over his options, still listening as he heard you move around the apartment. When the lights clicked out, he took a breath and moved up to the door, knocking softly. He heard you shuffle across the apartment, clicking the lock open on the door.

“Steve?” you said softly, taking him in.

“I’m home baby.” He said with a smile, taking the flowers out from behind his back. You wrapped your arms around him, capturing his lips with your own. Steve picked you up, walking back into your loft. When he released you, you took the flowers and went to the sink, filling a vase. Steve looked around, no sign anyone had been there just an hour prior. 

“I didn’t expect you till morning.” You said softly.

“I wanted to surprise you.” He smiled, looking you up and down. Your cardigan was open, your sleep shorts and tank top barely disheveled, showing you just put them on. 

“You did. Bed?” You smiled sweetly, holding out your hand.

“With you? Always.” 

_____________

Steve’s phone rang from the bedside table, killing the happy mood.

“It’s our honeymoon.” He grumbled, resting his forehead on yours from where he hovered above you.

“Just answer it before you get in trouble. Avengers don’t get honeymoons.” You kissed his cheek, giggling as his scruff tickled your face.

“Go for Steve.” He said into the phone, looking down at you as his fingers danced across your bare skin.

“I’ll get right to the point. We have reason to believe the infamous Mob boss, Lucas Giavanno, is linked to HYDRA. And he’s there,” Maria said. “He’s notorious for working in the city, so we need to act fast before he finds out we know.” 

Steve’s face dropped, him getting concerningly still.

“The team is 5 minutes out, and they need your help.” Maria’s voice said softly. “I’m sorry.”

Steve threw the phone down harshly. “There’s a threat. Here in the resort.” He said coldly, moving off you quickly.

“Okay. I have that appointment anyways.” you said softly, reaching down to grab his t-shirt from where it was discarded on the floor and slipping it on. You moved behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist. 

“This was supposed to be a vacation!” Steve said harshly, clearly frustrated but trying not to let it show. “Nothing but you and me, relaxing, enjoying two weeks without the world interfering.” 

“And it still is, I’m sure we can extend our stay.” You murmured, placing soft kisses on his back. “Hey, look at me.” 

Steve turned slowly in your arms, tension still in his shoulders.

“It’s ruined now.” He said softly, defeated.

“Nothings ruined, go, be back in time for dinner reservations this evening. They can have you for a few hours.” You kissed him softly. “Maybe they can join us and celebrate.”

“Okay.” Steve sighed.

“Okay.” You tapped him on the ass as you let go. “I’ll see if I can extend our stay, on Tony’s dime. See you at dinner.”

_______

“Ah, right on time! Come in, come in. I have something for you.” You smiled as the warm voice filled the hall.

“You shouldn’t have.” You smiled, giving him a hug. 

“It’s a wedding gift, I definitely should have.” The man said with a smile, pouring some wine. “How is your vacation?”

“It's great dad, but really, you didn’t need to come out here. I know you were busy.” You sassed.

“Never too busy for you. Besides, I heard from your brother you killed his hitman?” You father looked at you pointedly, passing you a glass.

“He should know better. It takes more than a subpar hitman to take me out.” You laughed.

“Keeping you sharp. Are you sure you don’t wish to take part in our empire?” Your father gestured towards the guards at the door, a conversation you had many times over.

Before you could answer, a scuffle outside the suite drew your attention to the door.

“Get in the office.” Your father commanded, moving around the room to sit facing the door. You rolled your eyes at the dramatics but did as he asked, nonetheless. 

You waited silently, listening as the scuffle got closer to the room you were previously sitting in. You heard the door bust open, then quiet.

“Ah, welcome. Normally my guests knock.” Your father soothed out, and you knew he was turning to look at the guests.

“Funny, I thought I did.” The voice sounded familiar, too familiar.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of you barging in on my vacation?” Your father soothed, his glass echoing as it set on the table. 

“I think you know.” A third voice, but there was no mistaking this one. It was the same one you woke up to for the past two weeks. Realization crossing your features, you grabbed the handgun off your fathers desk and stepped out. Eyes, and guns, quickly moved to you as you took in the company. Tony, Steve, and Bucky stood in the room, weapons pointed at you and your father.

“Y/n?” Steve said, Weapon lowering slightly. Your father looked between the two of you with a smile.

“This must be your Husband! “ He said, a smile crossing his face. “A pleasure to finally meet my Son-in-law.”

Eyes moved between the two of you as you winced at the admission. 

“Wait, Mob Boss Lucas Giavanno,” Tony pointed at your father, then at you like connecting dots. “Is your father?” 

“Talk about a complicated honeymoon.” Bucky smirked behind his mask, gun still trained at your father.

“Can we all please talk without guns, please?” You asked, dropping your weapon from where it was trained on Tony. 

“You’re part of a Mob family?” Steve asked, gesturing at Bucky to lower his gun. “And not just any Mob, but one coresponding to HYDRA.” 

“A simple misunderstanding,” Your father chimed in, standing to refill his glass. Bucky’s gun shot up at him again, eyes trained on his every move. 

“I wasn’t talking to you.” Steve said harshly. Tony was leaning against the wall by the door, mask off and smirking at the entire situation.

“Can we talk?” You asked wearily. “No guns, No raised voices. I’ll tell you everything.” 

Steve nodded curtly and you gestured to Bucky. Steve tapped him on the shoulder and he lowered the weapon again, eyes still not leaving your father.

“Lucas Giavanno is my father. I took my mothers name when I left the family business, that’s when we met. My brother, well, he’s not so good at running the business, hence the rumors surrounding the family.” You said softly. “We are not with HYDRA, we are helping wipe out their power. That's what the family business is.”

“Yes, Y/n excels in doing so, we’ve been trying to get her back to help gain the trust of the last HYDRA cell we know of.” Your father chimed in.

“How do we know he’s not lying?” Bucky said to Steve.

“Bucky, you’ve known me for years. You let me marry your best friend.” You rolled your eyes. 

“Obviously I didn’t know how far the deception went.” He shrugged. 

“I swear to the gods.” You muttered, rolling your eyes. You walked over to the desk, slamming the handgun down and ripping open a drawer. Steve flinched, the movement catching your eye and making you stop, gun trained on you again. “Are you really going to shoot your wife?”  

Steve’s silence spoke volumes. You moved slower, pulling out the large file of documents, spreading them out on the livingroom table. Tony stepped out of his suit, coming to look as the map you were forming. Little X marks scattered the map, circles around many of them. 

“Friday, overlay our previous HYDRA missions to this map.” The suit let out a projection, their missions being the X’s circled in black.

“What do the red circles mean?” Steve asked softly.

“Those are the ones We took out.” Your fathers voice rang out from where he sat at the desk, refilling his glass. “You’re welcome.”

You looked at Steve, trying to read his expression. You could tell he was thinking, trying to put pieces together, then it dawned on you.

“You overheard my brother the other night, when you got back from that mission and surprised me.” You said, suddenly understanding. 

“You said the plan would be done by the end of the week.” He said, a broken look on his face when he looked at you. “That was marrying me.” 

“What? No! No no no.” You moved around Tony, taking Steve’s face between our hands. “The plan had nothing to do with marrying you. I was signing over my responsibilities in the business. I wanted to enter this life without any confliction from this. I didn’t want to drag you into it.”

A long silence filled the room, Steve watching your face, and you his, everything else fading away. 

“I love you.” You said softly.

“I love you, too.” He kissed you softly, before looking at everyone in the room and clearing his throat. “I think we have a misunderstanding to clear up.”

“And a wedding to Celebrate!” You father exclaimed, cheersing the group. “Perhaps we can discuss taking down the last cell together over dinner, my treat.” 

You looked over to Tony and Bucky, a soft smile on your face and a shrug.

“I’ll make a call to clear up the confusion.” Tony said quickly. “See you for dinner.”

Maybe you’d never get out of the Family business. 

[emmerrr]

Possible prompt if you’re interested could be Declan finally seeing one of the portraits Jordan does of him! Alternatively, jordeclan moving in together and creating a space where neither of them has to hide themself in an attic

i can’t resist a moving in fic and i’m sorry this took so long

-

It’s late afternoon when the final box is removed from the moving van, and just for a moment, the excitement is overshadowed by the overwhelming task of unpacking that lies ahead.

Boxes, boxes, everywhere. Declan closes the front door and follows a trail of them to the bedroom where he finds Jordan, curled up on top of the bed they’ve not long finished making. Her eyes are shut, her breathing even, but Declan isn’t fooled.

He crosses his arms and leans nonchalantly against the doorframe. “Faker.”

Jordan affects a snore which makes Declan laugh, and she opens an eye, that wicked grin that stole his heart spreading across her face. She pats the empty space beside her. “You know you want to.”

He really, really does. He kicks off his shoes and crawls up beside her, his feet instantly grateful for the reprieve. He groans happily, sinking his face into the softest pillow in the world. He feels Jordan press her face into his arm and turns his head, and for a moment they just watch each other.

“We have so much unpacking to do,” Declan finally says.

Jordan nods. “We do. Don’t worry, it’s not going anywhere.” She lifts Declan’s arm and tucks herself underneath, then kisses his collarbone.

He sighs, happily resigned to his fate. The house is still a mess of boxes, they need some more furniture, and the whole thing is still too new and alien for it to quite feel like home. But with Jordan in his arms, nodding off to sleep in the bed they now share in the place that’s just theirs, it’s the closest to home Declan’s ever felt.

-

“What do you think?”

“It’s hideous.”

“Isn’t it?” Jordan says dreamily. “Sit on it.”

Declan eyes the armchair dubiously. It’s some kind of paisley print in the most garish of colour schemes; bright pink and orange, smatterings of yellow and turquoise. “It won’t go with the rest of the living room furniture,” he tries.

“Your doubts are duly noted,” Jordan says sagely. “Sit.”

“...This feels like a trap.”

“Sit.”

Declan sits.

It’s the most comfortable chair he’s ever had the pleasure of sitting on, and he does everything he can not to let his face give that fact away. He shrugs. “It’s alright.”

Jordan grins the grin of the triumphant, and Declan knows they’re getting it.

He tries to imagine it in their space, and suddenly finds that he can. He can picture where it will go; at an angle, equidistant from the fireplace and the TV. He can picture them in the winter, him and Jordan cuddled up together, blanket tossed over them, snow falling outside, the light of the fire covering the whole room in a cozy glow.

He thinks he might be going soft, and he thinks that might be okay.

“I told you we’d find something in a thrift store,” Jordan says, her fingers twined through his as she leads him to the checkout counter.

He pulls her hand to his mouth, kisses it gently. “So you did.”

-

The furniture is pulled back from the walls and newspaper covers the floor as Jordan and Declan stand, paint rollers in hand, transforming their bedroom walls from a bland and safe off-white to a lovely deep forest-green.

Jordan’s phone is playing music through wireless speakers, a playlist that seems to jump from Rihanna to Metallica to Taylor Swift to Arcade Fire to some K-pop band Declan doesn’t know the name of, and so on, in no discernable pattern that he can follow.

“What playlist is this?”

Jordan smiles wryly. “It’s all songs that Hennessy hates.”

Declan thinks about that, and about all the canvases in the spare room that Jordan has set up as her art studio, original pieces that she started and then aborted.

“Is there still a part of you,” he says carefully, “that thinks everything you like, or create, or choose, is really just some facet of Hennessy’s personality and not truly your own?”

Jordan’s expression hardens, and he knows he’s hit a nerve. “That depends,” she says evenly. “Is there still a part of you that thinks this is doomed? You and me?”

It’s Declan’s turn for a wry smile. “Touché.”

Their love story is a unique one, and Declan can’t deny he’s had his moments of thinking that it’s all going to end in flames. But through it all he also knows that he’d still be here, even if they were heading towards their inevitable end. He wants this, for as long as he can have it.

It’s hard to stop constantly thinking about worst case scenarios, because it’s so ingrained in Declan to do just that. But Jordan quiets that part of his brain with a touch, or even a look. Just being in her presence is a balm to his heart and his mind.

They’re happy. And maybe they’ll be okay. Who’s to say?

“For the record,” he says at last, “I don’t think this is doomed.”

“No?”

He shakes his head. “No. And also, you are your own person, independent of Hennessy.”

“You think?”

“I know.”

Jordan puts down her roller, and cups Declan’s face, bringing it down to hers as she kisses him. She’s probably getting paint on his face, but he doesn’t care; not now, not ever.

“For what it’s worth, you are the best choice I ever made,” she says fiercely, her forehead pressed to his.

He kisses her again, soft. “It’s worth everything.”

-

“When are you going to put your paintings up?”

It’s a fair question. They’ve been here almost four months now, and everything from Declan’s attic in the D.C. house is still leaning up against the wall in Jordan’s art studio, covered over.

