#and getting off my bicycle and walking for half a mile

[aprillikesthings]

lol

I forgot what time I needed to go to bed (I have church again in the morning) and cracked open a 16oz Ninkasi IPA (beer), then realized the time and nearly chugged it

THEN

I took an edible before getting in the shower

THEN

In the shower was like.....why am I suddenly viscerally reminded of being on drunk party bicycle rides (for instance: the Midnight Mystery Ride, or anything late at night on the Pedalpalooza calender like Bowie vs Prince or Loud and Lit) in my late 20's/early 30's?????

Oh.

Because I was usually drinking a Ninkasi IPA too fast (because I couldn't really carry it once it was open) and then smoking weed at the next stop. Right.

Like. I literally can't remember the last time I combined alcohol and weed that didn't involve a bicycle ride of other people drinking/smoking and playing loud music and stopping in parking lots/parks to socialize and drink/smoke more.

[fox-bright]

23 years ago today, my mother made me homeless.

I was thinking about that, on my evening walk with my husband. The sun was creeping away from us, the sky was high and cloudless, the air was cool but the river was low and so it all smelled a little bit of mussel shells. And I walked hand in hand with him for most of the four miles, past the fellow doing a mural on the underpass, past the ice cream shop that does an excellent key lime pie ice cream, all along the greenway beside the river.

I was thinking it's not--I have never liked the phrase "it's not fair," because I never encountered fair. But it feels like an insult, that there are hurts you can take and never get better from. I sprained my right knee and ankle in opposite directions, slipping on ice nearly twelve years ago; they will never properly heal. And similarly, the wounds from being thrown away after I came out as queer are probably going to ooze a bit forever. It's been more than half my life, I was only nineteen, and still I get sad and angry when I think on it.

My life is full of many things. I do not have to think on it often, if I do not want to. But anniversaries do creep up on one.

So we went for our walk, my husband and I, and I watched the swallows overhead, and looked for more baby snapping turtles like the one we saved from the bicycle path the other afternoon. And the walk was good, and the company was good.

And on the way back, nearly at the end of our way, I looked up the path and saw someone asleep on a bench beside the road.

The hours toward the end of the afternoon, into the early evening, are sometimes the safest time to sleep, when you have to sleep rough in a city. It's not unlikely that after sunset you have to get up and stay up, lest you be fucked with by the cops or rousted out, or suffer violence from the sort of person who likes to go out and cause trouble in the dark. I felt a sick twist of sympathy, seeing the man with his socked feet sticking off the end of the bench. A familiarity.

But then as we got closer to him, I saw his socks were matching, and pretty clean. And his haircut was recent. And he was wearing, I realized belatedly, a set of matching sky-blue scrubs.

The hospital was less than a block up the road. This poor doctor hadn't made it any farther than that before he had to sleep, he had to sleep, and here he was looking like a dead thing. Absolutely unmoving. Face mashed into the slats of a metal bench.

I worry about what's coming. Everyone is already so tired.

Just have to put one foot ahead of the other, and get what rest we can. And where we can, look out for one another.

[thehusbandoden]

A Day Off -Dad! Dabi x Mom!Reader

It's really late but I finished this a little while ago and wanted to post it now.

Fluff | 1,471 words

Dabi's real name used + (spoilers below)

An au where Touya doesn't become Dabi the villain, but instead a loving father to your three kids. (Plus the number one hero)

Touya grinned as he finished breakfast, happy to help you out and give you a well deserved break.

You and Touya have been married for eight and a half years. You two met at UA high, and an epic love story commenced. You two were made for each other, finding one another again again, no matter how many times you thought things were entirely over.

Touya gave you happiness in life, and you gave him sanity. He almost ran from home many times, and even got seven miles out of the city on foot before you found him, panting on your bicycle.

Touya was quite mad at you for going so far alone at night, and you were utterly livid that he just tried to leave you.

Before Touya could scold you, you blew up on him, tears running down your cheeks as you cussed him out, telling him if he ever tried to leave you again you would hunt him down and break his legs.

Even as you threatened him he hugged you, rubbing his hands up and down your back for comfort.

You two called a friend to pick you up, and you went on with your life. A little more in love with each other than before.

And here you two were, twelve years later. Married, with three kids.

"Daddy! Daddy!" Haru squealed, pulling on Touya's "kiss the chef" apron, red pig tails bouncing up and down.

"Yes, Pumpkin?"

"Mommy awake"

"Already? Go show her your picture, try to stall her, mkay?"

"Okays!"

Touya smiled as the four year old ran off to stall her mother, heart melting at her innocence.

Going back to cooking, Touya hoped you would be distracted for at least a few more minutes.

~Your pov:~

Confused, you picked up your phone to check the time.

7:51

Panicking, you bolt up from bed, sprinting towards the door, stubbing your toe on a toy.

Inwardly cursing, you open the door to your shared bedroom, making your way into the hallway.

"Mommy! Wook at my dwawing!" Haru exclaimed, heterochromatic eyes shining as she shoved the paper in your face.

"Oh it's so pretty! Why don't you go show Daddy while Mommy goes to get your brothers ready?"

Haru smiled and ran away with a giggle, making her way to the kitchen.

Sighing, you made your way to your boys' room. Opening the door, you were surprised to see their beds empty.

"Taro, Riku~!" You call, walking towards the kitchen.

"We're in the entrance mom!" Taro calls, bringing you towards his voice.

"I'm sorry I woke up late, let's get ready quickly, and I'll buy you guys breakfast on the way there." You coo, stepping into the entrance of your home.

"But- we're not gonna be late. And we already ate!" Riku replied, popping his (h/c) head out to look at you.

"Hey mama, I already got everything handled, go get some more sleep." Dabi hummed, eyes soft as his head popped out as well, turquoise eyes soft as he smiled at you.

"You... You are amazing." You sigh, smiling up at your husband as he hummed, walking towards you.

"Well if you think I'm that amazing, you could always reward me with a kiss?" Touya smirked, leaning towards your lips teasingly.

Chuckling, you slowly closed the distance.

Right as your lips met your kiss was interrupted by your kids' squeals.

Haru was squealing in joy, always happy to see her parents show affection to one another.

Riku was disgusted, never wanting to see anybody receive any sort of affection besides what he got from both his beloved mommy and daddy.

And Taro- the only one who didn't squeal.

He was beet red.

He dreams of the day when he finds the perfect woman -much like his perfect mama- and has a family of his own.

He loves both of his parents. And strives to be the perfect husband and dad -like his daddy- and find the perfect wife -like his mama-.

You smiled as Riku wailed in despair, shaking Haru as she jumped up and down, Taro only staring at his parents in awe.

"Ri-ri, you'll give your sister a headache, quit that. Ru, you're gonna pass out if you don't calm down, and Ro, for the sake of your ma, you need to breathe." Touya sighed, a smile on his lips as he eyed his gorgeous mismatched children in adoration.

Taro, the seven year old eldest by forty three minutes.

He has crimson red hair resembling Touya's. He got his grandma's eyes, but also a splash of yours. Resulting in gorgeous steel gray eyes with a breathtaking splash of (e/c) around the pupils. His facial structure is most similar to Touya's, but he takes after your personality, attitude, and tendies.

Though it would be hard to tell by someone who's not close to your family due to his shy nature concealing it.

He's known for his respectful, peaceful, and polite nature. The calmer of the twins, and the least likely to cause any sort of problem.

Riku, the younger, rambunctious twin.

Riku has (h/c) hair and turquoise eyes. He looks almost exactly like his mum, and gets his fiery personality from his dad.

He's known as the trouble maker, but he does have his gentle moments.

And the four year old youngest, Haru.

Haru has crimson hair like her daddy and big brother. And, like her uncle Shoto, has two different eye colors. Her left eye is the same gorgeous color of her mama's, and her right eye is the same breathtaking turquoise as her dad's. She looks identical to her dad, and has a fun, very very bright personality.

She's known for her sweetness, creativity, and selflessness.

Touya was snapped out of his thoughts as Haru and Riku pulled at his sleeves, warning him that they'd be late if they didn't hurry.

Laughing he pecked you on the lips before following his darlings out the door, telling you that he'd be right back.

~~

It was half an hour later when Touya walked back in, immediately finding his place on top of you as you laid on the couch.

"Oof- hey baby.. where's Haru?"

"She's at uncle Shoto's house. I thought we could use some alone time."

"Oh? And what are you planning on doing?"

Shifting his way so he could look you in the eyes, he wiggled his eyebrows at you.

"Guess."

~~

Twelve minutes later you were laughing in the kitchen as Touya licked the brownie mix off of the side of your mouth, holding your waist to keep you steady.

"To-To-Touya!" You laugh, pushing your beloved back playfully.

"Hmm?" He asks, pulling you in for a chocolate tasting kiss.

"We need to finish these so we can have room for the cleaning, cuddles, and movie date." You breathe against his lips, making him groan.

"But you taste so good!" He wails in despair, falling against the fridge dramatically.

"Help me get these in the oven and I'll reward you with a kiss~." You coo, instantly seizing the pro's attention.

~~

Two batches of brownies and one marathon of cleaning later, you and Touya were cuddled up on the couch, remote and brownies in hand.

"Oooh! Let's watch (f/m)!"

"UGHH~ we are xnotx watching that again!"

"Why not? It's a great movie."

"And we've seen it forty thousand and a bajilion times."

"You are xsox immature To."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am no-"

"This is exactly what I'm talking about!"

"You're doing it too~!"

"Fine! What movie do you want to watch?"

"Princess Bride."

"No way."

"And why not? Princess Buttercup~."

"Because we've seen it seventy thousand, bajilion times~!"

~Bonus~

"I have no idea who you are talking about. You own no child here." Shoto stated, voice as monotone as ever.

"Umm what the fu- fudge! Fudge!" Touya growled, rubbing his side where you just elbowed him.

"Sho we need Haru." You smile, pinching Touya's arm playfully, causing him to yelp.

"Haru is mine now."

"Oh no she is not. Give me back our daughter." Touya growled, stepping close to the menace of a little brother he has.

"You do not have a dau-"

"Shoto dear.. give us our Haru or we will personally burn your favorite cold soba restaurant, all the others and all of the factories producing the ingredients and instant noodles." You smile, eyes holding an evil only a protective parent or lover could produce.

Shoto's face paled as he stepped inside, quickly returning with a sleeping Haru in his arms.

"I- I was kidding.. please don't burn my soba." Shoto pouted, usually monotone voice holding a certain fear.

".. we'll count this as a warning." You drawl, staring Shoto down meaningfully.

Slightly nodding, Shoto quickly closed his door, shivering at the thought of no soba.

Similar to this: Anything For my Queen

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Tips <3

Comments, Requests, and Reblogs are always appreciated<33

Do not copy, repost, nor plagiarize my work. Ask before you translate or use my work in any way, minus reblogging.

[rotationalsymmetry]

OH. yeah. Since getting CFS, my preferred walk is about two miles max on level ground, but when I was younger/not sick and not especially athletic (I don't think I've run more than a tenth of a mile without slowing to a walk in my life), I could do 12 miles a day with a 50 pound pack, in the mountains, and I wasn't exactly a paragon of athleticness. 8 miles was downright nice, pleasantly sore after kind of thing. That's just how west coast hiking is: switchbacks, manageable slopes, no hands required unless you want to use walking sticks I guess.

I can't even think of very many times I've used hands on a trail -- there was one trail near Las Vegas that had a scramble in one spot, you could climb over boulders off the trail in all sorts of places if you want, and of course there's Half Dome but that's not exactly a typical hike. Every so often if you're on an infrequently maintained trail there might be a tree fallen across the trail that you have to get over or around. Which I guess means I haven't done any proper hiking in the Appalachians, because I did spend a fall in the Smokies and I don't remember anything like that there either.

It's similar with riding a bicycle. The Rockies were one long gradual slope up, totally doable, followed by one long gradual slope down, an absolutely incompatible expeience. The Appalachians are just vertical ups and downs forever. And there's no shoulder, and nobody lets you use their bathrooms. Also, no mountains as such but Missouri is hillier than you'd expect (if you're not taking the Katy Trail) to the point that I consistently had to walk the last half to a third of each hill. Dismounting from my clipless pedals right next to car traffic. I'd take biking over the entire Rocky Mountains over Missouri's rolling hills, let alone the Appalachians.

hiking trails on the west coast: Begin climbing on a soft earthen trail through beautiful douglas fir-western hemlock forest for 2.5 miles along a series of switchbacks, then break from the tree cover for 1 mile of straight even trail through a stunning wildflower meadow just below the ridgeline, after which the trail makes a sharp right and continues to the summit with a further 2 miles of switchbacks. Enjoy beautiful views of the nearest dormant stratovolcano and also at least two waterfalls and a crystal-clear alpine lake along the way. Round trip: 11 miles, 3,000ft elevation gain. Difficulty: moderate :)

hiking trails on the east coast: Go 1.5 miles up. Yes, straight up. Switchbacks? What are you, a baby? Are you a little child? Fuck you. Go up. [Seasonal note: first half of trail is a running stream during mud season and a multipitch ice climbing route during winter.] Round trip: 3 miles, 1,200ft elevation gain. Difficulty: jesus christ

[francoproject]

So I'm sitting here at a friend's house because I live out of my office and I have to sleep somewhere else at times. Trying to keep it on the DL😁.

OH and waiting to get my Jeep back up and running SOON. But I went to drop off my bicycle to get it tuned up so I save on gas. And I had to walk about a mile and a half one way thinking my bike was ready. Because dude said it would be ready Friday. It's freaking Sat!

I need my bike man! I need to be able to get around! Killing me!

[papercherries]

I've always wanted to live.

I've always wanted to live on an island. The ability to walk from one end of something to another is rewarding. I'd like it to take a day or two to complete. I'd like there to be a small village, consisting of: 10-20 residents, a green grocers, a butchers, a general store and a single bar that hosts karaoke every Thursday. I'd like there to only be dirt roads with very minimal cars. Lush forests and interesting wildlife, particularly birds. Migratory birds would visit the island at the same time every year, I'd even become friends with the older ones. It wouldn't be extremely hot, but not cold either. 5-10c in the winter and 15-25c in the summer. The heat would be dry. I'd spend my days relaxing, creating, whatever I saw fit. Creative work, I couldn't live without it. Sometimes, the wild boars of the island would come up to me, this was a sign I'd be allowed to feed them by hand. The water surrounding the island would be a deep dark blue, there wouldn't be a sign of rubbish. Marine Biologists would visit once a year to check how the local ecology was. One of them would be awful at karaoke but we wouldn't be able to break it to them. In the morning, you'd hear the fisherman set off for their days work, pipping throughout the morn, bearing the night before on their faces. Seagulls wouldn't visit the island, they wouldn't need to, there's plenty of fish in the sea. On the weekend, from the shore of the island you could hear our resident musician out at sea. The instruments he chose to play weren't pleasant to be around unless they were performed correctly, so he always made sure to practice a good distance away. Sometimes he'd play something in the bar, usually on a Tuesday. One night, he'd choose the trumpet and play a sorrowful ballad that filled the eyes of all who had the pleasure to hear it. For events such as weddings and funerals, he'd play the bagpipes. Unless asked otherwise. He'd believe it to be a sign of respect. It would be peaceful.

I've always wanted to live in the city. The quiet of the field surrounded town was too much to bear. The fear of being outed for something I couldn't share. Harassed and accosted for the person I am. None of this would happen in my sprawling city. It would be impossible to get from one end to other in a day, even with the incredible infrastructure. Buses, trams and metros would be free for all and bicycles would be incredibly safe to ride. There would be something to do every night, a new possibility in a new neighbourhood. The punk bars up north, the central jazz section, the indie film club showing films on 8mm. I'd have a million lovers and a million more friends. I'd never be alone. Every night from the rooftops you'd be able to hear the neighbourhood dogs barking and cats meowing to be let in. The people! Not one would look alike, yet they'd all have their clique. The businessmen would all wear their tight fitting suits, some experimented with colourful ties and garish socks. You could spot a jazz singer from half a mile away, dark shades for every season, big baggy trousers and a half buttoned down shirt. It would be the style but not a uniform, they would experiment with crazy hair and when they belted their hearts out of their throat. Babies would cease their screaming and lovebugs would click their fingers. Art would be free to express itself, galleries would be full of artists who were showing something new and daring. Shocking and soothing. Smothering and comforting. Food would be cheap and with extreme variety. Polish, Indian, Scottish, Romanian, Japanese, Chinese, Thai, Sri Lankan, Pakistani, Moroccan, Spanish, Portuguese, American, Finnish, Swedish, Nigerian, South African, Ethiopian, Zimbabwean, Mongolian, English, Irish, Brazilian, Chilean, Argentinian, Taiwanese, Korean, French, German, Palestinian, Greek, Turkish, Laotian. There would be a single street that featured a beverage establishment of all these varieties, with more spreading out in the further streets. Every year there'd be 10 music festivals, 4 in summer, 2 in spring, 2 in autumn and 2 in winter. It would be a city of artists. A city of food and culture. A city of love.

There is truth in both of these statements. I want to live in both of these places. I want to live in more places; the calm village surrounded by endless rolling hills and fields, the freezing cold icy forest, in a shitty basement flat under a sweltering city. The point is, I want to be everywhere. Luckily, I don't want to be anyone else. I want to be in these places and be the same people. But for now, I am banished to the metropolises. One day I will have my field, beach, island, city. I will find them, they call to me. I plan to answer, as my queer self. Even if I am a criminal in 71 countries. In the end I just want to live.

[lenbryant]

Oscar a Go-Go on Metro

(NYTimes) The Actor Who Rides the Subway to the Oscars

Ed Begley Jr. has made a tradition of taking public transportation to the Academy Awards. And, like many commuters, he wears sensible shoes.

Ed Begley Jr. could be described as Hollywood royalty: The actor is a son of another actor, Ed Begley, who won a best supporting actor Oscar in 1963.

But the younger Mr. Begley, a longtime member of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, the organization behind the Oscars, commuted to this year’s ceremony like a plebeian by taking the Los Angeles Metro. His trip was filmed by his daughter Hayden Begley, who later shared the video on TikTok, where it has since received more than six million views.

The video opens with Ms. Begley, 24, asking her mother, Rachelle Carson, Mr. Begley’s wife and Oscars guest, how she is getting to the ceremony. “I’m driving,” Ms. Carson says, before asking, “And you’re what?” Off camera Ms. Begley replies, “Taking the subway.” Ms. Carson, who is wearing a black lacy gown, mutters, “Oh God, whatever,” as she waves her arms in exasperation.

Ms. Begley, who in a voice-over explains that she isn’t attending the ceremony with her father, then films his journey to the event on a 240 bus and the B line subway.

As Mr. Begley, 74, who has spent much of his career promotingenvironmentalism, talks to the camera about his fondness for public transit while riding the bus, he shows off two pins on the lapel of his dark suit jacket. One pin was shaped like an Oscar statuette and came from the Academy, where he served on the board of governors for 15 years. He said that the other pin, which had a capital M, was his “Metro pin for being a rider since 1962.”

Later in the video, Ms. Begley films her father’s full look, which includes a pair of black Nike sneakers with chunky white soles. “Thank God there are people like my dad who don’t mind wearing running shoes on a red carpet,” she says in a voice-over.

Mr. Begley, in an interview with The New York Times, said he bought the shoes for walking and that his wife had helped him pick them out. He bought the Cesarani suit he wore to the Oscars on the set of a production he was involved in decades ago. Wardrobe items are tailored to fit actors and then sometimes sold to them at a discount, he explained.

“I’m not a slave to fashion as you probably noticed,” said Mr. Begley, who recently published a memoir about his relationship with his father, who died in 1970, and his life and career in Hollywood.

Door to door, the trip from the Begleys’ home in Los Angeles to the Dolby Theater took an hour, partly because subway station closures resulted in about a half-mile of walking — and also because Mr. Begley spent time posing for pictures with fans and fellow commuters, his daughter said in an interview with The Times.

Ms. Begley, an actor, also works for the Los Angeles County Metropolitan Transportation Authority, a job she started during the recent actors’ union strike. But she was not filming her father’s commute on behalf of the agency; she shared the video from her personal TikTok account.

Taking public transportation to the Oscars has become a sort of tradition for Mr. Begley and his daughter. They used it to get to the event in 2023, a trip she also filmed and shared on social media, as well as to others in prior years. A few days before the first ceremony they attended, Mr. Begley said, he walked into his daughter’s room and asked her if she wanted to make a statement. When she said that she did, he told her, “OK, we’re going to take the subway to the Oscars.”

Over the years, Mr. Begley’s commutes to the awards show have also involved bicycles and electric vehicles, like a Bradley car he and his friend Annette Bening took to the ceremony in 1991. “As a woman in a dress,” he said, “you’ve got to be a yoga master to get out of the car in a dignified manner.”

Bicycles and public transit, he added, are some of his favorite cost-effective and environmentally friendly ways to get around.

“I never feel that I’m wasting my time taking the bus or the subway somewhere because I bring my script with me or do Jumble or Wordle,” Mr. Begley said. “I do the L.A. Times and New York Times Crossword every day.”

[dsandrvk]

Sunday, February 11 - Buenos Aires

It was another very warm and sunny day here, and it was our day to change hotels. We had breakfast at our old hotel, The Pulitzer, and then walked ourselves and our bags about a mile and a half south and east to join the other Seabourn guests at the Alvear Icon, an absolutely beautiful place. After checking in with the Seabourn reps, we were able to check into our hotel room, even though it was only a little past noon. Our "room" was about the size of my first apartment, with a great view back towards the city. We could have enjoyed it and the air conditioning, but didn't want to waste our last day here, so ran down to the ship's hospitality area, grabbed some quick lunch, and headed out towards the nature preserve just off to the east.

It was Sunday, of course, and families were out in force. Along the street just outside the park, there was a little street fair with booths selling odds and ends, as well as numerous food trucks, and guys on bicycles with large coolers selling ice pops. There were also carousels, bouncy castles, and lots of great people watching.

The Reserve itself is a wonderful destination, offering lots of local folks access to the riverfront and a rocky beach area full of bathers. Since this area is basically an overgrown land fill area, the main trails are on the top of dikes, complete with built wooden overlooks at many places, and long wooden walkways criss-crossing areas that used to be small ponds and lakes, but which have dried up because of continuing drought. Even though it was mid-afternoon with plenty of people, there was still a lot of bird life, as well as turtles and iguanas down in the few marshier areas.

The main crowds were down at the beach, cooling off in the river. The rest of us hurried from shade patch to shade patch to try to stay cooler. The park was supposed to close at 7PM, but by the time we left at around 5:30, families were still pouring in, despite the beach being at least a half-hour walk from the entrance. Maybe Sundays just don't count.

We got back to our hotel, cleaned up a bit and went out to find some dinner. We found a lively outdoor bar complex with draught beer and burgers and a view of the marina, and watched the light change on the buildings, an historic ship and a very modern swing bridge. Like many Latin countries, Argentina here seems to come alive when the sun goes down.

Tomorrow we have to get up early for our flight to Ushuaia. Even though our flight doesn't leave until 8AM, we have a bus at 6 to the airport. We are relatively lucky, since there is an earlier flight and some folks have a 4:30 bus. Our lovely hotel will have a breakfast spread starting at 4 AM, and there will be a meal on the plane, so we will be well-fed even before we get on our ship. And by tomorrow evening we should be underway to Antarctica!

[jpitha]

This is one of my old favorites. I cleaned and edited it for reposting.

Downtime on the K’laxi Starbase, two humans wheel their exercise bikes out into the common area and start a ride. Their bikes have large front wheels that hum and whirr as they pedal and they both get into the rhythm of motion, enjoying the feeling of their muscles being used.

After a few moments some K'laxi stop and watch them as they work out. Kelly and Evan don't seem to notice.

After half an hour or so of pedaling Evan finally spoke “You know what I’m sick of?”

Kelly looked up from her bike. “The whole Deathworlder thing?”

“Yes! I don’t think it’s fair that everyone says Earth is a Deathworld. It implies that we’re some kind of strange being. It’s othering!” Evan was gesturing with his water bottle as he spoke.

Kelly leaned up off the handlebars, but kept pedaling. She started counting things on her fingers. “There’s plenty of other places that have storms, plenty of other races that are strong, plenty of other places like Earth”

“Exactly! It’s trying to make us out to be a stereotype and then they don’t have to learn about us as individuals.” As he got more and more animated, drops of water from Evan's water bottle started flying around. Kelly blinked when drops hit her face.

As they talked, the crowd grew. Deep in concentration on their ride, they didn't notice the attention that they have garnered.

Evan and Kelly pedaled in silence for a while longer until Pen'mun couldn't stand it any longer. He looked up from his pad. “You realize you’re having this conversation, on a K’laxi Starbase while pedaling your excise bicycles at -" He looked at a readout on the bike "-180 watts for at least one standard hour now?”

Even looked surprised. “We’re doing a century!”

"That's when you ride continuously for 160km or so." Kelly sounded matter of fact as she reached down and took a sip from her own water bottle.

Pen'mun's pad clattered to the floor. His ears flicked down in surprised frustration. “You’re not even breathing heavy!”

Kelly nodded. “He’s right Evan. Time to step it up.”

As Evan pedaled harder, he looked up and finally noticed the crowd that had gathered. Without saying anything he poked Kelly with a finger and she looked up and did a double take. There were maybe 10 or 12 people watching the two humans pedal without going anywhere. Some in the back were having quiet wagers about how long they could go on.

"What are you all doing here?" Kelly sounded suspicious as she asked.

"Um.. just watching you ride your bikes?" A young K'laxi in the front offered and took a nervous step back.

"I can see that, but why?"

"You're riding so much and you aren't even tired!" Another in the back added.

An older K'laxi on the side of the crowd joined in. "Yeah! How long can you go? I've got 30 credits with Rem'itan that says you can't go the full 160 without stopping."

Pen'mum frowned and looked like he was having a conversation with his translator. “Translator says a century is 100, but you’re doing 160km?”

Evan sighed. “160km is 100 miles. That’s the century”

"What's a mile?" A K'laxi child from the crowd interrupted.

"Old measurement. We don't use it anymore." Kelly finally started to sound like she was having difficultly speaking while she was exerting herself.

Pen found it in himself to actually be amazed in addition to being frustrated. "You're pedaling the equivalent of one hundred sixty kilometers In one session?”

“Yeah” Kelly said between breaths “doesn’t count if you stop between.”

Evan used his nearly empty water bottle to point at Pen'mum. "You're making it sound weird Pen, it's not weird."

At that, a few more K’laxi walked up to watch. People started cheering them on, and that seemed to spur Kelly and Even to go even faster.

Pen'mum opened his mouth and shut it again. His ears fluttered in frustration and his tail poofed out in irritation. He picked up his pad from the ground and went back to his book. eyes back to his book. “Deathworlders” he muttered.

[masterwords]

stuck like glue

Summary: Teenage shenanigans. Jess drags Hotch and Sean out to the lake for a lazy summer afternoon and things do not go as planned.

Pairings: None (Well, Hotch & Haley, but she's not in the story)

Warnings: abuse, injuries (back & hand), near drowning

Notes: Oh my gosh. I wrote something. Like an actual story came from my brain and made it to SO MANY WORDS after more than a month of a dry spell. Hopefully this means we'll have more...I have a few prompts in my inbox to get to, and a few others. This is kind of meant to be a backstory for ANOTHER long one I'm working on that will hopefully be done this week.

Word Count: 6.7k

Read on AO3: stuck like glue

**

She was tired. Exhausted, really. Summer classes started in two weeks (right along with her cushy job at the movie theatre) and it was the only two weeks she'd have fully off...she'd been planning to spend it riding her bike to the lake and sitting all day on the sand. It was more of a glorified watering hole, bigger than a pond but nothing like the grand lakes most kids would go spend their entire summers at. The reeds that surrounded its murky waters were as tall as she was, tall enough to afford her enough privacy that sometimes she decided to make sure her top half was properly and evenly tanned. No one around for miles to yell “Hey, Jess, put those things away!”

But her lake plans were on hold because Haley and Hotch were supposed to be camp counselors for a whole week and then Hotch had to go and get himself hurt. She wasn't really sure how bad it was, she hadn't had time to see him yet (or maybe she'd been avoiding him) but Haley assured her it was bad. So first he missed summer camp, and then he would miss tryouts for Shakespeare at the park, and to add insult to injury, he wouldn't make it to auditions for the summer production at the Children's Theatre. He was up a creek without a paddle, stuck at home with Sean for the foreseeable future. At least that had been the idea, but like all things in his life...plans change, and never in accordance with his desires.

On his first full day alone at home after "the fall" as Haley had come to call it so quickly, she'd taken her bike to his house just to see. His dad was at work, his mom had tennis, Haley was wrangling rowdy kids at summer camp and he was alone with Sean. With her backpack slung over one shoulder, she skidded her bicycle down the gravel road, twisting and going hands free every now and then, her unruly lion's mane blowing wildly in the wind. Two weeks of summer and planned to suck up every last drop, no matter what.

But she was so tired, and by the time she was dumping her bike on the Hotchner lawn and tugging the cuffs of her overalls back down, she'd already worried about what she was going to walk in to find. She could see Sean through the big picture window. He was standing over the couch pouting and she knew better than to knock. Hotch was hurt but he'd get up anyway, and she knew where the key was kept so there was really no reason to put any of them through it. He'd get up, she'd scold him for it...best to avoid it entirely.

Third board to the right of the rug, the one with the heart shaped knot, she peeled it up and pulled the key out quickly, getting the door open before he even had a chance to sit himself up. She'd been worried for nothing though, because at the moment of her entry, he couldn't have managed sitting up on his own. Not even as stubborn as he was.

“What are you doing here?” he grumbled, always finding a reason to be mad at something. She huffed and put her hands on her hips, staring at him, assessing the situation. Like hell she was going to be taking any shit from a kid who couldn't even roll himself over unassisted.

“Haley said you got hurt.” She paused, licking her Dr. Pepper chapstick lips and frowned, lowering her voice an octave. “Your dad?”

His sudden frown mirrored hers. “No.”

“Yeah right.” She wasn't about to let him lie to her, but this time he wasn't lying and he explained it in as few words as possible. The pain in his back was still fresh and at times overwhelming, he really didn't have the energy to expend on words. But he could find enough for this, to let his dad off the hook this time.

“I fell out of the treehouse.”

She rolled her eyes, but crouched beside him anyway to hear the rest of the sorded tale. Sean threw his arms happily around her neck, his sticky popsicle mouth tickling against her cheek when he whispers to her that Hotch is actually telling the truth. “I went up there to fix a broken railing, didn't want Sean to fall...”

“Well you're obviously not much of a handyman then, huh?” But she softened her tone and touched a scrape on his arm, probably the least of his concerns but it was big and angry red. “How bad is it?”

He looked at Sean and nodded for him to leave the room for a minute. “I told Sean I'm okay,” he started quietly, his voice hoarse and thick with what she suspected might be tears he'd been choking back for his brother's sake. “But I don't know. I can barely walk, Jess.”

“You know that's what hospitals are for, right?”