“There’s no attic here.”

“Ha, ha,” Jordan says sarcastically.

The truth is, he doesn’t know quite why he hasn’t gotten around to it. At first it was for practical reasons; they had painting and other repair work to do in several rooms, so it made sense to wait until that was all finished.

But it is finished now, and it has been for weeks, and other art pieces and photographs have gone up; some of it Jordan’s own work, some that she bought (or stole) once upon a time, some that they bought together. But nothing from his own collection, nothing that he had kept locked up for his eyes only until Jordan had shown up and gently prised the key from his hand.

His silence drags for so long that Jordan drops the sarcasm. She puts her hand on his chest. “This is our place. Yours and mine. You don’t have to hide here.”

Because he has been hiding away, for years, so much so that it’s habit more than anything that seemingly forbade him from doing anything that wasn’t cookie-cutter.

But Jordan sees him, she knows him; the real him behind the slick, designer veneer, and that’s the part she loves.

The part that wears fancy shoes.

“Come on, then,” he says, taking her hand. “You can help me decide where they should go.”

“I’m so glad you said that because actually I already have some ideas,” she says, and that's how they spend the afternoon.

They take Declan out of the attic, one piece at a time.

-

It’s quiet when Declan gets home. He takes his shoes off by the door and hangs his coat up, then makes his way through the house, peeking in each of the rooms in search of Jordan.

She’s not in the living room, where Declan’s favourite hideous armchair now lives. Matthew fell asleep in it on New Year’s Eve, and Ronan drew a monocle and handlebar moustache on his face. It had been a quiet one; they’d played games most of the evening, almost all of which were won by Adam, and at midnight Ronan and Hennessy had been in charge of the dream fireworks they set off outside.

The kitchen is also empty when Declan scans it, his eyes lingering on the slight chip in one of the floorboards from where Jordan had dropped the admittedly ridiculously heavy cast-iron skillet when they were unpacking. He remembers accidentally flipping a pancake right out of the pan and onto the burner. He remembers burnt toast and spilt coffee and broken crockery, and various other messes, but most of all he remembers the laughter that went along with all of it. The dancing in the kitchen at 2am, the doing the dishes in companionable silence, the domesticity in helping each other prepare a meal.

These are the things Declan now thinks about when he thinks about the concept of home. Maybe it’s a place where the good memories you make outweigh the ones that hurt. Maybe home is what you make of it, the stamp you put on it to make it your own. Maybe home is a person. 

Maybe it’s a combination of all of those things.

Declan finds Jordan, inevitably, in her studio. She has headphones on which explains the quiet, and she’s working on a painting, the canvas almost as tall as she is. There’s no reference that Declan can see, and it’s not a copy. She’s painting just for the sake of it, a complete original.

He moves carefully around until he’s in Jordan’s eyeline, and the laser focus in her eyes shifts to a smile of delight when she spots him. There’s paint splattered on her overalls, specks of it on her face and in her hair, but she never looks more radiant than when she looks at Declan like this.

“You’re home!” she exclaims, pulling her headphones down.

“I am,” he agrees, warmth settling in his chest.

“I’d kiss you but I’m all painty.”

“I don’t care,” Declan says, and he closes the gap between them, sweeping her up into his arms as he kisses her, swallowing up her delighted little “oh!”

“You’re in a good mood,” she says with a laugh when he puts her down.

“Just happy to be home.” It’s so strange to finally be able to say that, and to really mean it. He’s home with Jordan, where he belongs. “You about ready to take a break? I was going to make coffee.”

“I’ll be out in a minute. Make me a latte?”

Declan smiles. “For you? Anything.”

[valdomarx]

For the fanfic asks, 24 & 27?

[fanfic writer asks]

24. Do you prefer AUs with the characters, or sticking to the original universe?

I really prefer writing in the original universe. The world of the witcher is so fun and engaging - it’s what drew me to the show even more than the characters - and I love playing with the monsters and the weapons and the witcher schools and the signs and the cities and the contracts and the magic and... phew. yeah. all of it.

I also like that there’s enough to lore to be inspiring, but not so much that it becomes intimidating and hard to research (which some fantasy worlds, like Tolkien, can be). I draw from the show or games or books as I fancy and when in doubt, I have zero problems making up my own witcher lore.

27. What time of day do you prefer to write?

The hours between midnight and 2am are the sweet spot for me. I like when it’s dark and quiet and I feel like I have nowhere else to be and nothing else I should be doing. It helps me to relax into the writing.

[redheadedteatotalfanfic]

Milk Diaries pt 1

Gina padded into the nursery and lifted a wailing six month old from the crib, snuggling her against her shoulder and pulling the bottle from the warmer on the dresser as she walked over to the glider and sat down. She put the bottle on the nightstand, and blew out a nervous breath, hoping she wouldn't need it.

Once they had been approved by their agency to adopt, Gina had begun taking the necessary steps to encourage her body to make milk, not willing to give the infant powdered garbage. Wanting her to get settled in and comfortable with them both, they had agreed to wait a few weeks before attempting to transition her from bottle to breast. On the advice of her lactation consultant, Gina had delayed a feeding, so that the infant would be more receptive to the idea.

She shifted the infant so that she was cradling her and tugged up her shirt on one side. She positioned the nipple next to the infant's mouth, and used her free hand to express a few drops of milk. When the milk crossed the six month old's tongue, Indie instantly clamped down on the nipple and tried to suck. Gina used her finger to break the suction, the infant giving a small cry and waving a tiny fist in outrage. Gina repositioned the nipple so that it would be in the correct position, and slipped it back between the infant's lips. Indie clamped down again and eagerly began to suck, and Gina crossed her fingers that she wouldn't give up too soon. It would take her body a few days to respond to Indie's cries and automatically let down at the sound of the infant's distress. Gina winced slightly when she felt Indie suck harder, but it was quickly replaced by a smile, as she realized it meant the infant was getting milk. "You took it this time, but I'm not convinced it's not just because you're hungry," she murmured, using a barefoot to move the glider back and forth. "If you're still this eager tomorrow I'll let myself get optimistic."

She continued to offer the infant her breast at every feeding, and Indie always took it, surprising Gina by how quickly she mastered getting latched on correctly. Gina had put the infant in bed with her, and was woken in the middle of the night by a pair of tiny hands pulling at her shirt. She smiled sleepily and raked up one side, adjusting her breast and offering Indie the nipple. The six month old latched on, and quickly settled into a steady sucking rhythm. Gina fumbled for her phone, and used it to take a picture to send to Kevin in the morning. She knew he'd be upset that he hadn't been home to witness the process in person, but they both had agreed to stick to the schedule the lactation consultant had suggested, and he'd had this teaching session planned almost a year in advance.

As Indie suckled, Gina thought about her decision to breastfeed. It was more than just wanting to make sure the six month old wasn't fed a concoction of chemicals. She loved knowing the best thing in the whole world came straight from her body, and that Indie was beginning to figure that out. Gina found herself looking forward to the crying only she could soothe, the little hands pulling at her clothes in search of a nipple because Indie was hungry, all the pockets of time they would have together. She was brought out of her reverie by the feeling of Indie unlatching and she smiled to see that the infant had drifted to sleep again, a trace of her momma's milk on her lips. Yawning, she pulled her shirt down again, and lay watching the sleeping infant as she thought about what to do next. She'd do one little test in the morning, and if it went the way she hoped it would, Indie's bottle days would be over.

The next morning she rocked from side to side as she tried to soothe the wailing infant as she made her a bottle, hoping this wasn't about to go disastrously wrong. Once the bottle was ready she carried the infant into the living room, and settled on the sofa with her. She put the bottle in Indie's mouth, and the cries dwindled for a moment as she suckled. As soon as the formula crossed her tastebuds, Indie pushed the nipple out of her mouth with her tongue, and her cries resumed. Gina waited a moment, and then repeated the process, getting the same result. Smiling, Gina put the bottle on the coffee table and then settled back on the sofa. She reached up and pressed the button on her phone to start recording a video, wanting to keep Kevin updated with how things were going while he was away from home.

She had set up the stand so that the view mimicked looking over her shoulder, allowing him to have a first person vantage point. Indie's cries were beginning to grow frantic, and Gina pulled up one side of her tank top, Indie's cries stopping abruptly as she latched onto the nipple as soon as it was exposed. Gina smiled as the infant's actions made it quite clear that she no longer wanted anything but her momma's milk, and her heart melted at the little hand that rose and settled against the soft swell of her breast. After a couple of minutes, Gina stopped the recording and carefully wiggled her phone out of the mount. She pulled up the running text conversation she had with Kevin, attached the photo she had taken last night, and then added in text.

Early early this morning. Somewhere between midnight and 2am.

She put her phone next to her while she waited for his reply, returning her attention to the infant in her arms.  Gina's phone alerted her to a new text, and she opened it, eager to see his response.

This is gorgeous. Is she taking to it okay?

Better than okay. She woke me up to nurse by pulling at my shirt.

Awesome

It gets better.

Gina sent him the video just as Indie chose that exact moment to unlatch, and her face drew into a pout and she vocalized her displeasure, leading Gina to believe she was still hungry. She turned the six month old around and adjusted her shirt, offering her the nipple of her other breast. Indie latched on to it and settled down again. She worried about the prolonged delay, and picked up her phone to call him when it chimed with another message.

He sent a pair of responses, the first being a row of heart eyed emojis, making her laugh.

I can't stop watching! You look like a natural! I love that momma's milk instantly makes whatever's upset her go away. And that hand!

I tried giving her formula twice first thing this morning, she spit it and the bottle nipple back out at me. I'm trashing that powdered bullshit and all but two of the bottles. I wanna keep two so we have them for an emergency.

Good idea. I'm glad we can stop feeding her that crap. You said you put her in bed with you, did you sleep okay?

We both did. She had her midnight snack, and then we both slept til I got up at the usual time. I kinda liked her being in bed with me. I like knowing I'm close by if she wakes up and is upset. It's like were in our own little bubble.

I wanna experience this bubble. Sounds like we might have to let her start sleeping with us.

I'd love getting to see that little face first thing every morning.

Indie unlatched a second time, and she pulled her tank top down before shifting the infant upright to lie chest to chest. Indie yawned and wriggled, clutching a handful of Gina's tank top in a chubby fist and hiccuping as she drifted off. Gina took advantage to take another photo while she waited on his reply.  She got to her feet and crossed the living room, tucking Indie into her swing before turning it on.  She turned back, snagging her phone off the couch as she headed back to the kitchen to make breakfast for herself.

[theramblingscriblerian]

Noodles on 51st And 3rd

The noodles at the corner of 51st and 3rd were the best in the Lower City, even if they were frozen and off of a truck.  Hell, that was WHY they were the best.  Go to the larger eateries in the district, and you find the crap homemade stuff, where half the protein is probably made up of bugs and general filth.  The little kiosk where I was busy slurping down a bowl full, though… THAT was good.  And safe.

And it gave me a good view of the square.

Even at 2am and change, the square was alive with people, bathed in the ever present neon glow from a hundred signs, and the shifting shadows generated by no less than five mega-screens that were hawking everything from shaving cream to women ready to turn your night into a decadent dream of sheer pleasure.  All of it also held the unspoken promise of emptying your credcard.  I snorted to myself as I swallowed the last of the noodles; this joint was pricey enough.  The last thing I needed was a synthetic whore and a shave that smelled like cat piss.

The steady undercurrent of a thousand human voices thrummed at my ears, punctuated with traffic, both ground and sky-based.  The city never slept, never paused.  Only the crowds changed.  Gone were the daytime suits and drones, talking into their pads as they negotiated everything from multi-million dollar deals to home deliveries of groceries.  Now the streets belonged to an entirely different subset of the business world, the seedier subset, the subset that kept the city running while at the same time infusing it with a thousand different cancers.

Even the sky changed.  During the day you had the sun, of course, struggling to break free of the smog layer that seemed to perpetually hang just above the tops of the highest mega-scrapers.  At night, though, it was as if the world were finally letting go of a long held breath.  Clouds formed among the higher buildings and would, for an hour or two, let loose the weeping rains that scrubbed both sky and street of the accumulated filth.  It wasn’t raining now, but the streets were still slick with precipitation and oil, and the gutters were still clogged with miniature jams of garbage and things less savory.

I tipped back my head and drained the bowl of the last of the juices, chopsticks held between two fingers as I did so.  Letting out a long sigh, I dropped both on to the counter and took out a cig from my coat’s inner pocket.  It was bent, had been partially smoked already, and tasted wonderful when combined with the aftertaste of the noodles.  I looked up and from under the rim of my hat at the elderly man behind the counter, and tilted my head up at him.  He just looked back at me and snorted.