“Jess,” he groaned, letting his eyes drift closed miserably. “I can't do that and you know it.”

“Why the hell not?” Except she knew damn well why the hell not. He didn't need to explain to her the delicacy of his situation, his father, the hospital. He was skating on thin ice.

“Just tell them Aaron. They'll call the cops and...”

“And if my dad goes to jail, then what? He's the only income we have...”

That was it. That was how her summer started. And after two weeks, when she was working and taking morning classes to get ahead of her senior year, she thought that was the worst it could get.

And then Haley went to cheer camp and Hotch got a job and things got worse.

It wasn't an ideal summer job, but then, the idea of a job over the summer really wasn't ideal to begin with. Not that Hotch minded working, he actually quite liked keeping his hands and his mind busy but working for his father's firm was about the last thing he would have wanted to do. He would rather shovel slop from the sewers, and if such a job existed and was hiring, he might be inclined to apply. His father's full-time assistant was taking on twice as much work since the elder Hotchner had gotten sick, and they needed a file clerk. That meant another paycheck to dole out...unless he could get someone to do the work for free.

Enter his son whose relatively new back injury had sidelined him from just about every summer plan he'd mapped out to keep himself busy and out of the house for nearly sixty days.

“Honey, he needs your help and you can use the experience when you apply to universities...” His mother was a fierce negotiator. She always appealed to his good nature first in the hope that he wouldn't press further, but in this instance, he wasn't going down without a fight. This wasn't just going to ruin his summer, it would have tendrils that licked and twisted into every aspect of his life forever, he knew it. “Besides, what else are you going to do? Lay around like a lump and watch the television all day? If you let that back injury become an excuse, you'll regret it forever.”

It was a vague illusion of power, of autonomy. She was still phrasing it like it was a question, like he had options. He knew he really had no choice, though. He would work for his father because she was right...what else would he do with his summer? He'd just worked up to being able to ride his bike short distances again without wanting to die, so all of his youth summer camp and sports dreams were dead in the water. The community pool only enticed him for about the first week or two when there was still enough of a chill in the air that the pool wasn't packed. When the temperatures exploded into the triple digits and the humidity was off the charts, unless you wanted to pack in like sardines, you couldn't hang out there anymore. Kids shitting in the pool every other day didn't help, either, because then the rivers and the lakes were packed.

Anyway, his back hurt too much to argue with her. She had an ice pack and some tylenol in her hands and almost seemed to be witholding them until he offered her his reluctant agreement. Then he got the pills and the iced tea and the kiss on the top of the head that made his skin crawl.

“Good honey,” she smiled. And then came the insult to injury. He wouldn't be getting a paycheck. “You're getting paid in experience,” she hissed, her honeyed smile twisting when he asked how he was supposed to pay for gas to and from the office if he wasn't getting a paycheck. “Jessica works at the movie theatre doesn't she? See if she can help you get on there part time. You could run a show or scoop some popcorn...Sean wouldn't mind a free ticket or two.” He didn't want to do that, though. A full-time unpaid job at his father's was already a nightmare but to put a part time job on top of it? He did want to see Haley and his friends at some point in the summer so he caved and agreed that the office would be fine, yes, he'd be happy to just get experience and instead he got well acquainted with walking or riding his bike. No self-respecting 17-year-old rode their bike when they had access to a car, but then, he'd realized a long while before that he really wasn't all that self-respecting. He just existed. Riding his bike hurt his back, but then so did the endless bending over and reaching up high and carrying box after box of files so what was one more thing? It would eventually heal. And if not...

“Psst,” Jess hissed from the office doorway, her mountain of curls piled high on her head to expose her neck. She was sweating, it was damn hot outside. The air was soupy and thick and she, bless her soul, had come on her bike. Jess wasn't worried about being a self-respecting teenager...she loved her bike and the wind in her hair as it whipped around like a lion's mane in her face. More than that, she loved that she would ride with him out into the dirt trails and up into the cool shade of the woods to their own little oasis. A tiny creek that bubbled icy water ankle deep. She and Haley and Hotch would spend hours there on the hottest days, basking in the shade and the frigid water. She'd even managed to throw Sean onto her banana seat and bring him along once or twice now that he was old enough. They could all be free with only the bees and the crickets for company. “You done yet slowpoke?”

He glanced up at her, surprised at the time and sighed. Not fast enough, he tried to hide his hand but she caught sight of it. Angry and red knuckles, a bruise pooling pale blue and spreading from his middle finger up the back of his hand. He was filing one handed and moving slowly. It wasn't the bruise that caught her eye and held it though, it was the tiny crimson crescent of blood that made her sigh and level her stare at him. Accusing but soft enough. “No,” he said softly, pulling his hand behind his back. “I'm going to be a while. Go on without me.”

That would have turned most people away. If it were his friend Ben, he would have shrugged, blown a bubble with his Big League Chew bubblegum and popped it on his way out. No big deal, he would say. Not Jess, though. She walked in with her arms folded over her chest, chewing her Fruit Stripes gum loudly and he watched her eyes trail the stacks of paperwork he was sorting and filing. One handed. Pretending to use both hands was getting him nowhere...and anyway, he was pretty sure it wasn't broken. Just bruised. Just stupid and bruised. “Can I help? I got two hands...” She smirked and he mimicked her in his snottiest way, a brief moment of levity in an otherwise too heavy moment.

“You should go...” He was pleading and the despair in his voice made her shiver. He'd managed to protect Haley from his father. She hadn't even met him yet, a fact that distressed her endlessly. Like she thought maybe he didn't like her if he wouldn't bring her home, but Jess had met him more than once and she could attest to his skittishness when it came to bringing Haley around. Jess wasn't like Haley, she wasn't fragile and sweet, she had a hard enough exterior that she could take his father with a grain of salt. She didn't need to be protected. Still, he wanted to keep her from his wrath.

“What, your dad would be upset if someone else helped get work done for him? I doubt it. Who would turn down free labor?”

“J-Jess...” His voice was scarcely above a whisper but she heard that stutter loud and clear. It made her freeze, cocking her head slightly to the side. He hadn't stuttered in a while now, not since he'd joined the debate team and learned how to regulate his cadence and word choices. Not since they'd worked so hard to get past it. Something had happened and she didn't like it. She scrunched her nose and he pleaded with her silently to let it drop, not to make him say another word. Jess thought it was working here that was bringing it out (and that hand...probably punched a wall...he was falling apart) but you couldn't say anything like that to his mother. She would huff and puff and fire off a litany of excuses until you gave in, a quivering puddle, and admitted that it was the child's weak spirit and he needed toughening up.

He needed no such thing, at least insofar as Jess could see. “Let me help. I know my ABC's, Hotchner, I can file...”

“Miss Brooks, to what do we owe the pleasure?” The voice was syrupy and Southern, dripping with charm and she felt her neck flush. Shrinking momentarily, she watched as Hotch looked down at his papers sheepishly and she saw his adam's apple bob up and down. The change in his demeanor was automatic and she'd never hated anything more in her life.

“Mr. Hotchner,” she swung around, adjusting her own posture and smiling her best. No anger, no fear, she couldn't let him see how he made her feel. Men like this, she knew all too well from her own father's stories about too many nights down at the townie bar...they needed to feel you shrink before them. She wouldn't allow it. With that forced stage smile she extended her hand to him. “Aaron and I were going to ride to the library to do some research. We were assigned...” Hotch shuddered at her lie and forced his please-don't-let-it-be-broken hand to close around a manilla folder and slide it into place. Anything to avoid the way he would blow her lie right out of the water.

“It can wait, you have all summer. Aaron has work to do.” He was dismissive and disappeared quickly, without another word. The less time he hung around, the less she had to put on the brave front and the less she had to watch her friend cower like a mouse. While Jessica went red with anger, Hotch only breathed a sigh of relief. That had gone about as good as he could ever dare hope. Better, maybe. Her lie had gone over like a lead balloon, but he hadn't called either of them on it and for that he was grateful.

“You really should go.”

“Aaron...”

“Jess, please.”

She didn't argue this time. The bruised knuckles, the tiny crescent of blood, the look in his eye...it all added up to a storm she didn't want to bring on. He was having a rough day and she couldn't make it better by pushing him. “Okay,” she agreed, but she didn't go far.

She waited in the back stairwell. They one she had tiptoed up so no one would see her, the one she and Hotch would sit and eat their lunch in sometimes when she was on her way to work and made an extra sandwich. He liked pb&j as much as any child she'd ever met, maybe more. The sweet look of innocence that flashed in his eyes at that first bite couldn't be replicated in any other way and she wondered what he thought about. Haley had told her once that he'd been very close with his grandmother and she thought maybe that was it, memories of a woman he missed dearly. In any case, she had no sandwiches this time, only a desperate desire to ride her bike up into the woods or out to the lake...anywhere but here. So she waited for him, her only friend. She could entertain herself for hours alone, she was plenty resourceful. Plus she always kept a book in the front pocket of her overalls for just such an occasion. Holing up at the edge of the bottom stair, she kicked out her legs, wiggled her toes in her sandals, and started reading.

She was halfway through “Animal Farm”, and her water bottle, when she heard his footsteps coming toward her. For a moment she contemplated hidng and ambushing him, but then she thought of his hand again and decided against it. Foolhardy, he was going to be in no mood for her shenanigans. She just needed to get him away from here.

“I can't go,” he said softly, before he even rounded the corner. He knew she was waiting, he could smell her cucumber melon body spray. Haley liked sugary vanilla, she smelled like his favorite bakery, and Jessica smelled like a garden in summer. “I have to go to the post office, and I'm on spazz duty the rest of the day.” By the time she saw him, she had her arms folded defiantly across her chest.

“I'll drop that off at the post office, you go get Sean and bring him to the lake. We'll skip the creek today, okay? Come on it's like a thousand degrees outside...Sean needs a cool down too.”

He chewed his lip while he considered his options and while he definitely knew he shouldn't chance it...he was going to. His parents were ruining his entire summer, he would take one night for himself and still do everything they asked of him. “Okay. Make sure it gets there before the last pick up okay? It's important...” For some Senator his dad rubbed elbows with and was probably living very comfortably in the pocket of. He was learning a lot about his dad's job but none of it was exactly going to be helpful if he didn't want to play dirty. His dad was the king of dirty.

By the time they were all at the lake, Hotch's back had nearly seized up, his hand was throbbing, and Jess was sweating from head to toe. “I got there,” she announced while sucking huge gulps of air, dropping her bike beside his and taking in the sight of Sean splashing in the water. Hotch just sat on his towel on the beach, eyeing the spreading bruise over his knuckles with some fascination. “You're welcome.”

“Oh, yeah...thanks...” he muttered, poking at his swollen knuckle. She rolled her eyes and plopped down beside him in a spray of sand that stuck to the backs of her now bare legs, her denim overalls a few paces back in a heap. She'd shed layers incrementally until she was in nothing but her bathing suit, nudging him in his bulky sweater that looked like misery at the best of times but right now looked like it had been pulled from the pits of hell.

“Off,” she instructed, tugging at it. “Before you die of a heat stroke.” He only glared at her, but he did what she said because no matter how defiant he wanted to be, she was right. He couldn't sit there in his sweater all evening. Once he'd shed that last layer, she was satisfied and decided it was best to stop bossing him around while he was still being compliant. Before he started fighting back. Instead, she got up and crept across the beach, sneaking up on Sean who was lost in the world of tiny fish swimming around his ankles.

Around them the reeds hugged close to the shoreline, swaying in the gentle June breeze. Cat tails sprung up between them and Hotch thought about a time when he'd been young and innocent enough to cut one and bring it home. He hadn't realized that letting it dry out would have catastrophic results, and returning to his bedroom after a long day spent on the tire swing in the orchard, he expected to drop into his bed a puddle of sweat and dirt and happy sunshine smell only to find that the cat tail had exploded. Right along with his dreams of a quiet evening. Cottony puffs were everywhere, on every surface, and he panicked, shut the door quickly behind him before either of his parents could see what he'd done. At first he didn't even understand it, what could have happened? It looked like a teddy bear had been eviscerated in the middle of his room. And then he saw the empty jar, the stalk, the last dredges of pillowy innards clinging to the sides. It was letting him know what happeend, a secret message.

“Shit...” he'd muttered, the first time ever saying that word in his home. He clapped his hands over his mouth and stared toward the door, as if he'd set off some chain of events by saying that word in these walls...he expected his door to fly off of its hinges and the angry red face of his whiskey barrel father to appear. But divine providence smiled on him that evening and nothing happened. He cleaned up his room and got rid of the evidence as quickly as his little legs would carry him. The next day he walked to the library and checked out a book on plants, figuring he had an awful lot to learn and he had all summer to do it. If he didn't know what cat tails were capable of, what else did he not know?

“Jessica,” he said, shifting uncomfortably on the sand to grab the pocket knife from his back pocket. “Cut me a cat tail.” He handed her the knife and, thankfully, she obliged. He called Sean over to him and, with the knife in hand, dragged the blade agonizingly slow down the side of it, reveling in the way the insides puffed into his hands and scattered on the breeze. Sean's eyes went wide with wonder.

“How'd you do that?” Sean exclaimed, ready to go rip another cat tail from its stalk to see it again and again. Hotch grinned and shook his head.

“Magic.”

And it was, though not the kind he was implying or the kind that Sean took it to mean. This wasn't some man in a cape pulling a rabbit from a hat, this was better. He hoped that someday Sean could see that it was nature that was magic, not him. Sean lost interest fast and plunged toward the water's edge gleefully. He knew how to swim, at least enough to be passable, but Hotch felt a little fear twist in his belly anyway. They weren't supposed to be out here, they were supposed to be at home making dinner and working through Sean's summer reading program. He had a whole map to fill up and a mountain of expectations they had little hope of meeting if they skirted their obligations every night like this.

But Hotch was angry and indignant. He would take one night for himself.

Jess sat beside him and bumped his shoulder, peeling away quickly when she saw him wince. He'd tried to hide it but she saw it. “Shit,” she muttered. “I'm sorry, I forgot.”

“No big,” was his cool reply. They watched Sean splash his way through the water without fear, through the sand and up to his knees trying to catch the tiny little fish that circled his legs. He held his breath, held perfectly still, then plunged his chubby fingers beneath the surface only to come up empty handed. Each time he would take another step, thinking maybe if he was further out he'd have more luck, until he was waist deep and splashing wildly. Somewhere he'd gone from fisherman to wild animal, Hotch figured. His mind ticked games away so fast Hotch could scarcely keep up with him.

“How'd you hurt your hand?” Jess asked, reaching out to grab it and pull it to her. A look of silent concentration washed over her face while she poked and pressed, none of this hurt terribly. It looked uglier than it felt...mostly just stiff fingers and tender bruises now. He considered his options carefully...there was always lying, he could easily say he'd fallen off of his bike. With his back as stiff as it was, it seemed likely but he did hate to lie to her. It felt like breaking something precious and fragile, he'd yet to lie to her and in his vast experience...once you started lying, it was awfully hard to stop. Just ask the hospital about the pages in his medical file. However, telling her the truth, that his father had gotten him so blocked up by poking at him that he got lost in a hole stuttering for at least ten minutes and he'd decided the only way to reset his brain was by smashing his fist into the exposed pipe that ran along the wall of the men's room enough times that the sludge broke free of the dam and he could think again...well that sounded just a little too real, a little too raw for sitting on the beach with his toes in the sand. Maybe he could find a careful middle ground, not quite a lie but not quite the truth.

“Aaron?” she asked again, and he blinked at her with a wash of confusion in his eyes that concerned her. Great, he thought, now she probably thinks I've got a concussion too. “Earth to Hotchner...”