“That gǒu shǐ will kill you, Man,” he wheezed at me with a dry smirk.

“Your noodles will kill me first,” I countered gruffly, voice hoarse.  “Synthetic crap grown in a vat…”

Chuckling, he magically produced an old lighter and held it to my cig.  “You go to Kwon’sfor the real thing,” he quipped. “But my synthetic gǒu shǐ must be better than the gǒu shǐ he uses.”

I barked a short laugh; he was probably close to the truth.  But then, hell, everything in this world was set to kill a man.  Food, pollution, other men…. I took a long deep drag, reducing the length of the cig by another quarter, and let the smoke escape through my nostrils, into the still damp-smelling air.  This thing was probably my healthiest habit.

A sudden, discordant noise caught my attention, a rising in a group of voices, their tones turning angry, loud, contentious.  The old man nodded to me knowingly, and I turned my head just enough to peer back towards the other side of the square.  Five men were pushing their way through the crowds, going against the grain, heading into a small theater that had stood in the spot for a century at least.  No movies had played there for at least 25 years, but I knew that games aplenty were its hallmark.  I didn’t care about that, particularly.  It was the gamemaster that would be there tonight that I was interested in.  And those were his goons.

Slowly I stood, adjusting my my hat, drawing my coat around myself, and turned to go.

“Hey!” the old man snapped, a crooked and boney finger tapping on the plastic counter.  “You pay first.”

I stopped and looked back, cig still clenched in my teeth.  One hand went to my left side, under the coat, checking the pistol that was securely strapped there.  “Put it on my tab,” I remarked absently.

“Your tab is no good if you dead,” he muttered back.

“Ye of little faith,” I retorted, turned, and promptly walked into someone’s outstretched hand as it landed on my chest, fingers splayed.  I stopped on the spot and looked down with widening eyes.

“That shouldn’t be a surprise,” the woman with midnight hair drawled.  Her eyes never left mine as she used her free hand to throw a couple of silver coins on the old man’s counter.  One of them bounced into my abandoned bowl.  He looked down to them, frowning, then let his eyes widen in surprise, finally grinning a gap-toothed smile as he cackled, sweeping them up greedily.

Slowly she let her hand fall from my chest, but I didn’t move.  I was still too surprised to see her.  Here. Now.  Standing there like she had always belonged at my side.  Well, hoolies.  Once upon a time, she had.  Her mouth twisted into a sardonic grin, black lipstick and dark eyes both sparkling under the red neon lights.  “What’s the matter, noodles strangling you?” Her refined British accent still made me feel a warmth deep in my heart.  “Maybe they will be your death after all.”

“No, not them,” I responded in my hoarse voice, head tilting up enough so that the rough scar along my throat became visible, sliding up from beneath my shirt collar.  “But you sure as hell tried.”

Her grin turned into a full blown smile.  “Now, darling, you know that was just a bit of foreplay.  I wanted to make things look good.  Had to fool the mark and his boys.  It’s how the game is played.”

“You cut my goddamned throat,” I murmured.  Despite myself, my hand reached out and cupped her cheek.

“And I knew,” she responded slowly, eyes closing for a moment, “that your nanites would seal it up in less than a minute, helpful little blighters that they are.  Although,” she added, almost wonderingly, eyes opening again, her own hand reaching up, a single finger tracing that scar, “I didn’t think they would leave a mark.”

A snort was my initial response, and then I added, “You left the mark.  More than one.  And most of them can’t be seen.”

“Are you telling me that you’ve missed me?” she asked softly.

I stared down at her for a moment, then tilted her head up.  My lips came within a whisper’s breadth of her own.  “Want to go play?” I asked quietly, nodding towards the old theater.

Her grin, at the same time feral and eager like a child being offered a piece of candy, was answer enough.

“Hey!” the old man suddenly shouted.  He looked up from one of the coins that he was still admiring, clasped in his grimy fingers.  “Stop flirting!  Get to work so you can pay your tab!”

I looked back down to her, then began to laugh.  A real laugh.  The first I had had in a long while.  Throwing an arm around her shoulder, I drew my gun with the other.  She had already produced her own heavy-barreled pistol and held it at the ready.

“Yeah,” I said, puffing out more smoke, starting off with her across the street.  “Let’s get the game a-foot.”

Abruptly her delicate fingers snatched the cig from my mouth and tossed it into the scummy waters of the gutter, where it briefly hissed and was lost amongst the rest of the trash.  “That gǒu shǐ will kill you,” she remarked.

Behind me, all I heard was the old man cackling.

[idkthisisjustforfanfic]

Chapter 1 - (totally uninterested.)

I tapped my pen on the page in front of me. Alexander III of Macedon, commonly known as Alexander the Great, was a king of the ancient Greek kingdom of Macedon and a member of the Argead dynasty. If I read the sentence three more times, maybe it would stick and maybe--suddenly--I’d give a shit.

Working at the library on campus would be great, I thought. I’d get homework done, get a fair share of people watching. Hell--the student center was right next door, leaving me with a plethora of snack options when I was stuck in the same spot from 8pm to midnight every Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Sunday.

“Do you have to keep doing that?”

I pulled my eyes up slowly, dramatically, if only to let him know how completely unimpressed I was with his existence.

“I’m trying to focus,” I nodded at him--not that he’d ever know the definition of that word.

“Well I can’t focus when you’re making such a ruckus,” his accent seemed to lilt off his tongue. I shuddered at the thought that I once--albeit with a fair amount of alcohol--found it attractive. When I first met him--when he was new on campus and still had that New Kid Charm, I thought his accent--paired with the long hair, the rings, you know, the vibe--was hot.

I thought, maybe just for a second, that there’d be steamy library sex in my future that I’d be able to brag about to Kristen soon. But alas, when I started spending my Wednesday and Thursday nights with him, I soon realized that his accent was rather overrated and his sense of humor was dry, sarcastic, and frankly, just not that funny. I especially noticed it when we suddenly were working every shift together.

I stared back at the textbook again. Alexander III of Macedon, commonly known as Alexander the Great, was a king of the ancient Greek kingdom of Macedon and a member of the Argead dynasty.

“S’cuse me--how do I reserve a study room for Saturday?”

I looked up to see Ethan Davis, who, up until now, I was convinced didn’t even know I existed. He had a sweet smile on, clearly waiting for me to respond, but in true Nora fashion, I decided that I’d just stare at him with my mouth ajar.

“Hey man,” Harry said, his eyes moving from my face and back to Ethan. “I can do it for you. What time?” He shook the mouse to wake up the desktop, typing in the username and password. 

“11am would be good,” Ethan said, keeping his eyes on Harry as he easily pretending that I wasn’t sitting right beside them.  

“Student ID number?”

Ethan handed his card over the counter, Harry took it and punched the numbers in quickly before handing it back. “Thanks, you’re all set.”

Ethan retreated, catching up with the group of boys who seemed to wait for him by the door. Again, another chance at becoming the future Mrs. Davis, ripped out of my hands by the worst coworker on the planet himself.

“You’re atrocious,” he said under his breath, turning back to his phone to compose a message.

“I am not,” I shot back quickly, feeling pressured to defend my honor. Harry had no idea what he was talking about. He seemed to be too busy finding me obnoxious and bossy to have the slightest clue what went on in my head when Ethan Davis neared the counter.

Sure--it’d only happened three times. Once was for a charger, the second was to ask what time we closed, and the third, tonight, was to reserve a study room. I would have handled it--but Harry was too quick and got in the way of what was sure to have been the moment that Ethan and I fell in love. He basically snatched my one chance at happiness right out of my hands. 

“You can barely even breathe when he comes over here. You might as well just lose consciousness altogether.”

I rolled my eyes at him, forcing myself, once again, to read the same line in my textbook. Alexander III of Macedon, commonly known as Alexander the Great, was a king of the ancient Greek kingdom of Macedon and a member of the Argead dynasty.

“What do you find so enchanting about him anyway?”

I flipped the book shut, pushing myself away from the counter and turning to face my less than pleasant front desk pal. “Well,” I drew out the word, flashing him a smile and fluttered eyelashes. If he were biting, I was sure to give it to him. “I mean have you just seen how dreamy his eyes are? And his hands,” I said, holding mine up in front of me to examine. “I just want them,” I slapped my own hands up to my chest, fondling myself for the entire library to see. “To be all over my tits.”

I figured that giving him the obnoxious reasons that a thirteen year old version of myself would have journaled about would finally shut him up.

Harry let out a quiet--yet dismissive--laugh, and shook his head. “Forget I asked.”

“I’m just answering, dude. Just giving you all the pervy details that I daydream about while we sit back here.”

He seemed rather alarmed by this, going back to his phone as he opened up Snapchat.

“Aren’t you low key friends with him, anyway?”

He clicked through someone’s story but didn’t lift his eyes from the screen. “Me?”

“Yes, you.”

“We’re not friends,” he shook his head and furrowed his brow, as if the question was offensive.

“Right--okay, he’s on the basketball team, you’re on the soccer team. Rival enemies--that sort of thing?”

“No,” he turned to look at me, running a hand through his shoulder-length hair. “He’s friends with my roommates, so he’ll be in my apartment sometimes. We’re not friends, though. Don’t get any ideas.”

“I don’t have any ideas,” I lied, leaning back to stretch my legs up and in front of me to rest on the desk, he peered up at my movement but continued to ignore me. “I just figured if you’re friends with him, we could all--I dunno--hang out.”

“I’m not friends with him, Nora. He just ends up in my apartment sometimes with some other guys. That was the highlight of my relationship with him, what you just saw.”

I let out a dramatic sigh. “You’re no help. And you didn’t even finish stacking the returns.”

“You said you were going to do that!” He got this confused and disgruntled look on his face, which, if I didn’t know how much of a asshat he could be, I would have thought was kind of endearing.

**

On a Friday night two weeks later, I found myself in the dimly lit kitchen of a frat house somewhere north of campus. Instead of talking to boys like I should have been doing, I was busy trying to talk Kristen off the ledge. Somehow, she’d convinced herself that being out late tonight would lead to her failing her test on Monday morning--which, she argued, would clearly lead to her failing out of college all together.

My days of telling Kristen to live a little were pretty much gone, especially now that she had a boyfriend, good grades, and a good internship lined up for the summer (a whole school year in advance).

So, as good friends do, I was standing by her side with a beer in my hand instead of near the pong table and the cute guys in the living room--but I was definitely bitter. 

“Hanson,” a voice greeted from behind me. I turned over my shoulder to see Harry, lifting a beer in the air to greet me with a tight lipped smile. 

“Not now,” I said, waving a dismissive hand in his direction. If I wasn’t able to actually enjoy myself tonight, the last thing I was going to do was engage in the usual behind the desk banter. 

“Nice to see you outside of the library, too,” he rolled his eyes, laughing a bit at the scowl on my face. “You’re missing a chance at true love, I see.”

Kristen, who’d only spoken to Harry inside of the library twice in her entire life, didn’t seem to find his joking funny. “It’s not true love,” she rolled her eyes quickly, annoyed that I wasn’t supporting her academic anxiety.

“You don’t know that,” I shot back at her quickly, staring back out into the living room to take in the sight of Ethan Davis--in a much more formal get up that the last time we’d crossed paths outside the gym on Tuesday night.

I mean, it was formal if you considered grey pants and a blue button down to be formal. But really, I was just happy to admire anything on his body.

“You two seem to be busy,” Harry nodded to himself, reaching around me to grab another beer from the fridge before straightening back up. “I’ll see you later, Nora.”

“No, Harry, wait. Would you please tell Kristen here that she has a giant stick up her ass--mainly because she thinks getting a B on a paper will ruin her life altogether?”

Harry pushed his lips out as if he were deep in thought. He looked between me and Kristen and then settled back on me with a smirk. “Out of all the people I know, Nora, you’re the one with a stick up her ass.”

I let out a dramatic sigh, rolling my eyes and turning my back to Harry. If he weren’t going to be on my side, I had no reason to be consulting with him around anything other than the Dewey Decimal System and where the New England Periodical went.

“I’m leaving, okay?” Kristen said, letting her hand rest on my shoulder. “Have a good time, get drunk, make out with you know who, just don’t wake me up when you stumble in at 2am.”

She offered Harry a smile but left us in the kitchen and I called out after her. “Don’t forget to remove the stick up your ass when you get in bed!”

She held up her right hand to give me the finger (lovingly) as she walked out. I brought my eyes back to Harry and he only smirked down at me. I hated the smug look on his face.

Harry--who was really just a goofy kid with hair that was too long and who’s favorite outfit seemed to be adidas sweatpants and a t-shirt--wasn’t that much taller than me. I was right in the middle when it came to growth charts. I was never that short girl who could barely reach shit and needed help getting things from the pantry.