“Sorry, what did you say?” he asked, pulling a few more minutes of decision-making time out of thin air. She laughed and let his hand drop back into his own lap, shaking her head. This was where the magic became real...she didn't ask him again. The question had distressed him to the point that he'd what, gone into the ether for a full two minutes with a blank look on his face?

“Nothing,” she replied quietly, figuring she'd get at the root of the problem somehow later. His father had a reputation for being a beast, and if she'd not seen him that morning before work she might be apt to think he'd been knocked around but not at the office...no way the man would ever tarnish his reputation. The silence settled in between them, until their entire world was insulated and peaceful. There was the sun high above them, beating down on their already pink shoulders, and Sean's squeals of delight seemed far away. He is the sun and you are the moon, his mother would always say, but he thought that wasn't quite right. Sean was certainly the sun but he couldn't believe he was anything as lovely as the moon, and he would argue it with his mother once he'd gotten old enough to know better. I'm not the moon, mama, I'm the fog on the treetops...and he hadn't exactly meant it to sound as sad as it did, but he saw that bright shine of tears in her eyes and he hated the idea that he'd made his mother cry. But she never argued with him. Later, when he started yelling back at his father, when he started punching walls (instead of faces), he knew that he was no longer peaceful fog...he was a great black storm cloud ready to open wide and rain anything in its path with violent hail. “Aaron?”

He blinked again and sighed. He was really out of it today. “Yeah.”

“Where did you go just then?”

He had nothing to say to that. Not a single thing. So he shrugged and flipped his knife out of its sheath, watched the blade glint in the summer sun. “Just thinking. It's b-b-been a long d-d-ay.” He stabbed the knife hard into the dirt beside him, ground it in, twisted and turned it deep into the earth and suddenly she knew what had happened to his hand. The story had written itself in the displaced grains of earth and rock beside him, in the way his lips set in a grim line, the deep crease between his brows.

A motor boat sped by far too close to shore. Teenagers, Jess knew. No adult would dare speed so close to where children swam, but kids...especially kids with access to beer and joints, they didn't give much thought to small children. Might as well be on a different planet. They would skid their boats into the reeds to make out, skinny dip, smoke. Jess didn't consider any of them friends but she was no stranger to boat hopping for a good time...drunk teenagers were friendly and generous. And when one of them got a little handsy, she had no problem wandering off into the reeds and finding her own way home. Summer was an adventure, she figured. But this summer she didn't want that adventure, she'd had plenty of it. This summer she wanted to soak up something a little slower, a little more sober, a lot less reckless. She had adulthood to think about this summer.

Waves cascaded toward the shore and smacked into Sean's little body, must to his delight. He started out trying to jump them, the smaller ones, one and then the other. He would crouch, watch the wave swell and then leap out of the water like a frog. The splash down was his favorite part. It never occurred to him that the waves could gather enough strength to knock him down...until he was tumbling beneath the water, tangling in seaweed and reeds. The more he thrashed about, the further the waves carried him back out, the tighter the grip of the reeds.

Hotch felt the moment the sun went out. His skin freckled with cold and the storm crackled beneath his surface. He held his breath and tried to stand but he couldn't move quickly enough. By the time he was even halfway upright, Sean was further into the lake, far beyond where he could touch the bottom and he was screaming for help. Gargling bitter water, spitting his brother's name through choking sobs. Cold panic crept into Hotch and this time he was lumbering toward the water as fast as his aching and stiff back would allow, grunting curse words under his breath at his inability to do this one simple thing.

Jess was ahead of him in an instant. She was kicking up sand as she tore along the beach, rushing into the surf and diving when she'd gone far enough. Then they were both under water and Hotch was alone with the waves lapping against the shore and the rustle of the fucking cat tails beside him. They were whispering to him, some desperately sick mockery in their tone. We bested you once, they seemed to say, and now we've got you again. Won't you ever learn?

Breathless seconds turned into what felt like muddy hours and he inched toward the water line, ready to crash his way in after them, knowing he shouldn't but also that he couldn't wait any longer. By the time he was fighting his way through the waves on legs threatening to give way, the breath had left his lungs completely and the entire world had gone cold. Without Sean there was no sun.

Finally, a burst. Bright and blinding, Jessica and Sean crashed through the surface, him clinging hard to her neck. A choking sound erupted first, and lake water splattered against her cheek before his screams began. Like a firework, first you see the light, then you hear the boom. But the sun was shining again, and Hotch rushed toward them without a care for his own limitations.

“You're okay,” she whispered into his ear, teeth chattering in unison with his. “Your'e okay, I've got you.” Her voice calmed him quickly and he nodded, terrified blue eyes locking desperate and scared with hers. For a moment, she was the only person in the entire world and she hugged him a little tighter to prove to him that he wasn't going anywhere without her.

“Is he okay?” Hotch gasped, reaching for his brother with trembling hands. She waited a moment, until she thought it was a good idea, and then pried Sean away from her neck and pushed him into Hotch's arms. Stepping back, giving them some distance, she watched the two of them wrap around each other, Hotch burying his nose in Sean's cold neck. Slowly he turned his eyes to Jess and saw her glowing through the filter of Sean's golden wet hair. She was wringing out her curls, keeping her hands busy and he could almost see her heart thundering in its cage. Shrinking under the intense scrutiny, she realized that he was looking at her in a way he's never looked at her before...and without wanting to dive too deep into what it meant, she realized she was doing the same thing right back at him. Something had changed between them, something that she wished felt like shimmering light but was really just a tightening noose.

“Let's go to my dad's store,” she said, breaking through the silence. “He's got hot cocoa. You want some cocoa Sean?” What she didn't want to say was that they couldn't go home like this, Hotch would get the licking of a lifetime and they both knew it. They had to play damage control, give Sean a few more stories to tell so maybe his brush with death wasn't the first thing that exploded out of his mouth when his parents got home. Sean's enthusiasm for Mr. Brooks' store, his cocoa on tap and his penny candy jars...it was better than any amusement park he could dream up.

The story about their time at the lake, about Sean's near drowning, distracted Roy from Hotch's hand. Jess was weaving a careful web here, not lies but definitely straying as far as she could from the truth of any one situation long enough that they might be able to bury it beneath the simplicity of kids being kids on summer vacation. “Always getting into trouble,” Roy said with a soft smile, pouring three tin mugs of hot cocoa. Extra marshmallows for Sean, army issue wool blankets for all three of them to warm up in. The store was chilly, air conditioning on full blast. He didn't bother telling them about the mistakes they made, he just said so quietly that he was glad they were okay and that he'd be happy to drive them home if they could wait another half hour until closing time. Hotch didn't think he should, but he didn't have much recourse, he was along for the ride. He'd have to go back with Jess for their bikes later, and he'd really be skinned if someone stole his bike, but it was a chance he'd have to take for now.

It was opening the car door that made Roy flinch. He'd heard plenty of Haley's moaning about Hotch's back, he was familiar with the tall tale of how that one had happened...not sure he really believed it but he wouldn't have said anything, the kid seemed stiff but more or less fine. But that hand, that bruise mottled hand, it was fresh, and he couldn't ignore that. “What's that?”

“Nothing, sir,” was Hotch's immediate reply. Roy frowned.

“Don't lie to me, Aaron. You and I, we've always told each other the truth right? I told you right away, we're good if you don't try to bullshit me...” The lecture was exactly the opposite of what Hotch needed, it was too much information for his already foggy brain and words escaped him. Roy's frown deepened, like he thought Hotch was trying to come up with a bigger lie. A canyon was forming between them.

“I h-h-hit the wall,” he muttered, biting hard into his lip as he stumbled over words. Roy watched him clench his fist and thought he understood the rest, he'd been an angry teenage boy a long time ago but that feeling never really left you. The memory lived there, dormant and waiting. He'd like to see how well he remembered his own fists when he thought about the elder Hotchner, so he ceased the inquisition and put his hand on the boy's shoulder instead. A light squeeze, a peace offering, closing the gap again. This kid couldn't afford a canyon. The car ride itself was quiet, and Sean was nearly asleep by the time they'd gone up the dirt road to the Hotchner house. Hotch squirmed out of his seat first, unbuckling Sean and pulling him out after.

“Jessie,” Roy asked, grabbing his daughter quickly before she could vanish into the Hotchner house. He held her back and lowered his voice. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah,” she replied with a quick nod. She wouldn't betray him, even if every single fiber of her being wanted to. “Had a rough day. He'll be okay.”

“That sonofabitch...”

“No, daddy. I believe him this time.” Roy regarded her suspiciously and sighed. She'd always believe Hotch, he knew that. She'd give him the benefit of the doubt forever or hold up whatever lie he thought he needed to tell to protect himself if nothing else worked. With some strange future perfect sight, a shockingly brief clarity, he knew Haley was going to marry this kid. They would be bound together forever, and it wasn't going to be sweet bliss...of that he was certain.

Jess ran to catch up to them, bounding up the steps behind Hotch and Sean quickly. “Hey! I'm gonna run back to the lake to get my bike, then I'll go and get yours. If it's still there.” Hotch rolled his eyes and nodded.

“Thanks Jess,” was what he said, effortlessly and without stumbling over her name. She calmed the storm in his brain. It was probably about the bike because that was the easy thing to thank her for, but really it was so much more. It was for coming to the office and pulling him out of his funk, for waiting in the stairwell for him even after he pushed her away, for lying to his dad and shaking his hand anyway, for saving Sean's life, for the cocoa. He watched her crouch and wrap Sean in a hug, whispering something secret and funny into his ear before pulling away and looking at him seriously. She was on her knees, eye to eye with him, and watching felt suddenly like intruding.

“Don't you scare me like that again, you hear me?” And then her arms were around him again, tighter this time. There was a desperation there that made Hotch squirm, and Sean seemed to sense it and tried to pull away. Big emotions frightened him and this hug felt huge.

“You're hugging me too tight...”

[keysimash]

Gather round everyone its edgy poetry time again

Everybody, I've got an interesting question for today's consideration:

how can I stop haunting myself?

I've lived in this state for as long as I've lived

I wish I could peel my past off of myself

I live fourty minutes from my hometown.

I used to live

here

Right turn there

I'm in the passenger seat and my best friend is driving me where my mom drove me a decade and a half ago.

When i was little mom said if ghosts were real they were probably just recordings in places where time is thin

here

So clearly I can see my younger self here -- i ate at that restraunt dozens of times, here is where i tried to run away before I knew what running away was, when my get-away bag had stuffed animals instead of hundreds of dollars. God how many times have i passed that stoplight. That clocktower is a Pokéstop in Pokémon Go but stopped working long before the game was even conceived. Mom how many miles did you drive me?

enough to get recorded?

i used to live

out by a strip mall

by a big chain grocery store

i hated that store. i hated those apartments. i didn't know it then but I do now

Different friends have driven me there for different reasons. For new reasons the mind walks old paths. They live near where i used to live. I walked the snack and clothing aisles in that store like the hallways in my second house, which has been repainted now.

I've been to funerals and birthday parties in the same church that I've only ever attended as a guest.

This is just nostalgia, this is just getting old, but

If I can see my younger self, maybe if I look correctly I can see my older self too and ask them do you hate me as much as I hate i, who came before me? do your plans for meeting your past self still include gratuitous use of the nearest blunt object?

I flinch and I hate myself for it.

We turn a corner to go to the specialty Asian grocery store in the bad part of town and I think, in my best friend's car, this is where my sperm donor got struck by a vehicle while in the bicycle lane and god didn't even have the courtesy to splatter his brains across the pavement.

The city I live in is filled with ghosts that are much more violent.

There is the college where more of my friends go where they found a dead body just outside campus when semester started, right across the street from where I walked across broken shop-window glass and thought "thank god it wasn't my family's store." not twenty minutes from there is the creek behind my third or was it fourth house where I bled on the concrete and grass. There's the bridge the very tall very dark bridge on the way home from work. I had a birthday party so long ago I don't remember how old I turned at the same mall my friends and I went to over the summer. There's people I can never talk to again that work in this city every day just like I do and there's people I can never talk to again thousands of miles away

I wish I could peel my past off myself but I tried that and it just makes it more visible.

The house where i lived last is already up on Zillow, repainted. The kitchen cabinets weren't even blue for a year. I wonder what the realtors

thought

of all the holes in the hallway and the kitchen and all the mold in the bathrooms.

I wonder if they walked into a room and god I wonder if they got chills like I did. Emotions leave a presence. Did they stand at the back porch staring out at the backyard unable to move not knowing why. Or did they continue, unfazed, not even feeling a ghost's breath on their shoulders.

They've probably seen it all. Seen worse

Did someone else suffer in the home I live in now?

I am haunted by myself, the fact that i was here but I wasn't.

I've lived in this state for as long as I've lived

I walk the same pathways in the same familiar roads

Neurons going the same way they used to in recognition.

Already the way home is more mine than anything, even though it's only a few streets from where I used to live.

If I turn the wrong corner I'm back where i used to be.

though I'm too young to know much about how old recordings work

If I walk these paths enough times, with my friends, by myself

Maybe the ghosts will get taped over?

[tchallasbabymama]

All For Us Chapter 6

Here it is, enjoy 😘

Check out my masterlist to catch up on this story or read my other ones, and let me know if you want to be tagged.

Word count: 5686

“Daddy’s here!” Imani yelled in excitement before hopping down off the kitchen stool and running to the door as soon as she heard it open. 

Erik had only been back with them for about a week, but in that short amount of time, he and his Cupcake had become attached at the hip. He read her bedtime stories every night, and he took her to school in the mornings so the two of them could have daddy-daughter bonding time. Erik and Mira would pick her up together at the end of the day, and it had become such a habit over the few short days they stayed in the palace that when Mira showed up to pick Imani up from school by herself, the little girl was crushed. She instantly became worried that Erik was gone again and burst into tears, but Mira was able to calm her down and remind her of their conversation the night before about his new job.

“Baby girl, we have to talk to you about something,” Mira said as she and Erik entered their daughter’s room.

“What is it?” Imani put her crayons down and looked up at her parents as they came and sat on the floor across from her. 

“The three of us are going on an adventure around Wakanda!” exclaimed Mira.

“Really?!” Imani perked up. “What kind of adventure?” 

“Well, we can’t really get to know Wakanda well without exploring it, right?” Erik chimed in.

“Right!”

“So we’re gonna spend the next couple months living in the different provinces. You’ll still get to go to your same school with your friends, but you’ll get to make even more friends all over Wakanda.”

“I know how much you like being here with Auntie, and Lala, and Shuri-” Mira began before her child corrected her.

“And Okoye, and A’Kidi, and Ayo,” Imani said with a smile.

“Yes, them too,” Mira chuckled. “You’ll still get to come visit, and the adventure is only for a few months. We’ll be right back here in no time. What do you think?”

“II like it! Where are we going?”

“Well, you know how it snowed back home a few months ago, and you got to play outside in it?”

“Mhm.” Imani nodded furiously.

“First, we’re going someplace where it’s like that every day! It’s called Jabariland,” Mira said with a flourish.

“Jabariland?”

“Mhm, and then we’ll be out in the countryside for a while. We’ll be close to Shuri’s lab, and she said you could come visit her whenever.”

“After that, we’ll be out near the rhinos. Mommy told me how much you love feeding them,” Erik smiled down at her.

“Their tongues tickle,” Imani giggled.

“Then, we’re gonna go live on the river, and then we’ll be back here.”

“I still get to see my friends at school?”

“Absolutely,” Erik answered.

“And our family?”

“At least once a week for Sunday dinner, but knowing them, we’ll see them more than that,” Mira smirked and started tickling Imani. “I don’t think Lala can go more than a couple of days without spoiling his favorite girl.”