I was also never the girl who towered over all the guys in her grade.

But here, in the kitchen of some college party with lights dim enough to barely make out each other’s faces, I didn’t like that he could look down at me.

“Stop looking at me like that,” I said, my eyes narrowed, only causing him to smirk more than he’d been before.

“Okay,” he said. “Whatever you say.”

**

It was 5pm--the start of my Tuesday evening shift--and Harry was nowhere to be found. I huffed as I logged onto the computer to record the start of my shift.

I typed in the username and password, rolling my eyes at the lack of creativity that the full time library staff put into this sort of thing. InformationDesk, password: AmericanULibrary123.

American University, home of lots of politician-hopefuls and a bunch of idiot staff, apparently. I mean, it wasn’t like people were dying to break into the information desk computer, but you’d think that a good university in D.C. would employ people with a bit more...intelligence.

My phone buzzed on the desk beside me, Harry’s name popping up on the screen.

Not going to be able to make it. What do I need to do to get you to clock in and out for me?

I let out a snort as I typed out a response.

Pay me a million dollars.

Seriously, Nora!

I’ll try to make it in about an hour or two but it’s not likely. I’ll buy you a beer.

I thought on it for a second, and realized that Harry did have something I wanted, and it wasn’t beer. 

Bring me somewhere to hangout with Ethan.

I checked out a book for a freshman who appeared in front of me, scanned her card, and then read his next message.

You want to sit in my living room one night when he’s over? That sounds awkward.

Well we can act like we’re friends, you know.

I’m a poly-sci major, not an award winning actor.

!!!!!!

Okay, looks like a small paycheck for you this week.

:)

Alright. He normally hangs out with Ryan on Thursday. You can come.

Wow, I am so honored. Can’t wait. I’ll bring the champagne.

Please don’t.

**

Despite Harry’s warning that he’d miss his entire shift, he showed up around 9pm with a backpack and a soccer ball in tow.

“Where were you?” I asked, thankful for the distraction and shutting the textbook I’d had in front of me. “Don’t you finish practice at five?”

“Had a thing, don’t worry about it,” he said simply, shrugging his backpack off behind the desk and flopping into the seat beside me. He ran a hand through his hair (which was an in annoyingly stylish man bun) and picked up his phone--apparently uninterested in conversation.

“A thing?” I pressed, leaning forward to lower my voice. “Sounds secretive and mysterious.”

He looked at me out of the corner of his eye--clearly unimpressed with my curiosity. “Leave it, Nora. I’m here now.”

“You asked me to lie for you!” I whispered at him, hoping to convince him to give me the dirt. Not only did he basically owe it to me due to the way I put myself on the line, but I was also just nosey and interested. “When someone lies for you they get to be in on the secrets!” I reminded.

He let out a sigh and clicked his phone shut, leaning forward to place it on the desk. “I do a soccer workshop for The Boys and Girls Club. It’s community service.”

“Community service?” I pulled my head back, confused by his words.

“Yeah--I owe one hundred hours because I punched Luke Billups last year.”

“What?!” I leaned forward, my voice still a hushed whisper because--you know--library crap. “You punched Luke Billups? Why? Did you get arrested?!”

“No, Jesus, relax,” he let out a displeased grunt and cleared his throat as he leaned forward to give me more information. I was enthralled, really.

Harry definitely didn’t strike me as the type of person to get physically violent--let alone get in trouble for it. He was a nice kid, kind of quiet sometimes, but clearly very sarcastic and argumentative.

“We were drunk and he said something stupid and I punched him and he had to go to the ER to get stitches on his eyebrow,” he said all of this as if it were very casual information. His voice was still quiet enough to ensure that no one could hear us, but his tone seemed to minimize their altercation.

“Wow,” I said, my mouth still open in shock. “So you coach little kids, that’s cute.”

He shrugged his shoulder but didn’t respond, picking up his phone again.

“But wait, so why don’t you want anyone to know that you coach little kids?”

He let out another sigh, seemingly annoyed that I continued to ask questions--but he continued to answer, so I simply ignored his eye rolls and listened eagerly. “If I do the hundred hours, I get everything wiped off my record.”

I stared at him, still sort of unclear on the situation. He sensed this, leaned back in his chair, and continued. “If my goal is to hold public office at some point, I can’t have a record.”

His answer made sense, but I got distracted by his blatant English accent. “Don’t you have to be born here to hold office?”

“Federally, yes, locally, no. And I’m a citizen, I’ve lived here since I was thirteen.” He sounded almost offended, so I pulled away from him and let out a sigh.

“Damn, that’s wild. I’m so glad to just be a journalism major. I can get arrested as much as I want,” I let out a laugh, which pulled one out of him too.

“Alright, so you really want to come over on Thursday?”

I turned back to my textbook, opening it back up to the page I’d been on earlier. “Not to see you,” I said simply. “To see Ethan, yes. Can you guarantee he’ll be there?”

“Eh, yeah, pretty much. He always at least stops by after practice with Ryan.”

“What should I wear?” I asked quickly, leaning my head on my hand to fantasize about what the night would entail. Harry’s eyebrows dipped in confusion, but he kept his eyes off of me as he pulled out his laptop. “Is it casual? Should I wear like leggings and a sweater, or--”

“Just wear that,” he said as he let his eyes scan over my body and my current outfit. Jeans, a t-shirt, and a flannel.

I rolled my eyes at him, he barely put any thought into it--which told me that he clearly didn’t understand the gravity of the situation.

“Are you sure he’ll be there?” I asked again, keeping my eyes diligently on him as he typed away at something on his computer. He seemed completely unbothered by my stare, only looking at my quickly out of the corner of his eye before bringing his eyes right back to the webpage he had up.

He let out a sigh and turned to look at me. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a little bit obnoxious?”

I let out a snort quickly--not at his question, but at the fact that he thought it’d insult me.

[carolightpenvenys]

DEADLY NIGHTSHADE- CHAPTER 3

A/N: just to let y’all know i flew my own wig writing this one, please let me know what u think!!!

Chapter 3: damn, i wish i was your lover

T/W: References to dead body/body parts, references to sex (not in the same bit tho!)

“I just need to speak to Mr Carne on the phone,” Caroline was rolling her eyes and scribbling furiously on her legal pad. “And by that I mean Drake, not you.”

Dwight smiled as he stood in the doorway of her office- she hadn’t noticed he was there yet.

“So you’ll bring him in in an hour? Because he can’t drive right.” Caroline furiously scribbled actual man child on her pad, but obviously Dwight couldn’t see this. “Right, see you at 10am.” And with that she slammed the phone down.

“So I assume you had Drake Carne on the phone?” Dwight came and sat in the chair by Caroline’s desk.

“Oh,” Caroline raised her eyebrows. “I fucking wish.” Her hair was out of her Amy Santiago like bun today and instead piled on her head with about three pens slotted in. She hadn’t bothered with makeup as it was clear she had been up all night trying to crack the case. “It was his brother Sam Carne and apparently his fucking carer. I think we have reached a dead end- this man can hardly tie a shoelace.”

“So Sam wouldn’t let you speak to Drake?”

“No he hasn’t seen him in days, apparently he’s moved in with his sister Demelza and her husband Ross to grieve. But he promises to have him here by 10am.”

“Ah.” Dwight sighed. “I guess this is Ross Poldark’s involvement in it all.”

“Oh so he’s,” Caroline grabbed another pen and drew on her existing spider diagram, “This Ross? Oh man if Drake goes down he may never work again- you’ll be stuck with me forever,” she let out a tired laugh but when she met Dwight’s eye he was just smiling directly at her.

“I can think of worse things.”

POLICE INTERVIEW WITH SUSPECT:

MR DRAKE CARNE (LOVER OF THE DECEASED, POSSIBLE WITNESS): DC

DET. CAROLINE PENVENEN: CP

DR DWIGHT ENYS (M.E): DE

( THE WITNESS IS INCREDIBLY EMOTIONAL)

CP: Mr Carne, to clear up, what was your relationship with the deceased?

DC: You couldn’t understand

CP: I’m going to damn well try.

DE: Explain as best you can, Drake.

DC: I swear nothing happened whilst she was married, I would never!

CP: Let the record state the witness is inconsolable.

DE: Drake, I need you to answer my questions but I’m on your side. Do the words Atropa Belladonna mean anything to you?

CP: Or deadly nightshade?

DC: Is that some kind of code because I’d rather know the truth.

DE: No, we believe it may be the murder weapon.

CP: Drake, do you think there stands any reason that Morwenna would attempt to take her own life? Let the record show the witness probably needs a break before answering this question.

DC: No. She would never.

DE: Any reason you hold this opinion?

DC: It sounds stupid. But we always said we’d wait for each other through everything- she never wanted that marriage, you need to understand that-

CP: Are you suggesting her marriage was forced or arranged?

DC: Arranged definitely. We were in love.

DE: Who arranged this marriage?

DC: George Warleggan.  (Note: GW from previous interview).

CP: Finally, where were you between the late afternoon and midnight on the night in question? It’s a large window I know but due to the poisoning, it could have taken her hours to die- we need any information we can get from anyone who might have seen her.

DC: You’re lucky- Sunday is a Poldark family day. I’m sure if you speak to my sister, Ross or Sam they can confirm I was awake and with them until way past midnight. Possibly until about 2am.

END OF INTERVIEW

“I bought lunch!” Dwight strolled into Caroline’s office to find added to her dishevelled appearance, a rather cute pair of glasses as she drew lines between suspects.

“Fuck, we are going to definitely bring George Warleggan back in and he’s going to definitely have a lawyer. Oh, thank you for the Pad Thai.” She smiled warmly at his efforts. “Any more information about the body?”

“Ok so the time of death is confirmed midnight, she ingested the poison, probably via a drink as her stomach was empty. An interesting concept considering part of her husband’s story concerned a Sunday lunch earlier in the day.”

“Ooh Doctor Enys, you’re really digging up the bodies today, if you’ll pardon the pun. So between these three here,” she pointed to George, Osborne and Elizabeth, “there’s some kind of lie going on.”

“I would say at least one of them knows more than they let on. Maybe they saw something they didn’t want to see.” Dwight shrugged. “But your guess is honestly as good as mine- I’m not a detective after all.”

“And yet you’re here.” Caroline took her glasses off and took a moment to appreciate Dwight. A moment she soon took back, “Fuck I’m blind.”

Dwight found the whole situation rather endearing, “Yes, I’m here, and you’re here.”

“And we’re going to… solve a case?”

“Something like that.”

As Dwight passed Caroline a lab coat to allow her near to the body, she thought out loud, “I just think it’s so weird you’re vegan right- but you literally open bodies for a living.”

Dwight put down his scalpel on the tray, amused, “Even if I ate meat, which I don’t, I wouldn’t eat other humans Caroline.”

She sat on the counter where his computer was, her legs swinging back and forth. “I guess I never thought of it this way. Why did you even become a medical examiner?”

“Not for the fame.” Dwight sighed. “When I tell women I work in a morgue, it’s the world’s biggest turn off. They look at my hands and think ‘oh shit, he just touched dead bodies.’”

“No but seriously though,” Caroline enquired further. “What got you here. In the morgue.”

Dwight sighed. “Being a doctor is hard. I couldn’t cope when my patients died on me- so I thought at least with the morgue you could kind of wash your hands of that a bit. Still fucking depressing. Plus telling people I solve murders is cool, even if I actually don’t.”

There was a silence, but it was a contemplative one. “What about you, Miss Stately Home?”

“Ah, you remembered,” Caroline said, an ounce of bitterness in her voice. “Maybe I did it to avoid being Miss Stately Home.”

Dwight turned away from threading the needle to look at her. “Believe me, you’re a lot more than that. You know, catching all those smooth criminals.”

“Oh my God!” Caroline put her head in her hands. “Why do you have to say stuff like that?”

“Stuff like what?”  Dwight replied, stitching with a steady hand.

“You’re just… Such a catch. Like look at you! You remember literally everything about me, even my ringtone. You are always giving me these motivational talks, plus you’re like so cute.”

She stopped when she realised Dwight had put the needle down. “Caroline, do you really think that?”

“Ugh forgive me.” She put her hands over her eyes. “It’s way less embarrassing when I can’t look you in the eyes. I’m way too fucking blunt, I’m literally a mess I drink and swear too much and I caught myself in the mirror and I just thought wow he must really like me if he hasn’t even commented on how I look like a literal trolley lady today but now I’ve made a massive dick of myself-”

“Caroline.” This time he was so close, she could feel his presence and his hands firmly on her thighs where she was sat.

She took her hands off her eyes. “Oh my God.” She whispered. “What are we doing?” But he only got closer and closer and she shivered slightly. “You better not be leading me on here, you’ve taken your gloves off and everything… are we going to bang in a morgue?”

“What?” Dwight backed away from her slightly. “No. I’m a gentleman, I’ll at least take you back to my apartment.”

“You know,” Caroline giggled. “I’m glad we are discussing this. As two professionals, I pledge we just fuck it out of our systems, come back Monday morning and just, you know, solve the case. No one will ever know the difference.”

“I take no issue with that.” Dwight nodded seriously. “Who knows, it could be an educational experience.”

They were suddenly interrupted by the clock striking five. “Don’t you just fucking love it when everything comes together?”

Yeah. He fucking did.

[wingsofanillyrian]

Out of the Woods (Feysand)

@highlady-of-slytherin asked: “ YOUR FICS ARE TO DIE FOR LIKE I CANNOT GET ENOUGH OF THEM!!! OKay fic idea: “I know that being in the woods at 2am is a weird thing to be doing but my friend called me and- wait, why are you in the woods at 2am, fuck I’m going to die aren’t I?” for ummm Feysand or Elriel?”

Masterlist

Send me a request!

Feyre was terrified.

The forest was illuminated by the full moon, hanging low and bright in the cloud covered sky. An owl screeched somewhere in the distance and she jumped, eyes darting around the shadowy wood.

“Screw this,” she whispered, whipping out her phone to call the only person who wouldn’t laugh at her. It rang a few times before the familiar, husky voice came through the other end.

“Hello?” His voice was raspy with sleep, and Feyre could almost picture him lying shirtless in bed, pushing his dark raven hair back with a yawn.

“Rhysand I’m scared.”

It surprised her how quickly three words could pull him from the clutches of sleep so quickly. “What’s wrong? Where are you?” He hounded her with questions, much more alert than he had been moments before.

“Um well it’s a long story.” A twig snapped somewhere near her and she whipped her head around, hunting for the source.

“Tell me where you are, and I’ll come get you.” Feyre could hear the distinct rustle of him pulling on a shirt and jeans, the soft click of a door shutting as he snuck out of his house.

“See, that’s the thing…” She started, backing up against a tree. “I’m in the Zor forest.” AKA the cursed forest. The one that the monsters from the stories that parents scared their children with lived.

“What?”

Relief flooded her system as the purr of his car’s engine flooded the line. It was soon dashed by the howl of some kind of large predator in the distance, and the fingers of her free hand digging into the bark.

“Look I know that being in the woods at 2am is a weird thing to be doing, but my friend called me and-“

“Wait, why are you in the woods? Who called you?”

Feyre paused, knowing that the answer was likely to upset him. “Tamlin. Fuck, I’m going to die, aren’t I?”

Rhysand groaned, “He’s drunk, Fey. After the rugby match, he and Lucien went bar hopping. But you won’t die, or I’ll resurrect you just to kill you myself for leaving me here alone.” Feyre was silent for a moment, huddling against her tree as tears stung her eyes.

“So you’re telling me this was a joke?”

“I’m sorry, Feyre. But it probably was.”

Saltwater traced down her cheeks as another howl pierced the night. Rhys had been her best friend for as long as she could remember. He’d never been afraid of the things that went bump in the night; he’d embraced them. Feyre on the other hand, was not so fond of them.

“Will you come save me?” Her voice was barely a whisper and she was afraid he wouldn’t hear her.

“Of course I will,” he murmured, and the urgency in his tone made her imagine he was probably flying down the dirt road leading to the forest with reckless abandon.

Still, she whispered, “Please hurry, Rhys.”

“I’m going as fast as I can.” A few more twigs snapped somewhere behind her and she fought to keep her breathing even. Animals could smell fear, she reminded herself. Trembling, she concealed herself as best she could at the base of the tree, praying Rhys could find her.

It was then that she heard a crackle of static through her phone, then the dull dialtone of a disconnected call.

“Rhys?”

She stared at the phone, tried dialing his number again but was met only by that harsh tone. She clutched the useless brick in her hand, hugging it to her chest. The forest had gone eerily quiet, which only heightened her fear.

Long minutes passed before she heard a sound coming from somewhere to her left. It could have been a voice, or maybe the midnight call of a hungry being coming to consume her. Whatever it was drew nearer, the noise becoming more and more clear.

“Feyre? Where are you?”

Sobbing with relief, she released a broken cry. His previously silent footfalls turned rushed as he fought his way through the brush to where she huddled. His violet eyes were wild as he appeared before her, blood blossoming from a shallow cut on his cheek.

“There you are,” he breathed, bending down to scoop her in his arms. Burying his face in his hair, he whispered, “I was so worried.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and whimpered. Rhysand’s strong fingers brushed over her neck, shoulders, and back, assessing for injury as he walked them back towards safety.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured over and over. “You’re safe.”

Feyre realized that she felt safe with Rhys. His presence was calming and reassuring, soothing her fears and easing her worries.

“I hate Tamlin for doing this to you,” he admitted, stepping into the clearing where he’d parked his glossy black sports car. He opened the passenger door and went to set her inside, but Feyre clung tighter to his neck.

“What is it?”

“I can’t let go yet.”

“Okay,” he whispered, instead sitting on the seat and pulling her onto his lap. Feyre cried into his tshirt, soaking the soft fabric.

“I hate him too,” she said, pulling back to dry her tears. “He doesn’t deserve me.”

“You deserve better than him too,” he said gently, stroking a hand over her golden hair. Longing flashed in his eyes as Feyre kissed his cheek.

“Thank you for saving me.”

“I always will.” Though they were still deep within the Zor forest, she felt safe enough to lay her head on his chest and thread her fingers through his. They stayed that way until the sun rose, chasing away the monsters of the night with its warm rays. Rhysand’s sweet voice broke through her gentle slumber.

“We should probably get going.”

Nodding in agreement, Feyre shifted to let him slide out and move to the driver’s seat. The moment he reentered the car, she reclaimed his hand and held it in her lap. He smiled at her as he turned the key, the engine roaring to life.

“Rhys?” She asked quietly, starting at their joined hands. His thumb stroked over hers in acknowledgement. “I think… I think you might be right for me.”

His brow furrowed, gaze flicking between hers and the road. “Like, as a best friend?”

“No. Something more than that.”

“But Tamlin-“

“I don’t love him. Not the way I love you.”

He stopped the car, pulling off to the shoulder and taking her other hand. “You’re sure?”

All night, Feyre had thought back on their friendship. She’d combed through every memory, from sporting events where he cheered her on from the sidelines, to tear filled breakups when he was her rock. The only constant in her entire life had been Rhysand, her closest friend.

But there had always been a sense of longing in his actions. The fierce way he protected her, the uncountable number of times he’d saved her ass, like now.

“I’m sure.”

Surprised joy lit his face and he wrapped her in a tight hug. “Me too.”

[thedappleddragon]

I feel like today was at least a little productive.

I spent a lot of time outside with my cat like always, but today it was like hours because she just fuckin loves it out there. I think the most interesting thing about today was my neighbor’s dog breaking through the fence lmao. it’s just an old-ass weak wooden fence between our yards, and she’s a pretty big dog. maybe a pitbull, I dont know dog breeds that well. but she’s very sweet and very excitable. I was just minding my own business when she came running through the yard, so I pet her and talked to her, guiding her back to the fence when I saw that the entire board fell off. I guided her back through the fence and assured the neighbors that it was totally fine and I would grab some stuff from the garage to fix it. I couldn't find a hammer or the right kind of drill bit for the electric drill, so I just grabbed some screws and a screwdriver. I started off just attaching the board, but then I went down the rest of the fence checking for weak boards. I grabbed screws and fixed up the other boards, but when I turned around she was in the yard again! she fuckin ripped the bottom third of the panel off most of the way, and in order to let her back in, I just tore it off completely. they had left a lawn chair in front of the fence on their side, so I used a wrench to pull it up all the way to block the hole. I went back to sitting in my old clubhouse and playing harvest moon on my ds, which I was doing before the whole fence thing. I also brought out my sketchbook and found myself drawing my old angel oc, a couple sketches of my cat, my dnd oc Valka, some royal bloodshed au, and a whole lotta ponies. ponies are so therapeutic to draw, and I will enjoy these cartoon horses unapologetically in the year of out lord 2021 >:) unfortunately the pencil I was using dropped between the slats of the deck :( uhhh what else did I do today. OH I cleaned the hallway like I said I would, make deviled eggs for my mom, talked with my dad about art and college and getting a job, made some dinner, wrote on my calendar, and re-typed my old resume. I figured out I can use office 365 with my ball state email, so thats good :) most everything was going fine today until halfway through typing my resume when I tuned into my mom’s LOUD ASS TV BLASTING MURDER AND NEWS which always overstimulates me and I HATE IT so I became a microwave and hummed and sang so I couldn't hear it. now im listening to pixielocks which helps but I wish I had my headphones within arms reach but they're not and my cat is on my lap so I can't move. bleh. one nice thing today was that while I was drawing earlier today, I drew our royal bloodshed princesses as ponies and digitally colored it and when I shared it to the groupchat no-one thought it was cringe! they thought it was cute!! :D!!! we also figured out a power for Anna. she can fly and make other things float, since she lives on and rules over the floating islands. I shared a quick sketch of her using her powers to levitate me but it got no reaction, probably because it was midnight, oh well. ugh a few days ago my friends ex who I was friends with messaged me on snapchat and I still need to open the message to make the notification go away, but I dont want him messaging me a second time to ask why I didnt respond. AAAA I HATE MEN. good news my mom’s tv turned off finally. I'm hungry and want to go to beaded its 2am, good night babes

[zzpopzz]

Really long rant about how I made Vanilla Twilight, I typed it at 2am so it’s kinda crappy and boring, just skip through this post.