Imani’s giggles filled the room and brought a smile to Erik’s face. Mira let her go, and as Imani came down from her giggle fit, she could see that her daughter had more to say.

“What are you gonna do on our adventure when I’m at school?”

“We’ll be going to work and making friends of our own.”

Imani nodded as she took in the information and processed it. Her newly-snaggletoothed smile slowly took over her face and pushed her dimples deep into her cheeks. “When can we go?”

“We start tomorrow,” Mira said with a smile on her face, pleased with how the conversation went. She should have known Imani would be excited about their little “adventure,” but hearing the words quelled her anxieties. She had been worried about how Imani would adjust to the changes, but the little girl seemed down for the ride.

When they got back to their new home in Jabariland, Imani was amazed by the soft blanket of white that covered their corner of Wakanda. Mira wrapped her up in her furs before sliding into her own, both provided by the king, of course, and they spent some time outdoors playing in the snow. Mira knew she had a couple more hours until Erik got home, so once the cold had seeped into their bones enough, they went inside, and she started a yam stew on the stove.

When Erik walked in he was dog tired. His body had been worn down by his day of firefighter training. Despite having the heart-shaped herb in his system, he was in much worse shape than he thought after having laid dormant for two years. He wanted nothing more than to soak in the tub and climb into bed, but when he heard Imani’s voice, he forgot all about his exhaustion.

He kicked off his boots and scooped her up into his arms, leaving smooches all over her face. “How was school today?”

“Good! We started learning addition and subtraction. Mommy was just helping me with it.”

“Addition and subtraction already?” Erik asked Mira as he moseyed into the kitchen. “She’s four.”

“And a half,” Imani corrected.

“Excuse me, she’s four and a half, and they already have them doing that?”

“Mhm, and doing it well. Look at her homework,” Mira gestured to the projection coming from the holopad on the counter. Sure enough, he saw her work going all the way up to 10+10.

“Wow, good job, Cupcake!” He high-fived her and set her back down on the same stool she hopped off of moments earlier. 

“So, how was work today?” Mira asked as she stirred the simmering stew, and Erik fought the urge to stare at her bubble butt in those red bicycle shorts. Her cropped adinkra symbol t-shirt dusted right above her navel, and he could see she was wearing her favorite strand of waistbeads. 

He tore his eyes away from her and double-checked Imani’s homework for errors as he sighed, “I’m out of shape. They’re probably gonna put me on communications, and I can’t say I’m mad at it.”

“You were asleep for two years. I’m sure that affected your body in some way.”

“Yeah, but I’m supposed to be faster and stronger...I need to talk to T’Challa about it,” he mumbled with a crease in his brow.

“I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“Yeah...what you cooking over there?” Erik hopped up and joined Mira by the stove, breathing in whatever delicious concoction she had whipped up.

“A nice, hearty stew. I wanted to play around with some flavors, so I hope you like it.”

“Girl, every time you experiment in the kitchen, that shit comes out tasting like heaven. I trust you.”

“Thank you,” Mira hid her face so he couldn’t see the slight deepening of her skin tone at his words, but he noticed. She quickly changed the subject to distract him, waving the wooden spoon in his face, “And don’t curse around Imani.”

Erik put his hands up in surrender as he backed away, “Yes, ma’am.”

He kissed the top of Imani’s head before going down the hall to his room to change out of his heavy clothing. 

It was the first time just the three of them had sat down together for dinner in years, and Mira’s appetite almost left her entirely as her emotions started to take over. She pushed them down deep and forced some stew into her system before getting up to clean the kitchen. Erik could tell something was wrong, so when Imani went to her room to play with her dolls, he took the opportunity to investigate.

He brought the empty bowls over to the sink and scooted her out of the way.

“You cooked, so I’ll handle the dishes,” he said, and she nodded, leaning against the counter. “So, did you talk to M’Baku about your job?”

“Yeah, a few wardogs are teaching different language classes across the provinces now, and the ones here need some afterschool help. So...you’re looking at Jabariland’s newest English tutor!” she announced as she struck a pose. 

“Alright, I see you, Mira. Getting your educator on,” he joked as he scrubbed the dishes, making her smile as she went to wipe down the table. He turned around to say something, but he was met with the sight of her bending over to reach across the kitchen table. He had missed seeing her from that angle and loudly cleared his throat. He turned around quicker than she did and knew he had to come up with a quick answer in three, two, one…

“What’s up? You only do that when there’s something big on your mind.” 

“Do what?”

“Clear your throat like that.”

“I do not,” he said incredulously.

“Nigga, I’ve known you for almost a decade. I know when something’s on your mind, so talk.”

The way she spoke to him warmed his heart. He had missed her attitude, and it reminded him of their past. He fought a smile from creeping up his cheeks as he spoke, “T told you about the Golden Jaguar, right?”

“Yeah, he said you’re like another Black Panther.”

“I’m supposed to be, but nothing seems to be working.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I was king for a day, my vision was sharper, and my hearing and sense of smell were stronger...I felt like I could run a mile a minute, but right now, I can’t even walk up ten flights of stairs-”

“That’s a lot of stairs, Erik.”

“Not for me,” he sighed. 

“Maybe you need another dosage?”

“Nah, they got to me before my heart stopped, so it should still be in there.”

Mira leaned up against the back of the couch and crossed her arms over her chest as she watched his shoulders move while he scrubbed the bottom of the stew pot. It was difficult for her to imagine Erik with superhuman powers, but the idea intrigued her.

“You and T’Challa both describe it as a spiritual experience, so maybe it’s a spiritual blockage or something?”

Erik finished rinsing the pot out and placed it on the rack to drip dry before turning around and crossing his arms over his chest.

“I tried praying to Bast, but nothing happens. I don't hear her the way I did when I first took the herb.”

“You could hear her?”

He nodded, “Clear as day.”

They stood there in silence until Erik let out a sigh, “Well, I, uh, need to go soak these old bones in some Epsom salt-”

“You’re not even thirty,” Mira laughed, making him crack a tiny smile that barely reached his dimples as he lumbered down the hall to his bedroom.

--------

Over the next month, Erik and Mira settled into a nice groove. Mira handled breakfast and getting Imani to school in the mornings. She spent the rest of the day running errands, brushing up on her language skills, or pouring over her curriculum. She went to work around the time Imani got out of school, so Erik picked her up on his way home from work. Erik got placed on communications at the station, so he wasn’t as worn out by the end of the day, which left him time to get dinner ready before Mira got home from her tutoring job. The three of them would clean the kitchen after dinner, dancing around and making it fun to keep Imani engaged. Then they’d spend some time together as a family, either playing with Imani’s toys or with her curled up on the couch between them as they watched whatever movie they had agreed on for the night.

Erik liked the routine, but things had to change a little when they moved to live with the Mining tribe. Erik switched to taking Imani to school in the mornings since he was too worn out by the end of the day to pick her up. The shifts in the mines were short to prevent burnout, but even after just a couple of hours of mining Erik’s body wanted to crash.  Mira, however, was loving the changes. She spent her days in Shuri’s lab learning Wakandan coding languages. They weren't too different from what she used to do for work, but she was a little rusty. She had started to miss her days as a software engineer, even though she wouldn’t trade her current life for the world. 

That is until one day, while she was cooking dinner, Imani moseyed into the kitchen when it was almost done and started asking her questions that she wished she could avoid. 

“Mommy, why don’t you and daddy have the same room? A’Kidi said when his parents were together, they only had one room, and that’s how it is on tv, too.”

Mira stilled, and her eyes widened. She took a second to fix her face before turning to look at her inquisitive child.

“Well, baby, some people just do things a little differently.”

“But Kofi and Sanaa said that when their parents slept in two rooms, they got dehorsed,” Imani said with the saddest look on her face.

“Divorced, sweetie,” Mira corrected her as she heard the door unlock, thankful for the distraction. “Yay, daddy’s home.”

“Daddy!” Imani ran to him and jumped in his arms, completely unaware of how sore they were. He’d never say anything because he cared more about having his baby girl close than the pain that was rippling through his upper body. 

“Hey, Cupcake!” He peppered kisses all over her face like he did every day, but this time her giggles seemed a little uninspired. He pulled back to look at her questioningly as he carried her into the kitchen and set her on her favorite stool. “What’s up with you today?”

Mira shot him a look, but it was too late. He had opened the floodgates.

“Are you and mommy getting dehorsed?”

“Divorced,” Mira said with a deep sigh. 

“Divorced?!” Erik panicked.

“I’m just correcting her,” she reassured him as she turned off the stove. “And the answer is no, sweetie.”

“Where’s this coming from?” His voice had gone up an octave and refused to come down.

“Kofi and Sanaa’s parents just got divorced, and it has her a little spooked.”

“They said their mama and baba slept in two rooms like you, but everyone else with two parents said theirs have one room.”

The tension that had started growing in Erik’s jaw and shoulders when he heard the word divorce slowly slipped away, and he released a deep breath he hadn’t even realized he had been holding. Mira’s eyes traveled over his form, watching his body language change as the conversation progressed, and her stomach lightly turned at the thought of ever divorcing him.

“Baby girl, you don’t have to worry about that, ok?” Mira said, trying her best to ignore the way Erik’s soft eyes zeroed in on her. She gave in, and they locked eyes across the kitchen island. She couldn’t hold his gaze for long, but it was enough to make his heart skip a beat. 

“Yeah, you’re stuck with us. Both of us,” Erik tickled her, but her giggles still weren’t as full as they could be. “Aight, what is it?”

“You and mommy always say you love me, but you don’t say it to each other.”

Their gazes met again, each one recognizing the emotion in the other’s deep brown eyes. 

“Listen to me, Cupcake,” Erik turned her stool so that she was fully facing him. “I love you and your mommy more than anything else in this world.”

Mira quickly turned back around to hide the tears she was so desperately fighting and busied herself with stirring the spaghetti sauce.

“Mommy?”

“Yeah, baby?” Mira’s voice cracked, and she cleared her throat. Erik smirked at her attempt to hide her emotions.

“Do you love daddy?”

Mira froze and closed her eyes. 

“Of course I do,” she breathed out before changing the subject, “Now go wash your hands for dinner.”

Imani hopped down off the stool at her mother’s request and made her way to the bathroom to wash her hands. 

“Stop staring at me,” Mira grumbled with her back still turned.

“I wasn’t even looking at you,” Erik lied, making her chuckle. “You still love me?”

Mira turned off the stovetop and turned around.

“Yeah. I do.”

“Sounds like a ‘but’ coming…”

“I do still love you, but-”

“There it is.”

“Erik!”

“Sorry, go ahead.”

“I love you, but that doesn’t change anything.”

“You don’t want to divorce me?”

“No, but-”

“Then that’s all that matters. We’ll figure the rest out,” he winked as he got up to change out of his work clothes.

--------

A key part of Erik’s recovery involved him making good memories for himself. Every moment with his family formed a new good memory, and everyone could see the bliss on his face when they all came together. He smiled more, and not just with Imani and Mira, but with the Udakus as well. He and T’Challa had grown close over the last couple of months, and Shuri had started to come around, too. During their time in Jabariland, Erik and M’Baku became friends and regularly hung out on playdates with their kids. M’Baku’s two daughters, A’Sami and Ade, were a year older and younger than Imani, respectively. The girls got along great, and Erik made his first genuine friend he had in years. Mira was so proud of him.

He was building a support system, and he wanted to keep up the good momentum. So early one beautiful Saturday morning, Erik woke up with an idea, and a few hours later, found himself sweating over a grill while his family and friends congregated in his backyard. He was all smiles every time Mira looked up at him from her conversation with Okoye and Ayo. The three of them sat on blankets in the grass, watching the kids play tag in the large grassy area, and the happy couple noticed Mira’s fleeting glances towards her husband.

“How are things with Erik?” Ayo inquired.

“They’re ok. Nothing has changed, really. Except-” Mira cut herself off with a sigh.

“Except?” Okoye prodded.

She looked around and lowered her voice, “The other day, Imani was asking questions about our relationship, and we both said we love each other.”

“That is it?”

“That and I know I don’t want to divorce him,” Mira shrugged.

Ayo and Okoye smirked at each other, making Mira roll her eyes and take a sip of her cocktail.

Meanwhile, over by the grill, M’Baku and Erik were discussing last night’s televised dambe fight when Erik looked up and almost dropped the tongs in the hot coals. M’Baku turned around and saw the Udaku clan, fashionably late, as usual, joined by a gorgeous woman he had never seen before.

“Holy shit.”

“Umtshana!”

“Sorry Auntie, but...how do you know her?”

T’Challa chuckled and pulled her close to him by her waist.

“We go way back,” he smiled down at her. “Ororo, meet my cousin, Erik.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Erik. You have a lovely home.”

“Thanks, it’s a rental,” he said in awe before calling out to Mira. When she turned around, her drink fell out of her hand, and she could barely move. Was this how Imani felt when she saw T’Challa in his suit? Because she was absolutely starstruck. There was Storm, her all-time favorite superhero and literal goddess, in her backyard of all places. Okoye and Ayo jumped up on alert but calmed back down when they saw what the fuss was about.

“I am glad she is back,” Okoye smiled.

“He looks so happy.”

“Wait, she’s been here before?”

“Yes, Ororo is his ex. Go say hi; she is a lovely woman,” Ayo shooed her off. 

Mira made her way up the slight incline of their backyard, and the closer she got to Ororo, the more her legs felt like jelly.

“H-hi,” she barely breathed out, making Shuri cackle as she and Ramonda passed them to go mingle. 

“Hi,” Ororo chuckled. “You must be Mira. I was just telling Erik here how much I love your home.”

“Thanks, it’s a rental.” The other three laughed, confusing Mira. “So, um, can I get you anything?”

“I’ll take whatever you just dropped. Actually, let’s make it two. You need a refill,” Ororo said as she linked her arm in Mira’s and walked her towards the drinks table. 

“That went well,” T’Challa commented as he popped open a beer. 

“Oh, she loooooves Storm. You just made her day. Her entire life,” Erik chuckled as he flipped the chicken quarters over. “So, how’d that happen?”

“I am sorry, is she supposed to be a big deal?” M’Baku cut in, making the other two stare at him with their mouths open.

“Bruh, that’s Storm...of the X-Men...controls the weather...nothing’s ringing a bell?”

“No. Is she one of the Gifted?”

“Oh, she’s like the most gifted. This nigga bagged a goddess.”

M’Baku raised his cup to cheers T’Challa for his choice of a partner when the sound of his daughters arguing caught his attention.

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” he excused himself to go break up the fight before it got out of hand. His little warriors could get vicious with each other when they wanted to. Erik shook his head and smiled at the thought of Imani having a younger sibling. The thought didn’t last long before another, much more important one entered his mind.

“Hey, so, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.”

“What is it, umzala?”

He lowered his voice, knowing his cousin could still hear him over the music.

“I’ve been having this...problem-”

“Ah. It’s ok. It happens to the best of us. Or so I’ve heard,” T’Challa winked. 

“No, I wish that was the problem, but you gotta get some for that to happen, so…”

“Understood. So what is it?” 

“The heart-shaped herb...are you sure it’s still in my system?”

“Shuri did bloodwork on you to check after she stabilized you. It’s still in there. Why?”

“I don’t feel it anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I first took it, my senses were sharper, and I was stronger and faster...and I could hear Bast. Now all I get is dreams of the garden burning.”

“Do you have those often?”

“Almost every night now.”

“It seems like she is trying to tell you something.”

“I wish she’d just tell me instead of doing all this,” Erik grumbled.

T’Challa laughed and put his hand on his cousin’s shoulder, “That is not how goddesses work.”

“So, what should I do?”