So I'd been thinking about it for a long time now, even before finishing Vanilla Twilight that I'd talk about it if someone asked, well that never happened so I was just thinking that I'd let it go but that post is so important to me so well fuck it I'll just talk about it anyway. I did it completely on a wimp like how cool would it be if I make a lyricstuck for Toumaki like I'd be the first (if anyone did this before me im sorry). The first song I intended to do wasn't VT, it was a much shorter and easier song. I saw the music video first time after a while and the lyrics gave me some scenes to draw right away, like the tones, the atmosphere, the lyrics all fit them very well, made me wanted to draw something happy but sad. The ending for it was a happy one instead of a sad one like other songs I did (I didn't post the ending for any of them, just let the viewers decide what it's gonna be) I was very scared like what if it won't turn out ok and people gonna hate me for it or no one even gonna look at it. Also what I visualized are mostly illustrations with backgrounds, what I never done before so high chance it won't go anywhere. I thought well let's just see how far will I get and won't talk about it at all until I post it so at least I won't be all barks no bite. I was very traumatized that someone might know about what I did so I locked all the files when I shut down my PC in case someone hack into it lmao. I started with making a storyboard(kinda) for it, this is where I first got trouble because there was some part I didn't think of when I visualized what I'd draw at first ( 'I don't feel so alone' part mostly and some in between) and it's only at this point that I realized how many I'd have to draw (over 40 images total) and it's mind blowing for someone who rarely finish a painting like me at that time, that number is more than what I'd draw in a year. VT doesn't have choruses that meant I can't do tricks like repeat some panels (I don't like this anyway). I usually painted on small canvas before that but I wanna make sure I can fix things later and some idea I had was pretty big so I used 3000x5000px canvas then trimmed them down ( I didn't know how big it was and it's huge). The idea was to make a tumblr scroll-post like a lyricstuck (my favorites are by paperseverywhere and toastyhat/emptyfeet , they made really cool tutorials about these) so I tried to drew out compositions that would look good scrolling down panel by panel and have some connections between them (this didn't turn out so good in the end because I wasn't good lol) Since I was scared that people might point out that I draw something wrong, it took me almost a week or something searching for references (check my pinterest board) like the streets, sky, houses, roads, outfits, poses,... I was going to draw. I got some knowledge about bikes by this too, like I can tell the differences between road bike, mtb, touring bikes,... I also see and captured bunches of screenshots and reread ywpd trivia countless time to make sure I won't get anything wrong. If you take notice, every outfit Toumaki wear in there are all canon, from anime or promos. The first few panels was really exciting because I had never painted so many with backgrounds before, I was really happy when I almost finished the first verse even compared to the full 3:50 of the song it was only 20 seconds and I thought maybe I can pull this after all. The last panel was intended to be Makichan standing infront of his house looking at the sky but I wanted to show the sky at the end of the panel and that wouldn't work on scroll-down post so I had to leave it for later, I repainted this panel for about 3 times and finished it just 30' before posting. The first panel of the second verse wasn't turning out alright too because that was my first time doing a 3 points perspective drawing and the colors didn't turn out as I wanted either (my intention was a green/gold dawn scene). Things kinda worked well despite that until the scene when Toudou sits in his ink, gdi I didn't know why I was so caught up in that and painted every piece of that wooden floor, it took me almost a week but turned out better than I expected so I was ok with it. I was going to make sketchy paintings for all of the panel but I did too much details on that one so it gave me the impression that I'll have to do just as much for every others. Now I still had school to go and that semester my uni got me pretty crappy schedule that made me have to wait for classes at school frequently, I was frustrated because I didn't get to paint during that time and I might finish it too late (even though I didn't set a deadline) and when I got home I just spent so much time checking twitter and just can't pick myself up to draw and ended up feeling shitty about it. *Side story*  I was so mad because I didn't get anything done and there's still more than half of the whole thing to do and the worst part is that I had no one that I can talk to because I didn't have any friend who ship Toumaki and I also don't want to publicly talk about what I was doing, I wanted to surprise people when I'm done, I didn't wanna give people the expectation then screw it up (I literally thought I'd drop a bomb not a grenade lmao) I can't remember how long was that shitty phase but I felt like it was so long, I barely finished verse 2 at that point. I was so mad at myself and my progress so I spent a few days to look at time management threads and this helped a lot, I changed my habits completely  by this and I still apply those methods now, like I used to stay up til 3am to read fics (bless you writers you fueled me with your writings bless you all) then I switch to bed before 12 and get up early for a good start or reduce working time while increasing quality* After that I kinda got things together,I just went ahead with painting tho it's still kinda tiring, I had to work on 5 essays during this time too. At this point I was like screw all, I give no shit about what everyone thinks I'm just gonna finish this and get some good nap (I practiced power nap to get more focus time for painting but dude everyone wants a good long nap) 10 days before uploading I found out that there's a Toumaki day (I'm so sorry), I was going to posted on the first sunday of June (I did researched on which was the best time to post on social medias so I randomly picked a sunday) and Toumaki day is the last sunday of May, that meant I had 10 days left and 15 panels to paint! I was going to ignore that but I already made it big I should make it right too so I shit my pants going through those last panels. I purposely hiding Toudou's face till the last verse to emphasize the feelz and got so relieved that I finally got to paint him (I read some tags that some viewers got emotional at this part so I'm so glad it worked). The whole things was put under Makichan's perspective so I was so sick of painting him at that point, he showed up in every panel and I can't paint him ugly because he's beautiful (especially his hair, I spent shitload of time painting them). I can talk lots about why I picked to do so but that's headcanon shit and it's embarrassing so let's just skip that. The last day I had only 3 panels left and I was hell confident that I've got this and somehow spent the whole evening rewatch Toumaki pingpong ep (end me). Of course that didn't end well, I managed to finish those by midnight but I still had like 3 panels that needed  repaint completely and all 43 needed retouch and edits. My plan was to post at 9am sunday (thats 9pm saturday est) so I had to get up at 5am and finish all that, I ended up cutting down 2 panels and simplified the instrumental panel (some tags said that was nice so I was at least relieved). Unlike other songs I did, the length of every line's quite different and the original sizes I did would make viewers have to scroll slower or faster at different parts. I didn't plan this beforehand and had to trim down some panels even the parts that I really liked and spent lots of time on. I also found out that people outside the homestuck fandom might not familiar with this type of post so I made a video too (I’m sorry I have zero skill in editing). After posting I was terrified of people's reactions or worse, there won't be any reaction so I turned everything off and went to sleep and woke up with an unimaginable number of notes I'd got, I set the target of 500 notes and I really didn't think that I'd get past that number like maybe 2-300 (well my other songs didnt even get 200), at the end I got 5000. I spent the next week reading and screencap tags given in reblogs, I put them on desktop and they're still my motivation til now. Vanilla Twilight is the thing I'm proud of the most even until now, when I've done other songs and projects that look somewhat better. If I have to recommend one thing on my blog I'd recommend it despite its' unskilled paneling, poor composition and muddy colors. It was the first time in my life that I'd put so much effort into something and went through such emotional roller coaster, the feelings I put into it was raw and the idea was very original compared to other songs, I improved and changed a lot during the 2 months I spent on it and never once regret doing it. ***Anyway, you sure have much free time to read it this far, here's a little game for you: I put random things in VT and HF like some characters/stuff from other series, my ocs,... (there wasn't anything purposeless in there even the logo on their cups or the bags they wear) just send me anything you find and I'll draw you something in return**

[captainsbabysitter-blog]

Ill Fated Attempts

Or: 5 Times Jim Tried to Ask Bones for a Date +1 Time He Actually Did

Fandom: Star Trek: AOS

Pairing: Jim/Bones

Word Count: 5088

Warnings: None

Summary: Jim wants to date Bones. Life at the academy doesn’t exactly leave a lot of leisure time for two students on accelerated tracks, and Jim is cursed with terrible timing.

I wrote this as a birthday fic for @t-hy-lla, and I finished a quick run through edit this morning. Not really beta’d beyond him gleeing over our shared love of McKirk.

I.

           Jim had it bad. He watched Bones type up his notes during their few joint classes, wondering what his lips might taste like until the muted vibration of his PADD drew his attention.

           If you’re going to keep staring off into space, at least stare somewhere else. It’s weird.

           He grinned a bit at the screen and tapped out a quick response. Why would I stare anywhere else, Bones? Best view was right there.

           Grow up.

           My room after class to study?

           Bones chewed his lip in thought; a habit Jim found all too distracting. He knew Bones was running through the mental schedule he somehow kept straight before the answer came. I got clinicals. Unless you don’t mind me showing up sometime around midnight?

           Sure. Greg’s been at his girlfriend’s the last couple weeks so you can crash on his bed. You show up, I’ll be the handsome one holding the coffee.

           Be still, my beating heart.

           Sounds like a medical issue, doc. You should get that checked out.

           He didn’t need to see the eyeroll to know it happened.

~*~*~*~

           It was almost 2am when Bones finally punched in the access code to Jim’s room. He stumbled in half awake and flopped onto Jim’s bed, sending several PADDs flying. Jim huffed out a little laugh before handing over a pair of pajama bottoms.

           “That kinda night, huh?”

           “Would’ve messaged you, but we were swamped. Some kind of overnight drill went sideways and sent half the engineering students to the ER.” The mattress muffled his voice, but couldn’t hide the agitated tone. “Why couldn’t they do daytime experiments like normal people.”

           “Because engineers aren’t normal people, Bones,” Jim murmured, running his fingers through Leonard’s hair absently as he went back to studying his notes. “You gonna change, or just lay there?”

           Bones grumbled, but managed to work up the energy to get back up. He rummaged through Jim’s closet until he found a sweatshirt to steal before settling back on the bed and pulling out his own PADD. Jim glanced at him with a frown. He knew Bones would stay up all night if he let him, but handed over the thermos of coffee he made earlier anyway. The look of relieved appreciation Bones gave him sent bubbles of warmth through Jim’s chest.

           “Thanks, Jim.”

           “No problem.” He tangled his legs up with Leonard’s and once again got lost in studying. Well, he looked like he was wrapped up in studying. His mind kept wandering back to what would happen if he just told Bones how he felt. They spent most nights exactly like this; draped over each other either reading silently or quizzing each other for their classes. If he said something and Bones didn’t feel the same, it could mean this whole thing would end. Jim didn’t want it to end. On the other hand, if he said something, maybe they’d give it a shot.

After maybe half an hour of silently debating with himself, Jim kept his eyes trained on his PADD and spoke up again, “Hey Bones? What would you say if I said I wanted to date you?”

The ensuing silence set his teeth on edge. Jim waited a minute before chancing a look toward the other end of the bed to find Bones slumped against the wall, PADD resting on the bed beside him while he slept soundly. He tried to feel annoyed by the thwarted attempt, but couldn’t muster it. Instead, he carefully detangled their legs and got Bones tucked in. Jim pressed a gentle kiss against his forehead before he settled into his roommate’s bed.

           Jim woke up to his alarm blaring and a note from Bones left on his PADD thanking him for making sure he didn’t sleep sitting up.

 II.

           Hey kid, meet me at the gym?

           Sure thing, Bones.

The entire next week was spent trying to build the courage up again, and he finally found it during one of their workouts. Jim watched Bones work through his weight training, eyes drawn instantly to the strain in his arms and legs as he lifted and pressed on the machines. The flex of his muscles was hypnotizing. After looking around, Jim cursed his luck to find the entire gym too packed to say anything.

Bones appeared to be completely oblivious. He glanced Jim’s way when he was stretching afterward and raised an eyebrow. “You okay, kid? You look redder than usual.”

“Oh, uh… Yeah. Fine. Just warm, I guess.”

“Ready to hit the showers?”

He prayed Bones didn’t notice the gulp that sounded deafening to his own ears. Flashes of Bones naked in the showers assaulted his vivid imagination. “Uh… Yeah. Showers. Right.”

Jim had to remind himself not to stare as Bones’ ass as he trailed along behind his friend.

The locker room was silent; a stark contrast to the clanking and panting on the other side of the walls. No one was showering or changing, and Jim scolded himself for being tempted to watch.

“Hey Bones?”

Bones glanced over his shoulder as he stripped down, the muscles in his shoulders rippling under skin shining with sweat as he tugged his shirt up over his head. “Yeah, Jim?”

Shit. How was that fair? He stared in silence for just a few moments too long before realizing Bones had turned to watch him with a raised brow. Focus, Jim.

“Um… So I wanted to ask you…”

The door opened then. Jim sighed and waved Bones off toward the showers with a mumbled ‘later’ and got ready for his own. There was a second where it looked like Bones was going to press the issue, but Jim knew the stickiness of drying sweat was probably starting to make his skin crawl.

He caught Jim by the arm on their way out of the building. “So what’d you wanna ask me?”

“Nothing important, I guess. I already forgot.” Jim let an easy shrug roll off his shoulders while internally cursing anyone and everyone that had just interrupted his moment. “If it comes back to me, I’ll let you know.”

 III.

           As far as Jim was concerned, midterms were a blight upon his plans. Any spare moment he might have had with Bones was immediately eaten up by study groups or writing papers. The doctor hadn’t spent more than a few minutes alone in his presence for the better part of the last week. Jim wasn’t sure whether to be thankful that he was too busy to ponder the failures in his personal life or irritated that he hadn’t had the opportunity to try again. He chose to go with irritated and ended up snapping at nearly everyone he came in contact with.

           He almost ignored the pinging alert that sang out from his PADD in favor of catching a quick nap between study sessions, but it was followed by several rapid-fire alerts that could only mean one thing. After reaching across the bed and grabbing it, Jim read through the messages.

           Jim I need you in the library.

           Now. This guy isn’t getting the hint and won’t let me study in peace.

           I fucking mean it, kid.

           My usual charm is just encouraging him.

           Come pretend to be my boyfriend or something.

           Seriously, don’t tell me you’re asleep right now.

           Jim?

           C’mon please?

           Jim couldn’t help but laugh. He tapped out a quick answer as he pulled his cadet jacket back on. I’ll be there in a second, sweetheart ❤

           Don’t fucking play with me just get here.

           Honestly, he had to give this guy some credit. With all the rumors Jim knew were floating around about Bones and him (with just a little help from himself, of course), he was surprised there was anyone with enough spine to hit on either of them anymore. Yet here this guy was. He was practically draped over the back of Bones’ chair, offering charming smiles in the face of Len’s scowling.

           “You know, we should get outta here. Maybe go grab a drink?”

           “There you are, Bones!” Jim bounced over and nudged his way between Leonard and his unwanted suitor. He decided to take advantage of the moment and pressed a kiss into Bones’ forehead. The flush that sprang to the Georgian’s cheeks was worth missing out on his nap. “You about ready to go, babe? We had plans for dinner.”

           Bones graced him with one of his rare smiles, definitely more in relief than anything else. He stood up to kiss Jim’s cheek. “Sure thing, darlin’. Just lemme pack up.”

           Jim took a moment to glance at the guy still standing there. “Something I can help you with?”

           “Oh, uh… No. Sorry. I was, uh… Sorry.”

           He found a wicked sense of glee in watching the guy turn tail and nearly run. Once he was out of sight, Jim let out a huffed laugh. He turned his gaze back to Bones, a little smirk tugging at his lips.

           “You feel safe now that I’ve defended your honor, oh damsel in distress?”

           “Just shut it, Jim,” Bones grumbled as he shoved his PADD into his bag. “So you really wanna grab dinner? My treat. We should probably take a break before we explode anyway.”

           “Yeah sure. Sounds good to me,” Jim agreed. He ran his eyes over Bones’ form, and frowned when he noticed how much weight the doctor appeared to have lost in the last few weeks of studying. “When was the last time you ate something other than coffee, Bones?”

           “I eat just fine, thank you.”

           Ah, the standard defensive response when he knew Jim was right. He snagged Len’s hand and took off toward their favorite dive. The more calories he could pump into the man, the better.

           The good mood that came with spending some non-study time with Bones crashed almost as quickly as it had inflated. Any time he opened his mouth to try and bring up his feelings, something would happen. Their waiter would pop by to ask about drink refills. Or take their order. Or some drunken jackass would bump into their table. Jim’s grimace rivaled Len’s at that last one.

           By the time Jim had wolfed down his own burger and he had managed to shovel a chicken sandwich and a plate of fries into Bones, he had given up. Maybe getting to pretend to be his boyfriend earlier was as far as his luck was willing to go that day. He paid the tab and headed out, fingers laced behind his head as he looked out at stars.

           “You gonna go out there with me when we leave here, Bones?”

           A derisive snort came before the response, “I’d rather take a long fall on a short rope, but I bet you’ll find a way to wheedle me onto one of those tin cans. So it would be stupid of me to say no.”

           “So you’ll come with me anyway?”

           “Sure, Jim.”

           Jim figured that would probably be good enough.

 IV.

           That sentiment didn’t last long. The second he knew Len’s last midterm was over, Jim found himself sprinting through the halls toward Bones’ room. He was determined to drag the grumpy doctor out for drink where Jim could hopefully find his courage at the bottom of a whiskey glass. A few quick taps on the keypad outside preceded the door sliding open and allowing him in.

           “Hey Bones! Get dressed in something sexy! We’re going to the bar!”

           Len glanced up from the holochat he was in the middle of and raised an eyebrow. Jim immediately snapped his mouth shut, but the voice of a child piped up to fill the awkward silence.

           “Who’s that, daddy?”

           “That’s Jim, baby peach. I told you about him, right?” the smile he gave the screen could have melted the ice on Pluto. Jim watched him interact with his daughter from the doorway, not really sure if he should leave or not until Bones motioned him over.

           The mop of brown curls and a nearly perfect match for Bones’ eyes was almost exactly how he imagined Joanna would look. She gave him a bright smile and a wave when he came into view and he waved back just as enthusiastically. He figured she must be around six now, but he was always awful at guessing ages.

           “Hey there, munchkin! Your dad here’s told me a lot about you.” Jim leaned in like it was sharing a secret, voice dropping into a mock whisper, “You know… He probably loves you more than anyone or anything in the whole universe.”

           She giggled and whispered back to him, “I think daddy likes you a lot cuz he talks about you, too!”

           “Hey now, no secrets!” Bones piped in with another easy smile. “So how’s first grade, baby? You like your teacher?”

           “Uh-huh! Miss Zhang’s my teacher and Rosie’s in my class this year. And Darnel and Rochelle! They’re twins, but they don’t look alike.”

           The rest of her rambling became background noise to Jim as he watched how Bones stared at the screen with open adoration. It was a good look on him. Maybe it was Jim’s imagination, but he thought Bones might be leaning into him just a bit as he spoke. Jim traced every inch of Len’s face with his eyes. It was the raising of an eyebrow brought Jim back into the conversation.

           “Is that so? Well what’s his name?”

           “Uh… Eric I think? I haven’t met him yet, but mama seems to like him.”

           “Well if your mama likes him, then you need to be nice. I don’t wanna hear about you pulling that monkey business with his shoes, ya hear?”

           “Well if he doesn’t want his shavin’ cream in his shoes, he shouldn’t yell at mama.”

           There was the slightest twitch at the corner of Bones’ mouth that said he was trying his best to maintain the stern demeaner, but failing horribly. Joanna must have noticed because she attempted to mimic the look and ended up breaking into another fit of giggles. Even Bones cracked a laugh. Joanna turned from the screen for a minute.

           “But mama!” There was a muffled response before Joanna turned back to the PADD. “Mama says it’s time for bed, but can you read me a bedtime story?”

           “Of course, baby. What one do you wanna hear?”

           “Baby Peach and Papa Peach!”

           “Alright, darlin’. Go brush your teeth and get ready for bed. Lemme talk to your mama for a bit and then I’ll tell you a story.” He turned to Jim. “I’ll meet you at our usual spot, alright? This shouldn’t take long, so just order me a bourbon.”

           “Sure thing, Bones.”

           Jim settled into their usual spot at the bar and ordered their drinks while he waited. He made some small talk with the bartender, a lovely young Orion woman who under normal circumstances Jim would have went for, until Bones walked in. She gave him a knowing smile when he turned attention to the doctor. The warm smiles and eyes full of adoration and devotion had been replaced by a look of defeat. He snagged the glass of bourbon without a word and downed it with a slight grimace before motioning for another.

           “That bad?”

           “I was hopin’ to bring her up here for a bit during our little vacation comin’ up, but Joss told me about some birthday slumber party for one’ve Jo’s friends.” The second drink was nursed a little more than the first, but before Jim had even ordered his own second, he was calling for a third. “Should’ve planned it sooner, but I only just got to go-ahead from the higher ups.”

           “I’m sorry, Bones… I know you miss her.”

           “Yeah…”

           They drank in silence, Jim once again agitated about the circumstances preventing him from opening his mouth. He watched as Bones worked his way through sobriety and almost skipped over tipsy on his race to drunken stupor. When Len’s drink count nearly tripled Jim’s, Jim waved a hand at the bartender.

           “Hey Saiph! No more for this guy I gotta get him back home.”

           She gave a quick nod and cleared out the glasses while Jim paid the tab using Bones’ chip (it was his turn to pay after all) and carefully led Bones back to his room. The man mumbled nonsense gripes the whole way back.

           They had barely made it back inside before Bones rushed to the bathroom, half the bourbon he had consumed coming back up in a rush. Jim sighed and followed him in so he could rub at Len’s back and make sure he didn’t pass out in the toilet. Between the waves of nausea overtaking his friend, Jim managed to work Bones out of his cadet jacket and pants so he wouldn’t ruin them.

           Once it seemed like the vomiting was done, Jim hoisted Bones up and got him to rinse out his mouth and let Jim wipe down his face with a cloth. He got a bit of water into him and made sure to grab the aspirin bottle before he helped Bones back toward his bed.

           “C’mon, Bones… Time to get you to bed.”

           “Bed sounds good. You gonna be there, too kid?” The slurred words shouldn’t be having the effect on him that they were. “You should be there.”

           “Dammit, Bones don’t offer me that cuz you know I’ll do it.”

           “Betchu won’t.”

           “Yeah, sure. Seriously, I know your legs can still work when you’re drunk so help me out here. Walk toward the bed.”

           He ended up having to half-drag Bones to bed. When they got there, Bones flopped down and wrapped his arms around Jim’s waist and pulled him down with him. Jim groaned as he found Bones quickly tangling their limbs together.

           “Shit… Fine, I guess I’m staying here.” He nuzzled into Len’s hair. “Night, Bones…”

 V.

           Morning came with Jim waking long before Bones did. He couldn’t move without attempting to detangle Bones’ legs from his, so he resigned himself to the fate of waiting for the doctor to come to on his own. No classes meant no alarm, and as far as Jim knew Bones didn’t have to be at the hospital that day so he was stuck.

           It wasn’t until mid-morning, coming up on noon that Bones finally started moving. He cracked his eyes open with a groan, a hand flying right to his head as the hangover hit him. Jim grabbed the water glass he had left on the bedside table the night before and wiggled it by Len’s face.

           “I would’ve made coffee, but you kinda turned into an octopus when I put you to bed.”

           Another grumble before Bones grabbed for the glass. He carefully sat upright, going slow to avoid potential dizziness and nausea, and took a few small sips. Jim helped him stay up while he drank.

           “Dammit… My head is killing me. Thanks for getting me back last night.”

           “No problem, Bones. You wanna let me up? I’ll make us some breakfast and get you some coffee.”

           Coffee was the magic word. Jim found himself freed and made his way into the kitchenette. When poking around the fridge only yielded the coffee creamer Bones kept on hand for Jim and a six pack of the beer Jim liked, he sighed and turned to the replicator. Knowing Bones, he probably only had baking sheets if he had anything for cooking at all. He’d have to see about making Bones eat something real and not replicated before they were both launched into space.

           “Bacon and eggs sound good?” He called toward the other room and smile at the almost whine. “C’mon, Bones. You need something greasy once in a while and a hangover is the perfect occasion. I’ll even bring you some wheat bread how about that?”

           “Ugh fine.” Jim could hardly hear the mumbled voice through the doorway. He smiled as he punched in the codes for the food and wandered back in with a couple plates.

           “Up and at ‘em, sunshine!” The glare he got from under a pillow was worth it. “Seriously, sit back up grumpy turtle. Outta your shell.”

           With only a little more prodding, Bones finally propped himself up against the wall and reached for the plate. After giving it several dubious looks, he took a couple bites. As the food settled in his stomach, he began to look a bit better and eventually relaxed a bit. He nudged at Jim’s leg with his foot with a smile. “Thanks, Jim.”

           “You’ve hauled my drunk ass back home plenty of times, Bones. You doing okay now?”

           Bones swallowed a swig of coffee before he responded, “Yeah. Just got a little overstressed, I guess.”

           “Sorry you won’t be able to see Jo.”

           “Yeah.”

           The two sat in comfortable silence while they finished up their breakfast. At some point, Bones got up to get more coffee and to toss the plates in the recycler while Jim geared himself up for a new approach. They were alone. They didn’t have classes, neither of them had to be anywhere specific that day, they weren’t about to fall asleep after a long day, and Bones was getting to his second cup of coffee which meant he’d be more human than tired cave troll. The only thing that could make now the best time would be if the rest of Bones’ hangover were to magically disappear.

           That wish was granted when Bones came back holding an empty hypospray and looking relieved. He dropped it into the medical waste bin by the bed and flopped back down. “That’s much better. Remind me of today if I ever try to withhold a hangover cure from you ever again.”

           A slow smirk crept to his lips. “Oh you can bet I will, Bones. So, um… I had a question for you.” He took the raised eyebrow he got in response as a prompt to continue, “Well I wanted to see if you’d be up to dinner with me later. Say tomorrow night? To celebrate being done with midterms without any of the barfights, y’know?”

           He hoped he wasn’t fidgeting as much as he thought he was while he waited for an answer. “Well where were you thinking about taking me, kid? I didn’t realize you went anywhere that didn’t sell cheese fries.”

           “I dunno. I was planning to find someplace if you said yes.”

           “Well start looking for a place then.”

           “So… Yes?”

           “Why do you sound so surprised? It’s dinner. We’ve had dinner together before.”

           Jim tried to scramble for a reason, “We’ve, uh… We’ve just been too busy to hang out much the last couple weeks, so I just got used to you saying you couldn’t make it.”

           “True enough. Alright, I need to get up and moving around now. Want to hit the gym or did you have plans to get into a bar fight tonight to make up for tomorrow?”

           “Gym sounds good. I’ll go change and meet you there?”

           Bones was already searching for his own clothes and waved him off. “Sure, kid. Catch you in 10.”

           As he left, Jim tried not to do a victory dance. Victory would only come if dinner was a success.

 +1

           The next night came too quickly for Jim. Sure, he found the right restaurant (a place a lot nicer than their usual pub, but not nice enough to require dress uniforms), and he had spent the last half hour getting ready, but he was nearly vibrating with anxiety over the upcoming meal. He hoped to ask Bones about dating while they were eating. Actually, he hoped he could get the cantankerous man out to dance before Jim asked him, but he’d take what he could get.

           He bounced on the balls of his feet as he waited at the door of Len’s room. For probably the hundredth time, he straightened the collar on his cadet reds and smoothed out the front. It was almost impossible to resist just barging in and Jim had to remind himself that it wouldn’t be appropriate date behavior. And c’mon… He knew how to date.

           When the door finally opened, it revealed a freshly shaven Bones. Jim missed the scruff that came with two weeks of not having time to keep up with it, but the clean face looked good. He offered Bones a bright smile and his arm.

           “Shall we go?”

           “Oh how chivalrous of you.” The sarcasm dripped from his voice. Bones stuffed his hands in his pockets instead of taking the arm. “So where are we going that requires we wear our reds?”

           “You’ll see just c’mon.”

           Jim brought him to a place just outside the edge of barracks. The lights were soft, and there was music playing from some unseen source. A lot fancier than Jim intended, but not a black-tie affair; there were other cadets there on dates in their reds. He glanced to his side and found Bones with a thoroughly confused look.

           “Seems a bit lavish for you, doesn’t it?”