“Try talking to her in your dreams. She is sending them for a reason.”

Erik nodded and started pulling the first batch of food off the grill.

That night, as he climbed into bed and reflected on his day, he was all smiles until he remembered what he had to do. He closed his eyes tentatively as he waited for sleep to take him.

When Erik opened his eyes, he was in the garden of the heart-shaped herb. The beautiful purple flowers glowed in the cavernous temple, but when he took a step forward, his bare feet charred the ground beneath him. He stepped back in shock, but everywhere his feet landed, he scorched the earth. He tried to stomp out the fire, but the flames grew with every movement, and pretty soon, he was surrounded by them. He watched with horror as the heart-shaped herbs were burned to a crisp, but instead of waking up at that moment the way he usually did, he walked towards the statue of Bast at the center of the temple and knelt at her feet as the flames surrounded him. He closed his eyes and prayed to her as the fire inched closer, and when it reached him, he was surprised to find himself unscathed.

“Did you really think you would die in a fire in a dream?” a strong, soothing voice bounced off the walls as the flames subsided, leaving the scorched land in its wake.

Erik’s gaze traveled up the panther statue and landed on Bast’s surprisingly soft eyes.

“Is this real?” 

Bast rolled her eyes and stepped down from the platform she had been standing on and walked closer to Erik so that he could feel her breath on his skin.

“What do you think?”

Erik fell to his knees and stared up at her, in awe of the actual deity before him.

“My goddess, I-”

“Save it,” she grumbled, making Erik’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “I allowed you to become the Golden Jaguar, and you spat in my face in return. Your child is the only reason I allow you to still walk the earthly plane.”

Erik hung his head in shame, and she growled down at him, “Look at me when I am speaking to you.”

His eyes darted back upwards, and she could see the tears he was willing not to fall.

“Now, I understand why you did what you did, but that does not make up for the fact that you forced my priestesses to burn their life’s work. I gave your people the heart-shaped herb once, and now I have to do it again...because of you. And now you come to me crying about your lack of powers? Tell me, why do you deserve them?” She sat down, and her tail twitched left and right as she awaited his answer. Just as she was beginning to grow impatient, he spoke up.

“I don’t,” his voice cracked. 

“That’s right, you don’t,” said, making Erik nod his head as he took in her words. They stung, but he knew they weren’t without truth. “But...I have been watching you over the last few months, and I will make you a deal.”

“I’ll do anything.”

“I know you will.”

--------

When Erik first started working at the Border tribe, he was on patrol duty. They had placed him at the Nigandan border, but he was quickly reassigned when he confided in T’Challa that it gave him flashbacks to his time in the military. Instead, he was placed on air traffic control. Erik took to it like white on rice and enjoyed messing with T’Challa on his frequent departures and arrivals.

One day, right when Erik started his lunch break, he looked up to see his wife and child heading in his direction. He lit up at seeing their beautiful faces, but his smile promptly fell flat when he noticed their expressions. 

“Well, hello, ladies,” Omari, Erik’s boss, greeted Mira and Imani as they entered the building. His eyes lingered on Mira a little too long, and Erik’s anger flared in his chest. 

“Hey baby,” Erik stood and kissed Mira on the cheek before pulling Imani into his arms. Mira was stunned by his actions, but she didn’t want to say anything in front of Erik’s coworkers.

“H-hey,” she stuttered back.

“It’s just noon. Why isn’t she in school?”

Mira jerked her head towards a less crowded area of the break room, and they relocated away from prying ears. Imani got settled on Erik’s lap and tried to avoid her mother’s gaze.

“Tell daddy what happened,” Mira said softly.

Imani nodded and looked up at Erik with sad puppy dog eyes and a quivering lip.

“I got in a fight at school.”

“A fight?” Erik said a little too loudly, making Omari and his other coworkers look up at the family. He lowered his voice and continued, “What happened Cupcake?”

“Danika said that her mommy said that you’re evil and she’s going to a new school to get away from me because you killed her auntie. Then she pushed me, and I pushed her back, then Mr. Omi came over and stopped it.”

Erik and Mira were both too shocked by the first part of her statement to focus on some rugrat putting her hands on their baby girl. They had hoped to avoid having to talk about Killmonger until she was much older. They knew they wouldn’t be able to hide it from her, especially if they stayed in Wakanda. They were shaken from their stupors by Imani asking the worst question possible.

“Why does she think you’re evil, daddy?” The innocent look on Imani’s face broke her parents, and Mira cleared her throat to change the subject but couldn’t get the words to come out.

Erik wasn’t any better. He didn’t think he’d have to lay his sins out for his daughter so soon. He knew if the kids at school were talking about him, then they had to tell her. She’d probably learn about it in school one day, anyway. Erik tried to speak, but his voice caught in his throat. He looked to Mira for help and cleared his throat, making her look up at him. 

“Um, baby girl, it’s time for daddy to get back to work-”

“Hold up, let me talk to Omari real quick.”

Mira nodded while Erik moved Imani from his lap and went to see if his boss would let him off early for the day. Imani wandered over to her mom, and Mira could see the furrow in her brow as she thought about the conversation or lack thereof. Erik came jogging back and ushered the two of them out of the building. 

The ride home was eerily silent. Mira kept trying to catch Erik’s eye, but he seemed to be in a daze. He was mentally preparing for the conversation ahead. He knew they wouldn’t be able to hide much from their inquisitive child since vague answers just made her dig deeper. He had to figure out how to sanitize the story to make it appropriate for children. And not just any children, his child. The child of a man who used to be a monster. He knew he’d have to look her in the eye and tell her what he did one day, but so soon? He wasn’t ready; neither of them was.

Not a word was spoken until they entered the house.

“Imani, go play in your room for a little while. We’ll be in there in a little bit.”

“Ok, mommy,” she said softly, already making her way down the hall. 

Her parents watched her every step, and the second she cracked the door behind her, their eyes met in a panic.

“What do we say to her? She’s four!” 

“You don’t have to say anything...I do,” Erik sighed. 

Mira nodded in understanding. This was something he needed to do on his own.

“I need to be there, though. For both of you,” Mira said, grabbing his hand in hers. Erik pulled her hand to his lips for a kiss and looked down into her big brown eyes. She could see the fear and sadness in his, so she kissed his cheek in return. “You can do this. I know you can.”

“What do I even say?”

“I don’t know,” Mira shrugged her shoulders and saw Imani peek out of her room, “but you’re gonna have to improv. She’s getting impatient.”

Erik turned around and saw Imani’s head duck back into her room with a quickness. He took in a deep breath that reached all the way down into his abdomen, just like Naomi had taught him, and released it through his mouth. He nodded to Mira, and they made their way down the hallway to Imani’s room. That walk had never felt so tedious.

“Hey, Cupcake.”

“What’s wrong?”

Erik sat on Imani’s bed and pulled her into his lap while Mira sat crosslegged on the floor in front of them. 

“I need to tell you a story.”

“Ok…” she said, already nervously playing with her dad’s bracelet as he spoke.

“It’s a sad one, ok?”

“Ok.”

“Once, there was this little boy named N’Jadaka. He and his mommy and daddy lived in this far off place called Oakland-”

“Oakland. Where’s that?”

“It’s in California, sweetie. Let daddy finish.”

Imani nodded and went back to playing with his beads.

“And they were happy as they could be. Until one day, bad people came and took his mommy away. Then another bad person took his daddy away. He had a hard life growing up, but one day he met an angel, and that angel gifted him with a tiny angel...but the whole time, he kept plotting about getting revenge. He did a lot of bad things and hurt a lot of people out of anger, but all he wanted was to get to the man who killed his baba. The mean man died one day, so N’Jadaka hurt his son instead. His son fought N’Jadaka and won, but he understood why he was angry and took him in. So now, N’Jadaka and his angels have a new family.”

“Ok...what does that have to do with you?”

Erik looked down at Mira and turned Imani around in his lap so she could face him.

“I’m N’Jadaka…”

Imani’s eyebrows scrunched together as she looked away and tried to understand what he had just told her. “So you hurt people because someone hurt you?”

“Yes.”

“But Danika said you killed her auntie…”

Erik shifted uncomfortably.

“Sometimes people do really bad things, but that doesn’t make them bad people,” Mira chimed in from the floor.

“Cupcake,” he said, softly turning her face towards him. “I need you to know I’ve changed. T’Challa believed in me, and-”

“What does Lala have to do with it?”

“He helped me get better.”

“So...you tried to hurt him?” They could see the wheels turning in her head, and she started squirming.

“Yes.”

“Like you hurt Danika’s auntie?” she looked up at her daddy with tears in her eyes as she slid off his lap and into Mira’s. 

“Cupcake-” Erik reached for her, and she shrunk away, breaking his heart into a million pieces.  Next Chapter

Taglist:  @ladymac82 , @kitesatforestp, @harleycativy​, @raysunshine78​, @maddeningmayhem​, @theblulife​, @motheroffae​, @love-mesome-me​, @toni9​, 

[davidbrigstock]

Nov 19 Last Day 🚴

Day 47 Cottonwood AZ to Flagstaff AZ

Miles today : 49

Total cross-USA miles: 3310

Feet of ascent today : 5623

Total cross-USA feet of ascent: 100,323

One of my biggest disappointments missing the first week of the Crossroads ride in May was that I didn’t cycle through Sedona up to Flagstaff, which was pegged as one of the most beautiful parts of the tour as well as featuring one of the more memorable (i.e. difficult) climbs. So the plan today was that Matt and I would accomplish that goal. We had a hearty breakfast at a cafe across the street from the hotel and then set off in about a 45-degree temperature, heading into the sun that was rising into clear blue skies. Our route east on 89A gradually took us into “Red Rock Country”, most obvious as we neared Sedona with its characteristic iron oxide orange-red sandstone formations that create a stunningly beautiful mountain landscape. The wind was very strong as we entered Sedona and it was a bit chilly so we got off our bikes at the Pink Tours Co. in the downtown area to grab a warming cup of coffee and take some pics, including the pink pigs sculpture. Our bikes and our bicycle adventure attracted quite a bit of attention with some of the tourists and I got into a long conversation with a German couple who were thrilled to see we were riding Canyon bikes that are made in Germany.

After that, we cycled into the mountain area, trees in their fall colors lining the road with the red rock reaching vertically towards the blue skies. It was idyllic. Lots of pics were taken as we cycled along the mountain pass, opening up new vistas at every turn.

Today’s ride involved climbing more than 5000 feet and the most significant part of that was a series of back-to-back switchbacks or hairpin loops with a 5-9% gradients that would take us up around 900 ft in less than a mile. It turns out that there was a one-way system along this part of the route as the opposite lane to ours was closed for construction traffic involved in bridge and wall repair. Traffic was being allowed alternately up and down this one way section and we could not possibly get up before the traffic started coming down so we opted to cycle in the closed lane which turned out to be a very safe option and allowed us to proceed at our own slow speed (5mph) and stop to take pics while totally staying out of the way oftraffic going up and down. There was no active construction going on so we didn’t have that to worry about either.

At the summit we caught our breath in a park with a great overlook, from which it was about 12 miles and 600 ft more climbing to reach our hotel. Our final challenge? I got a flat tire about half way along this final stretch. There was no obvious reason for it but the tube replacement didn’t take too long. Matt of course is even more convinced that his tubeless set-up which was flat-free all week is much more superior; it’s an option I have on my bike as well but I just haven’t tried it (yet).

Needless to say we arrived at our downtown Flagstaff hotel (with the wind picking up and a temperature around 40 degrees) around 3pm, cleaned ourselves up, and then walked my bike 3 mins down the road to the Bicycle Revolution bike store where I had pre-arranged for them to box it up and ship it back to Sixpenny.

Matt’s bike is going back with him in the plane to Austin, and his bike bag was waiting for us at the hotel courtesy of FedEx.

There was a great bar next to Revolution so we toasted our accomplishment with a couple of local beers, rested in the hotel, and then went to another bar for dinner.

Our adventure is now over and my mission to cycle across the USA this year came true after all. Matt was instrumental in helping me make this happen and to get through some of the difficulties we encountered. We cycled 523 miles with no “formal” support system and that’s an achievement in itself. The sheer array of landscapes that we encountered in just 7 days is truly amazing and really needs to be experienced first-hand to appreciate.

So to get to this point I cycled 3310 miles while climbing just over 100,000 ft, or 19 miles. I built great friendships in the summer which are still going strong but to be able to complete this adventure with Matt added a dimension to this accomplishment - and to our relationship - that is difficult to put in words.

A Crossroads tradition is for cyclists who did not ride in a support vehicle to receive an EFI certificate ( EFI , every fkn inch, but of course we can’t use that word) from Paula. I technically accomplished that, albeit unavoidably in two long journeys rather than one - so Jim created my own personalized EFI award, shown below using one of the pics he took of me. Thanks Jim !!! It’s illustrative of the comradery that our group collectively built over many weeks and which is still very much a “thing”.

What next? I’m not sure but my bicycle will likely be in a future plan at some point. Thank you to my family and friends for reading this, following me on Instagram and giving me the support, encouragement, love, and help to make this cross-USA adventure a reality. ❤️ 🔴

https://www.relive.cc/view/v26MroGnX3q

[jesuisgourde]

So I had a dream like a month ago that was extremely vivid and I wrote it down. Tonight I grabbed my typewriter and turned it into a proper story, filling in some blanks and making things make a little more sense (I still don’t know if the punchline comes across, but I tried):

‘I suppose it really is time to get rid of this old thing,’ thought Sam, looking at the pointlessly prized possession in the corner. ‘It’s been there long enough.’

There was only one problem that preyed on his mind as he stared at the fluorescent sign nearly as long as himself: the nearest pawn shop was miles away. No car. No bicycle. No money for a cab. Not anymore. Nought but the few coins in his pocket that didn’t even amount to a pack of cigarettes. His apartment could no longer be called squalid, there was nothing left in it but a mattress, the duffel containing his meagre clothes, and a mini fridge that used to hold cans of beer but had long since fallen barren. Walk it was, then.

He unplugged the rare, anachronistic red and white Bud Light sign and struggled to tuck it under his arm. Staggering through the door, he left his apartment unlocked. There was nothing left to steal. He stumbled down the crooked stairs and nearly tripped over his neighbor Trip half asleep at the bottom, a cigarette burning dangerously in his fingers.

‘Spare some cash for the train, man?’ he asked, swinging the sign towards Trip’s head, ‘I’m going to sell this at the place the guy upstairs told me about. Pay you back, with interest.’

Trip slapped a few sweaty bucks in Sam’s hand. ‘Interest, motherfucker. Buy me some cigarettes on your way back, too.’

Desperation had made Sam’s hair long and his clothes threadbare. This was the last thing he could sell. He ignored the eyes grown into the walls of the train. He ignored the mystery liquid sliding towards him down the centre aisle. It was possible his desperation would barely get him out of next to nowhere. He counted the stops but still nearly missed the mumbled name and garbled sign. The train spat him out onto the platform, crooked with sign and sleeplessness.

The elevator was broken and the stairs were blocked off with tape and yellow signs and black plastic sheeting. Sam hunted for the escalator and tried not to think about the familiar feeling of sweat beading and cooling and coating his forehead and chilling his armpits. The escalator, lopsided and practically peeling itself off the ground, groaned and screeched in pain as he loaded himself onto one step and the sign onto another. It felt as if he would never reach the fucking top. Like the stairs would emit one last groan of persecuted agony and collapse, shuffling itself off this mortal coil and him with it.

‘I better get at least a couple bennies for all this fucking trouble,’ his thoughts grumbled, shaking his dangling head.

Dragging the sign over the cracking crooked crumbling weed-stubbled pavement nearly broke his neck. ‘Better be millions, better be the fucking lottery win. Fuck, man, my back hurts.’

The facade of the grungy building was stained yellow like too many nicotine fingers had caressed it. Dirty white lattice security grilles guarded the door and both windows, where displayed comic books were visible if you squinted through the dirt and city-sticky cobwebs.

The big yellow sign told Sam this was the place. NO CONTROL, the last pawn shop left in this part of the city. It was billed as a comic book store, of course, but everyone knew. Despite the main floor being riddled with racks and boxes and crates of dig-eared, tattered, chewed up comic books, the front was obvious. The mob wasn’t even trying to hide itself anymore. What was the fucking point? Shined shoes and smart jackets ran this place behind thick cigars and oil-black sunglasses. Sam squinted through the thick hostile smoke into the interior of the shop.

The main floor stretch fairly-sized but cramped with clutter before him. To his right, a double-sized kiosk booth was a silent inevitability, its two windows staring malevolently out into the room. Over one window a sign hung crookedly, its crudely painted letters sliding down its rectangular shape, reading BUY. Above the other window, equally akimbo but this time in red, said SELL.

Wiping his clammy forehead and trying not to lift his arms too high, even if his senses were all equally dulled by his desperation and the smoke, Sam lifted his sign and slid it through the SELL window. Through the scratched and yellowing plastic, in the scratchy and yellow light, two stingy men in stingy brims and black suits sat, their faces obscured by black Wayfarers and thick ashy cigar smoke. Scratched and scarred semi-automatics ran a gauntlet along the walls behind them, standing spiky and black and silent in the oily room. Wooden crates with foreign labels stood as haphazardly stacked blockades, their guts half-spilled and their illicit treasures apparent.

Sam couldn’t see their eyes but he could feel the stares as one man ashed on the floor and nodded to his compadre. The second man stood and approached the window. A scar ran across the bridge of his nose and arrowed sharply along his cheek towards his ear.

The scarred man ran his bruise-blacked, smoke-yellowed hands along the sticky offwhite plastic of the beer brand signage, nodding slowly like he was appraising some potentially lucrative artifact.

‘Could be at least a hundred,’ thought Sam, ‘even if these guys do look like sour faced penny-pinching gangsters.’ He shifted his weight from foot to foot, his cracked Dr Martens sticking to the tiles. The guns made him twitch, his helplessness made him squirm. The inspecting man looked backward at his partner, who peeled back a greasy-toothed smile.

‘This ain’t our usual wares, kid. We’ll give you five dollars for it.’

Five dollars was not a million, not by a longshot or a gunshot. Not even by a hundred, or a couple dozen. Desperation again. Desperation blighted him, a blight on his life and his desire for some dramatic flight out of the city, out of his own life. Five bucks. Fucking nothing, but he already had that. Or didn’t have it. Five bucks wouldn’t pay for cigarettes, or interest, or anything.

The void-faced men stared at him, their twin cigars the only movement in the cramped kiosk room. Someone behind him coughed significantly. Sam twitched, sighed, hung his head.

‘I’ll take it.’

The inspector riffled through something below the limited field of vision behind the window, rustling papers and the ding of a hidden cash register that sparked only the fainted of dulled reactions in Sam’s heart.

No flourish, no pomp, just cold straightforward bluntness in his movements, the inspector palmed a little fisted bundle under a stack of advert papers and defunct business cards, and slid it through the slot in the window. Sam dragged the pile towards him and turned without a word, disappointment souring in his belly and grim destitution tightening round his neck. He clutched the collection of papers to his chest, protecting those last precious dollars from the smoke and the grime and the filmy rain as he stepped outside.

In the claustrophobically humid station, he finally chanced a look at his bundle. Expired adverts for local events, decades old coupons, cigarette cards, business cards, a newspaper clipping for a telephone sex service. He shuffled through them thoughtlessly, only thinking about crumpling the oily bills and stuffing them in his pocket.

He reached the bottom of the stack. No money.

Instead, smirking up at him, so small and yet mockingly large in his chapped palm, was a small plastic ziplock bag with a single typewritten line inside:

NO ARMS - NO CONTROL

Insane, desperate laughter dribbled out through his cracked teeth and split lips, cutting shrill and scratched through the thick air and pushing him to his boney knees on the cold, grimy concrete floor amidst the blackened gum and puddles of futureless piss.

[hournites]

Hournite Week Day 1: Light vs Dark - Hoax

Summary: When a distraught Beth visits the Farmlands one late night, Rick offers his support.

(read on ao3)

~.~

At the end of the day, Rick prefers to sit alone. There’s a chair in the living room, the room he used to play and sit with his parents in on the couch. The room he’d opened gifts on birthdays, watched television with his mother and sat by the window, looking out at the field for his father to come home. Matt has claimed that couch now. Rick doesn’t care to use it except when he’s forced to clean. It’s stained with beer and food that’s fallen through the cushions. His uncle brings women there, rarely ever the same woman twice. Rick knows it’s dirty and defiled and as beat up as the rest of the furniture Matt touches.

Rick prefers his father’s old recliner, shoved in the back dark corner where he can get the best bandwidth for the internet connection. Behind his uncle, it’s almost like Matt forgets Rick’s there. He studied those chemistry textbooks there, half-assed homework there, and fell asleep on rare occasions too. Outside of locking himself in his upstairs bedroom, it’s the closest to being invisible Rick gets. The closest to peacefulness he knows.

It’s on a Saturday night like that the doorbell rings, interrupting the tense quiet they’ve carved to share space.

Matt lifts his head from his phone, half-slouched on the couch, disgruntled when it rings twice more. “The hell?”

Rick stares ahead at the front door from the hall, startled by the foreign noise. “Um.”

Nobody uses the doorbell. They don’t even get visitors. The mailman drops parcels and bills off at the mailbox half a mile down the dirt walkway.

He looks at Matt.

“Ignore it.”

Rick stands. “It’s probably some real estate agent or something.” He’d notice a lot of the property nearby has gone up for sale. If he said they weren’t interested in buying, then they’d know not to come again.

“Exactly. So, leave it be.”

But the doorbell rings again just as he turns to walk away. Rick makes a move to the door.

“I said ignore it.”

He rolls his eyes. Well, now Rick was definitely going to do it. He glares at his uncle over his shoulder, twisting his wrist to unlock the door. “You can’t just tell me to—”

The door swings open and his eyes flit forward to address the figure at the arch. “Beth?”

Dressed in a dark purple cardigan and light-wash jeans, she’s clenching the rubber bars of her bike, fingers scrunched up like she wants to scratch it off with her nails. Like she’s moments from ripping it off entirely. She’s holding herself too stiff, head raised and chin jutted out. Rigid like she can’t move, twitching like she wants to fight. The irises of her big brown eyes skip from left to right, pleading.

“Can I stay here with you?”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“Please —” she begs, voice cracking. “Can I stay over with you?”  

“Tell them to fuck off!”      

Rick glances back awkwardly over his shoulder, wary of his uncle, not sure what to say.

“Rick, please—”

Rick steps outside and shuts the front door behind him.

“Why are you here? Are you okay?”

Beth drops the handles and her bicycle falls to the porch with a clatter.

His eyes widen when she lurches forward, catapulting across the creaking wood. Rick grunts softly at the force of her hug. He stumbles back with her, wrapping her arms tight as they stand in the doorway.

Her body shudders and whatever storm she had been withholding inside releases with a bursting sob. Beth sniffles into his shirt, the angle of her round glasses pressed into his ribs. Rick looks down, at a loss.

“Hey,” he rasps out, taking a firm grasp at her shaking shoulder. “Beth. Okay. Shh. Jesus, don’t cry.” Matt’s going to hear this. He’s going to hear and come and see and make this a mess. The thought makes his blood run cold. Rick peels her off. It hurts and is jarring and she seizes at the rip of comfort he just tore away that he knows she needs, but hair stands up on his arms, hyper-cognizant. It’s not that he thinks Matt will—Rick doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what he’d do and that’s been why he’s avoided letting the girls show up here.

“This can’t happen right now.” The last thing Rick wants is for Matt to find out about the hourglass or the JSA. The girls are his tether to that and he can’t risk Matt taking advantage or robbing anything he has no right to. Again.

Beth recoils. He’s quick to pull her back in, panicked. It’s not that he doesn’t care.  “I didn’t say that right. We just can’t do this here.”

“What do you mean?”

He leads her off the porch by the hand to around the side of the house. Rick can tell she’s biting down her lip to stop from asking another question, but it becomes clear where they’re going when they reach his parked car and she relaxes. He hops onto the hood and makes room for her. Beth looks reluctant, but joins him there, still brushing close, wanting him near.

“You don’t want me to stay?”

“It’s not that,” he promises. “I just don’t know how he’s going to react.”

Her wet eyelashes get stuck against the wall of her thick lenses. “Your uncle Matt?”

“I’ve told you. He’s not a good person.” His tone edges on sharp. “There’s a reason why I don’t want—” He pinches the bridge of his nose, fighting down his belligerence. Rick takes a breath. This isn’t going to help her. “He doesn’t treat women right.” He pauses, wanting to say more, but can’t bring himself to say the words.

She stares at him. “You think he’s a racist.”

“Well.” That too.

Beth slides off the car.

“Beth. Wait.”

She rubs at her eyes with the sleeve of her cardigan, turning back in the direction they came.

“I’ll go home.”

“Tell me what’s wrong first.” He follows her along the muddy grass. “You wanted to stay overnight.”

“You don’t want me here!” She shakes her head and squeezes her eyes shut. “This was stupid of me. I shouldn’t have come. I should’ve asked first.”

“Beth, that’s not true. I do. I always want to see you. It’s just...” His implication is obvious, but it came out worse than he’d meant it to. The point is, she could’ve gone to anyone else. She could’ve gone to see Courtney.

She should’ve called Pat. They trust Pat. He’s safe and is a good problem solver as annoying as his methods are.

She came here instead. And yeah, he does wish she could’ve texted or called, but the fact she’s now thinking it was wrong seems strange.

Rick knew something wasn’t right the moment he saw her in front of his doorstep, but now he’s very worried as he hears her curse herself and blinking back more tears. Beth has always been so confident in herself, regardless of how others perceived her. He had never heard Beth call herself dumb or pathetic or stupid. He didn’t believe she had ever seen herself that way either. Why would she?

According to their high school, she might be a loser, but there had never been a day she wasn’t unapologetically proud to be herself. There’s nothing wrong with being outspoken or bold or self-assured, trusting or smart and self-sufficient. She’s all of the above and maybe that had intimidated or even annoyed Rick sitting across from her to overhear, but it didn’t make it less true.

Doesn’t Beth know that?

She looks at him again. “I thought we were—”

“We are.”

She lets out another long breath and swallows.

“We are. It’s not that I don’t… My uncle is a real asshole. That’s it.” He grabs her hand. “Okay?”

“Okay.” She lifts a helpless shoulder, glancing back at the mustang. She lingers on it like she wants to go in.

“What?” Rick asks.

“Do you wanna leave Blue Valley with me?”

She doesn’t mean a road trip. The question throws him. Not because it’s terrifying to hear that from her. Though it fucking is. It throws him because he’s had the same thought pass through his mind at night a thousand times. A thousand times a week. Everything could be better, away. Without the memories or the roads or the trees and the people who’ve made this town an awful place. But their perspectives on Blue Valley had always been Rick and Beth’s stark difference. What happened to her unwavering devotion to caring about the town and everyone in it? It’s what Rick liked so much. The light from within her pushed her bravery, eradicating her limits.

“Beth,” he speaks carefully. “Why are you running away?”

Beth turns her face towards the farms, letting go of his hand. “I love my parents so much.”

Rick’s face softens. “I know.”

“No. They’ve been my inspiration my whole life. How can—I can’t fathom how…it’s all...”

“What are you talking about?”

Beth tugs her fingers into the sleeves of her cardigan crossed over her chest, refusing to meet his gaze, miserable. She takes so long to answer, but Rick can see the fight in her mind in the way she sticks her jaw. Whatever it is she’s torturing herself with it, Rick can feel it just by standing nearby. “Beth?”

“It’s the ISA, Rick. I didn’t want to believe it but it’s been them all along. My—” She chokes on her words.

Dread sinks to his gut. “Which one?”

“Both.” The blankness that shadows over her face, Rick has seen it before. The ghost of Yolanda’s detachedness after she was betrayed. The shattering shake in Henry’s voice moments before he was gone. “Chuck found out a while ago but I kept pushing it back and pushing it back because it wasn’t true? It wasn’t true and I couldn’t accept that until...They’re close with Richard Swift.”

He touches her arm, lets his hand slide down the expensive sweater to reach for her hand when she cries again.

“Can’t we just go?” When she asks Rick again, he understands. The slimmer of hope she’s threaded through her request. What it’s costing him not to say yes.  

“Come inside,” he whispers instead, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. It's a dead weight like a stone in his hand. It shouldn’t be like this. Beth shouldn’t be like this. She’s not okay. “You can stay.”

She shoots a nervous glance at the house. “I don’t want to if it’s a problem.”

“I’ll make sure it’s not a problem,” he cuts in, sharp.

Beth mutters something, but Rick doesn’t catch it. He jogs back to the front porch and bends over to pick up her bike and lock it in the shed.

He returns, awkwardly holding her school bag, leaning against the wall.

“Stay here,” Rick says, “I’ll come to get you.”

He goes back inside and stands in front of Matt.

“My friend is staying over.”

“You have friends?” Matt scrolls on his phone with a snort. When he realizes Rick isn’t joking, he glances up. “No.”

“I’m not asking.”

“I babysit enough after you—”

“Is that what you call it?” Rick snarks.

Matt’s eyes flash at him. They say Don’t test me.

Rick steps away. He won’t. The plan isn’t to piss him off. He wants Beth to survive the night here. “She’ll stay in my room and I’ll sleep on the floor or something. It’s just for today.”

To Rick’s horror, Matt leers. “She’ll stay in your room?”

“Don’t.” Rick makes it clear. “Don’t. Don’t talk to her. She’s upset enough. She doesn’t need you in her business.”

“Whatever.”

“I’m serious,” Rick says. The flippant way Matt goes back to his phone has him unnerved. If it wasn’t for the fact he has the hourglass tucked away in his room, he’d walk right out and drive Beth to Pat’s instead. It’s not worth it.

But Rick can take Matt on now. If that’s something he ever needs to do.

“What’s her name?”

Rick doesn’t even want to tell him. He turns around and brings Beth in.

She wipes at her face and sucks in her hurt, attempting and failing to gather her emotions. “Sorry, Mr. Harris. I’m—”

“—No.” Rick pushes her past the living room before she could even finish her sentence. “Nope.”

“Is that any way to speak to your father? ” Matt yells after him.

Rick rolls his eyes hard and shuts the door to his room pointedly.

Beth sits gingerly onto his unmade bed. “You could’ve at least let me introduce myself. I’m in his house.”

“This is not his house.”

“Oh.” Beth picks at his linty sheet. “Right.”

He waits as long as he can before he can’t help himself. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” she mutters. Beth reaches into her bag for Chuck and hands him over. “It’s all there.” Next, she pulls out a pair of leggings and a sweatshirt. “Sorry. Can I change?”

“Uh. Sure.” Rick moves. “Tell me when I can come back in.”

Rick leans against the wall, waiting, wondering what he should do. Chuck is in his hands, half-lit. The last time he learned the truth through green hue, his life had changed for good. Was this what it felt like for her?

The projection skittered across the off-white peeling walls.