           “It’s a bit more than I thought it’d be, but I like it.” He offered the hostess a winning smile. “Hey there. Table for Kirk.”

           “Of course, right this way sirs.” She turned on her heel, menus in hand, and led them toward the back of the restaurant. Their table was just off the dance floor.

           “Your server this evening will be Nime. She should be with you shortly.”

           “Thank you,” Jim and Bones responded in unison before turning to the menus.

           “I bet they have the good bourbon,” Jim added. “Geez, I don’t even know what some of this is.”

           “Most of it looks familiar to me, so just ask if you’re curious.”

           Nime appeared at their table with a 100-watt smile. “Hello! I’m Nime and I’ll be your server this evening. Shall we start with your drink orders?”

           “Bourbon neat, thanks.”

           “Whiskey on the rocks for me.”

           “Excellent. I’ll be right back with those.”

           Bones leveled Jim with a look across the table that he couldn’t identify. There were a few moments of awkward silence before Len finally broke it, “So what the hell is up with all this Jim? You’ve never wanted to go anywhere nicer than the bar even after finals.”

           “I just… Wanted to do something nice.”

           “Bullshit. Spill it, Kirk.”

           Dammit. He should’ve known Bones would notice something was off. Hands down the worst part about wanting to date your best friend. Jim rubbed at his face a bit before giving in.

           “I think we should date.”

           The strangled sound that came from the doctor across the table made the inevitable rejection almost worth it. Jim covered a small smile with his hand and waited for Bones to recover and respond.

           “What?”

           “I think we should date. You know, like hold hands, kiss, go on dates like this one. Date.”

           “Since when do you date? Or see someone more than once for that matter?” He seemed to immediately backtrack in his head when Jim frowned. “I just mean that… That isn’t usually your thing. It’s nothing against you and how you do things, but I can’t do the hookup thing, Jim.”

           “I’m not talking anything casual, Bones. I’ve never really wanted to do anything serious before, but with you I just… Do. So… Let’s eat and have a good time and you think it over, alr-“

           “Yes.”

           It was Jim’s turn to sputter. “What?”

           “I said yes.” Bones accepted his drink with a grateful nod toward Nime. He took a sip and watched Jim over the rim of his glass.

           “Did you need more time to order, or are you ready now?”

           “I think he needs a bit more time,” Bones chuckled. “Should only take another couple minutes.” When she left, he tapped at the menu. “You should actually look at that before she comes back. We can talk more when she won’t be popping in every few minutes.”

           Instead of answering, Jim buried himself in the menu and read through the options. It was hard now that he could only think about Bones agreeing to date him. When he finally picked, he uncovered his face to find Bones watching him with an appealing sparkle in his eyes. He made a couple false starts before Jim finally managed to start talking again.

           “So you said yes.”

           “Pretty sure I did, yeah.”

           “To dating me.”

           “Yes, Jim. I said yes to dating you.”

           “Oh.”

           “Isn’t that what you wanted to happen?”

           “I mean… Yeah.”

           Nime came back, ordering PADD in hand. “Are we ready to order now?”

           “Yeah, I’ll have the filet mignon with the balsamic glaze.” Jim kept his finger on the dish so he wouldn’t lose it on the page. Bones apparently found this amusing.

           When Nime turned to Len, he glanced back at the menu before adding, “And I’ll have the mushroom risotto and another bourbon, please.”

           “I’ll put these orders in and be back with your drink, sir.”

           Once she was gone, Jim stood and offered a hand out to Bones. When he receives a confused look, he gestures out to the dance floor. “Dance with me while we wait for dinner?”

           “Aw hell, you know I haven’t danced in years…”

           “Yeah, but I’d like to. I bet you’ll do great.”

           Bones finally took his hand and allowed himself to be led out onto the floor. A look of pure surprise sprang to his face when Jim took the lead. Jim took one of his hands and placed the other on Bones’ waist and pressed in close. He was close enough to see a flush creeping to the doctor’s cheeks as Jim started leading him through a waltz.

           “When did you learn to dance?”

           “My last midterm was a few days ago, you were studying for some medical exam, so I had a lot of free time.”

           “Jesus, kid… Remind me never to leave you bored.”

           “You’ll just have to keep a close eye on me, huh?”

           “Guess I will.”

           Jim decided to test his luck and before they finally returned to their seats for dinner, he pulled Bones in for a short, chaste kiss that was returned eagerly. He almost wished they hadn’t bothered with dinner, but he could live with the warm looks Bone sent his way as they chatted through eating.

           It wasn’t until Bones tugged him into his dorm afterward that he truly considered the night a success.

[londonfoginacup]

Fic Author Self Rec

@phd-mama tagged me to do the fic author self rec, where we rec our own fics and then tag other authors. Anyone who knows me knows that I start to freak out if people actually… get excited about my fics. So this is good practice! Love thyself. Love thyfics.

5. Six Weeks. This was my Big Bang from last year, and also the first fic I ever started planning. It’s also the closest I’ve ever gotten to something like angst, and by reading it you’ll be able to tell that yes, I am apparently a fluff fiend at heart.

4. Down the Backs of Tabletops (and ticket stubs in the attic). I wrote this for a fiction writing class, and every day when I had to bring it in to class for discussion, I just did a mass name-change from one direction to random names, ahahaha. So approximately 20 English majors read this and sort-of approved of it (except one asshole who drew memes all over it and told me that it shouldn’t have a happy ending because that’s “expected” and “drab” like, fuck off). It’s weird and you’re not going to understand what’s going on until, like, halfway through? But halfway through 7k isn’t that far! I believe in you, dear reader!

3. Record Your Fate (and Write Me In). This fic makes me think of watching Frozen at 2am with my roommates spooning on the couch next to me and talking in their sleep, because that’s when I wrote 90% of it. One thing that you need to know about me is I’m a sucker for hurt/comfort, but also for weird fantasy, and I was somehow able to squash both of them into this fic. It’s weird. You should read it.

2. For the Love of Honey. This was all written between the hours of midnight and 3am, and by reading it I think that’s obvious. This fic reads like something that someone who never sleeps and also has just drunk a venti caramel macchiato sans-milk would write. Personally, I think it’s funny. But maybe that’s just me.

1. I Don’t Love You I Want in Your Heart. For some reason I’ve become so… attached to this fic. If you want something else to make you laugh, this is (hopefully) it. It’s also a/b/o, which I know is not a lot of people’s cuppa tea, but I’ve been told that it’s good even if you don’t like it! High praise, let me tell you.

Okay I have NO clue who has and hasn’t done this at this point (but damn I’m always one of the last ones to do this, how inconvenient!) so I tag @lululawrence, @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed and @hrrytomlinson

[thebackroadtourist]

A Midnight Train to Nowhere

The conductor came behind me in the darkness and grabbed my upper arm nearly yanking it out of it’s shoulder socket. My initial instinct was to protect myself, the cramped heat that had welled up inside of me tempted a right hook to his face as I whipped around but I knew I had to keep cool. “What the hell man?” I replied shaking my arm from his grip. He angrily motioned for me to keep moving as he pushed my gridlocked arm away from him causing me to stumble forward. He thought I was blocking the narrow sleeper train walkway with my backpack. Ignorant dude, I thought, I couldn’t move anyway.

Two days earlier: “It’ll be fun!” Kirill hyped in a successful attempt to recruit me to Budva with him two nights prior to our night train to nowhere. He had found night train tickets for $30 each in a sleeper car, not a bad deal for a 14 hour ride. That evening we walked to the Belgrade train station to buy our tickets for Saturday’s train. A station unlike the one’s I’ve been to; a run-down, un-manicured station that brought you back in time. A visually non-appealing station that resembled the city itself, an attitude of “we’ve been through some shit.” Belgrade has been demolished 14 times since the 1500′s, more than any other country.  Saturday came as we walked back to the station to catch our 9pm train. Unsure of which platform our train would leave from we spotted two Englishmen and two Kiwis sitting on a bench. The two Kiwi’s had Hawaiian shirts on, their beards scraggly and long hair muffled, they haven’t showered for days. “Mate, by day 5 every gulp of beer felt like razor blades in my throat” the Kiwi said in his hoarse New Zealand accent, the dark circles under his eyes were battle scars from the 8 day festival in Budapest they were recovering from. “We took whatever we got our hands on - acid, srooms, pills.” Woof, I can’t imagine. They were going to Montenegro too, though unsure of what stop they would get off or where they would sleep the next night. Kirill and I at least had our hostel booked in Budva. “Somehow we would make it Budva” we repeated optimistically. Maybe we would catch a bus once we arrive in Montenegro, or hitch hike? Our minds were set on Budva, a beach town an abundance of beautiful nature, electric nightlife and an old city that drew tourists in from neighboring former Yugoslavian countries. Our train arrived to platform 6, like nails on a chalkboard it screeched into the station just minutes before 9. We searched for our car, hurrying along the rusty sides of the graffiti-ridden train, some cars pitch black from a lack of electricity while others were slightly dimmed. No luck finding our car. The ticket taker at each car sent us to the next, like our quest for the techno club earlier that week, we couldn’t find our car. Finally we found it, the one without electricity as we crammed into the narrow hallway pushing through Serbians who had already begun smoking cigarettes out the windows. We baby stepped inch by inch, making our way through the cluster of smokers and families entering their rooms, trying to find ours.

The conductor had come behind me nearly yanking my arm nearly out of it’s socket. My human instinct was to blow a punch at his face when I whipped around but I knew I had to keep cool. “What the hell man?” I replied, as he angrily motioned his free hand for me to keep moving as he pushed my gripped arm away from him causing me to stumble forward. He thought I was blocking the hallway with my backpack. Stupid man, I thought, I couldn’t move anyway. Moments later we found our room, number 4. The room must have been no larger than 50 square feet, no larger than my small bathroom in my Brooklyn apartment. a family of 4 was already in there beds, the two remaining were the bunks at the very top, two triple-bunkers with slanted beds the width of Kirill’s torso hanging on by rails with a ladder with no locked foundation at the top. We used the unstable ladder to climb into our bunks and tucked our luggage in the storage rack in front of us. We laughed, knowing this would make for a cool experience. The Serbian family below us had two young children, already curled up in their sheets, unbothered by the suffocating humidity in our room, of course the  small fan on the wall was not working.

~To travel is to get out of your comfort zone~

Tonight there was no shower before bed. There was no brushing of teeth, no washing of face, no perusing through Instagram. Tonight was just me, Kirill across from me and the family of 4 below us, with two feet of space in between our adjacent bunks and a hallway outside our door large enough for one person to walk through and the smell of burnt steel around us. The train rumbled as we geared up to begin our trek through the large Serbian countryside, assuming we’d make it to Montenegro by morning. We were drenched in our own sweat, sticking to our sheets like a glue-stick. The train had no water. The train had no food. This was a fend-for-yourself situation. Luckily we had prepared ourselves with snacks and water - the one true adult decision we have made in the past couple of days. We were roughin’ it, yet we were in the flow. As the train creaked along the tracks moving at snails pace with no breeze coming through the cracked window in our room to the other side of the tracks, we stripped off our shirts in hopes of some relief. Meanwhile the young boys beneath us appeared perfectly comfortable. We made the best out of the situation, agreeing it sucked however this is what backpacking is all about. Kirill and I swapped stories of our high school and college lives and joked about the pervious couple of days we had shared in Belgrade, from the beer fest to the techno club to the funny dutch guys we met and feasted with each night at the same restaurant because it was so damn good. To the beautiful Serbian women we met to the Asian guy in our dorm who moaned in his sleep.

Kirill had no trouble falling asleep as he was hungover from the night before. I on the other hand had an experience riding these rails. While I was laying in my bunk I felt culture shocked, I began to realize how random my life had become in that moment. Traveling with a Serbian family and a Russian through the backlands of Yugoslavia on my way to another foreign country in a post soviet train. 1am approached and I still couldn’t sleep, the heat was getting to me. I quietly climbed down the shakey ladder and into the narrow hallway where people were smoking cigarettes and stick my head out the window to gaze at the dark trees whisking by in front of me. A feeling of peace came over me. Around 2am the temperature had dropped and I was able to fall sleep. 3 hours later we were woken up by the sound of border patrol - “Passports please!” a brutal wake up call we got our visas stamped, one more country. One more country.

~My favorite feeling in the world - entering a brand new country~

I smiled to myself and fell back to sleep. Two hours later Kirill and I woke up in pitch darkness as the train screeched to a halt. “Did we just stop in a tunnel? Why?” Kirill’s slight claustrophobia had made it’s first appearance. “I don’t like this” he panicked slightly. “This is normal in our country.” Everything is OK,” the mother from two bunks below soothed him with her sweet voice, her broken English so sweet and innocent. A Serbian night train was nothing to fear.