James Chapel. The American Dream. Hired by Jordan Mahkent, January 2006. James Chapel, MBA Keynote Speaker - Geopolitical Realignment in the Pursuit of an American Dream. Funded by Richard Swift. The Theoretical Abnormalities of Frontal-Cortex Reconfiguration published by Blue Valley Medical Centre Press. Authored by Henry King Jr, Bridget Chapel et al. 2000. Scholarship funding provided by Swift Inc.

It is followed by grainy photographs of a tall slender woman in a blue and red polymer jumpsuit with the youthfulness of Beth’s face. The pixels dissolve away and return with one that resembles her father. There’s more evidence, hard core pictures. Records of Henry Jr’s faked autopsy. Medical records on Joey Zarick. Notes on the political numbers in William Zarick’s campaign.

“I’m sure this comes as a great shock.”

“How didn’t you know?” It feels ridiculous to hiss accusations at a piece of tech no matter how special. He does it anyway. The damage, it’s done. He has half the mind to smash Chuck against the floor. He doesn’t hate Chuck, he knows how important he is to Beth. It’s just the gratification Rick craves to break something that hurt her.

“A glitch in my system. The Gambler had scrambled their affiliation well. It’s not until I’ve reloaded my servers and Beth brought me into Dr. Chapel’s work office that she uncovered any peculiarities.”

“This is going to break her.”

“Bruise,” Chuck corrects. “Not break.”

Rick shuts it off when his door cracks open.

She stepped out looking as cozy as one could with red-rimmed eyes.

Rick tilts his head up from his crouched position in the hall, passing Chuck back to her. She hugs the goggles close.

“Where are you sleeping?” she asks. “I won’t let you on the floor.”

“I have a chair.”

“Where?”

“The living room?”

She considers it, peering down the stairs. “Isn’t that where your uncle passes out?”

“I can bring it up here.”

“We shared a bed at Pat’s cabin.”

“That was before…” Besides, Barbara was there checking in like every two hours.

“Rick,” Beth whispers. “I just want you near.”

~.~

She is near, nestled in his arms. The sheer closeness makes his heart jump, the solid feel of her body beside his. Beth trusts him, confides in him. Looks up at him when he hears her.

“I don’t believe they’d ever hurt me,” she says at last. Rick bites his tongue. Physically? No. Indirectly? He’s seen the way she’s vied for their attention. Idolized herself after their values. The dependency they’ve fastened to leech onto their ideals of transparency and complete openness from her side when they don’t return the favour. Some of their FaceTime calls at lunch had been flat-out weird. Rick assumed it was his irritability flaring out whenever they bothered to check in on her. What if it was surveillance?

Beth catches his hesitation and frowns. “I know what you’re thinking. My parents are different. I know they’re…on the wrong side but they’re not like Tigress and Sportsmaster.” She’s defending them. Naturally, and in spite of her grief. He squeezes her arm, unthinking.

“I didn’t think they were.”

She turns and pulls on the sheet, staring up at his ceiling. “You know what’s funny?”

“What?”

“Ever since I found out, my mind always circles back to you.”

“Me?” Rick’s brows crease against his pillow. “Why?”

“I was wrong about you too. I thought you were this unfeeling aggressive person that sat next to me at lunch all those years because you were indifferent.” She glances at him. “That’s not true.”

“It was a little true.”

She ignores that, carrying on. “But I wanted to be wrong about you from the beginning so I fought against my feelings to prove myself right that night. And I was. There’s so much more to you.”

He props his elbow up to study her quietly.

“I thought if there was more to you, there has to be more to my mom and dad. I didn’t think they could just leave me in the dark. That’s why I didn’t say anything for so long.”

“You don’t need to apologize.”

He knows that she knows they’ll be talking to Courtney and Yolanda and Pat soon. That the world as she knew it was gone now. For now, Rick listens, being there for her.

Beth might’ve been left in the dark, but she navigates well in it. Her heart and wisdom are a bright light in themselves. And she’s touched him with it, seared him with her brightness and truth in a way he can’t ignore. Beth lightened him in a way he’s only more drawn to. And if she loses it now, if it dims out of her, Rick swears he’ll find it. He’ll find it and bring it back out if he has to.

[doyelikehaggis]

Twelve Days of Rarepairs: Scydia/McMartin | Scott McCall x Lydia Martin (Teen Wolf)

Requested by @wonderdoves & anonymous

"This place is…"

Scott can't even think of a word. He just gazes ahead of them in wonder and awe. For miles, all he can see is snow. A thick white blanket of it covering the entire path ahead, the roads, the cobblestoned buildings, the trees—god, even the trees feel like something out of a fairytale, with long, twisting branches that have a dusting of snow themselves. And it's still going, trying to make them part of the scenery, too.

"You'd think you'd never seen snow before," Lydia teases. 

"I haven't—not like this! California's snow is nothing compared to this." 

Lydia just smiles, a certain fondness in her eyes. She squints up at the sky, her nose wrinkling slightly, their suitcases dragging along through the snow behind them as they continue their way from the ferry port. Something else that Scott is admittedly still in amazement over; he'd never actually been on a ferry before. 

It's just a good thing that the snow stopped long enough for them to actually reach Ireland, or else they'd have still been holed up in their cabin, stuck somewhere in the middle of the sea. Not the worst scenario he can think of, to be fair. But he's glad, nonetheless, because this is so much better. 

"I don't know," Lydia says. "I think I prefer the warm winters. I'm just hoping that Gran and Nana make their hot chocolate like they used to when I was younger, I'm telling you, it's the best thing ever."

Scott smiles, finally looking at Lydia as they come to a stop outside a two-storey, cobbled house with a gate around the garden. Her cheeks are flushed from the cold, her nose a pale pink. Snowflakes have clung to her green hat, along the shoulders of her matching green coat, and to her eyelashes. There's a gleam of pure excitement and joy beneath them as she stares at the house. 

When she takes a deep breath, it returns like a puff of smoke. Scott gently squeezes her hand and holds it up in his own, bringing her gloved knuckles to his lips.

"You look nervous," he tells her softly. 

"A little," Lydia says, nodding. "Only because I haven't been here since I was… nine? And there's so much to tell them. I mean, I know my mom filled them in on pretty much everything, but still."

Scott nods as well, saying, "I know. It's a lot. But it'll be okay."

"Yeah, of course," Lydia agrees. Her smile seems a little more confident as she gives another nod.

They walk through the gate, into the garden that Scott's now seeing is teeming with things; empty plant pots, kids toys, an overturned bicycle. Even the stones of the house are more interesting than he had initially realized, with bright murals painted across the whole front of the house. 

As soon as they enter the house, the door closing behind them, they're hit with unexplainable warmth. And the shouting and giggling of kids that whiz past them, nearly knocking them off their feet. 

"I forgot how loud it gets here," Lydia says, but she's laughing. Scott can see it in her eyes as she looks around the entrance hall, beautifully decorated with lengths of tinsel, and handcrafted baubles hanging from the ceiling. 

Framed pictures line the walls up the stairs as far as he can. The closest one, hanging by the bottom of the stairs, has a familiar little girl, giving her biggest smile to the camera beside a young woman with a striking resemblance. 

"Is this you?" Scott asks, his smile wide. 

Lydia looks at the photo. "Oh god, yeah. I think that was when I was, like… six? I came up here every Christmas and New Year before my parents divorced. That's my gran."

"You look like her," Scott tells her, and he can hear the joyful skip of heart, hear it in her proud little hum of agreement. 

"Well, maybe without some of the grey hair," a voice says from behind them. 

They both turn around, and Lydia's face lights up. She's already squealing and dropping her suitcase and Scott's hand. 

"Gran!" Lydia practically flies at her, hugging her tightly. 

Her gran laughs, caught by surprise but only for a second, wrapping her up in her arms. "I've missed you too, Ariel!" 

"Haven't heard that name in a while," someone else says, with a distinctively more Irish accent, but still holding the same fond, overjoyed tone.

Scott looks at the woman who appears at their side from the room behind Lydia and her gran. He recognizes her instantly from all the photos. 

Maddy places a hand on Lorraine's shoulder as she and Lydia pull apart. Lydia looks on the verge of tears as she buries herself into Maddy's open embrace as well for a second, both laughing now. 

"And you…" Lorraine looks over Scott with a smile and a gleam in her eyes. A certain kind of knowing. "... You're Scott McCall."

Scott returns her smile and nods. "I am. I've heard a lot about you, Mrs. Martin."

"Yeah, I know a thing or two about you as well," Lorraine tells him, and he knows. 

He knows she isn't just talking about him and Lydia being together, but about everything. The deadpool. She knew who he was and what he was going to be before he even hit ten. 

For a moment, his worries from the ferry come back. Not all supernatural creatures are a fan of each other, and with the destruction that werewolves have a history of causing, banshees can't be that fond of them. And especially with everything that's happened to Lydia. 

But then her smile grows and she says, "I'm glad to finally meet you! And, please, call me Lorraine. This is my wife, Maddy."

"So, this is the little wolf that got your heart, huh?" Maddy jokes to Lydia, an arm around her shoulders. 

Lydia looks at Scott. She bites her bottom lip through her smile, and her eyes are saying everything. 

She nods and softly says, "Yeah. He is."

"Then you're more than welcome here," Lorraine says.

Relief starts to lift the weight off of Scott's shoulders and chest. The warm, welcoming atmosphere is hard to resist, and he's already feeling at home. 

-

Lydia was right. The hot chocolate is one of the best things he's ever had. Creamy and overflowing with marshmallows with a candy cane to stir it around. Not to mention the plate of cookies. He has never had a gingerbread man that tastes this good.

It's already dark outside, the sun having set an hour or two after they arrived. They already changed into warmer, more comfortable clothes, and settled in front of the fireplace in the living room to get rid of the chill from the snow. Lorraine and Maddy insisted. Didn't want them getting sick, and ignoring their protests about not being able to actually get sick.

"Your cousins don't look like they're having a good time," Scott comments quietly, watching the half-asleep couple sitting in the corner. 

"They have five kids, all under the age of ten," Lydia replies. "I think the only thing they can feel right now is exhausted."

Scott snorts. He looks around the room. He's met nearly everyone on this side of the family by now. Every cousin, second cousin, aunts, uncles. The kids that Lorraine and Maddy took in have been especially eager to meet him. 

His attention is drawn back to the little boy sitting cross-legged in front of him. He's only nine.

Scott wasn't expecting it when Lorraine and Maddy told him that around ten years ago, another banshee had found them. She was only nineteen and had no one and no idea what was going on with her. They took her in, Lorraine helped her. And from then, it's like their home was its own supernatural beacon, but for kids who had nowhere else to go. 

Sean, the little boy currently sneaking another gingerbread man from the plate, is a werewolf. His family, his pack, were hunted down when he was four. Lorraine felt it coming. She and Maddy found Sean. 

There's a little yelp and Sean clutches his hand. Scott catches a glimpse of tiny claws where nails should be. 

"Can I…?" he asks, holding out a hand. 

Sean hesitates, but he glances at Lydia, who smiles and nods encouragingly, then back at Scott. He slowly gives him his hand, palm up. 

"I don't know how to control it…" Sean mutters, looking down sheepishly. 

Scott inspects where the small trickle of blood is coming from. Three little lines where his claws accidentally caught his skin in passing. 

Shaking his head, Scott speaks gently, and draws on the pain in Sean's hand. "It's okay. You're still learning."

"Yeah, it's actually harder for born wolves," Lydia chimes in, nodding convincingly when Sean lifts his eyes to her with curiosity. "You'd think it was the other way around, but one of our friends—he was born a werewolf."

"And he didn't learn until he was sixteen," Scott tells him. "It just takes time."

"And knowing what keeps you grounded," Lydia adds. "Your anchor."

Sean looks at Scott. "Do you have an anchor?"

Scott nods. "I do. I had to learn to let me be my own anchor, but when that doesn't work for me, I focus on all the people I love. My mom, my best friend, my pack." 

He glances at Lydia only to find her already gazing at him with the softest smile, her cheek leaning against her shoulder. She places a kiss to his shoulder, her hand resting on her arm for a second.

"You just need to find something that makes you feel more in control," Scott finishes, turning back to Sean. "Even if it's an emotion."

Sean nods slowly. His expression is one of deep thought, trying to work to figure out what his own anchor could be. 

"Now, you should go clean this up," Scott says. "Just run it under warm water with some soap, okay? It might sting a little, but just ask Lorraine or Maddy if they have any antibiotic cream, and then put a bandage on it."

"Are you a doctor?" Sean asks.

"No," Scott can't help but grin as he says, "I'm just a vet."

That answer only seems to confuse Sean. But he gets up and hurries off to go do what Scott instructed. 

When Scott turns back, Lydia's still watching him. She has this look on her face, a thoughtful glaze in her eyes and a certain kind of smile that he can't read. 

Chuckling, Scott asks, "What is it?"

She lets a beat pass. She shakes her head, takes a slow breath in, then looks over at the window instead.

"It's still snowing. Do you wanna sit in the garden? There's a nice bench out back."

Scott's eyebrows furrow a little, but he stands with her, following her to the back door from the kitchen. Stepping outside is like what he'd imagine stepping into a walk-in freezer would feel like. 

But the cold biting at his skin is unimportant. The awe hits him all over again as he takes in the sight of the garden, feeling like he just stepped into a fairytale instead. Everywhere he looks, everything is white and sparkling. From the entire ground, to the gazebo at the end of the garden. 

Somehow, in amidst it all, there are flowers. Whole roses and everything, snow dusting across their dark red petals. 

"This is…" Scott breathes out, his eyes wide, "... I don't even know what this is. This place doesn't feel real."

Lydia laughs gently. She wraps her arms around her and nods, looking around as the snow falls around them. 

"Yeah, it does feel kind of… magical."

"We could actually make a snowman," Scott continues. "Or have a real snowball fight. Are snow angels things that people actually do?"

Lydia's eyebrows are raised when he looks back at her, and she's shaking her head. But she's got a smile that stretches to the corners of her eyes and he can feel emotions radiating off of her.

"You are so dorky." She moves closer, wrapping her arms around the back of his neck. "And I love you."

Scott smiles. His voice is soft and giving away all of the fondness he feels for her when he says, "And I love you."

She leans in, her head tilting. Her lips are soft against his. He pulls her a little closer, his arms wrapping around her waist. The cold and even the snow is easier to ignore.

Lydia pulls back, her hands lingering on his shoulders. Scott doesn't let go at all. 

"I'm really glad you're here with me," Lydia tells him. "And my whole family now loves you, so that's a nice bonus. I think you even made a friend."

Scott grins, shrugging. "Your family is great, and I am… beyond relieved that they like me. And, I think with Sean, it's a werewolf thing."

"Oh, no." Lydia shakes her head firmly. "Maybe that's a small part of it, the whole Alpha thing and all, but all of the kids in there love you."

They pull apart. Lydia sits down on the bench. Scott follows, and can't help but start piling the snow from the arm of the bench into a ball in his hand. 

"You were amazing with Sean," Lydia comments, glancing at him. She's doing the same thing with the snow on her side. 

Scott shrugs again. "I just told him the same as I told Liam. And Alec. It's how I wish I could have been introduced to all of this. With someone reassuring me that it would be okay."

Lydia nods in a shared understanding. Neither of their starts in the supernatural word were exactly pleasant or comforting. Scott's only sorry that Lydia was brought into it the way she was. 

She rests a hand on top of his, curling her fingers beneath his palm. She squeezes gently. 

He knows that she can tell what he's thinking. Sometimes he worries that banshees have the ability to read minds as well. But the look she gives him and her hand there with his draws his thoughts away from the past. Everything is okay. It's better than okay. 

"It's amazing what your gran and nana have done, though," Scott says. "Taking in supernatural kids who have nowhere else to go."

"Yeah, it's like a little foster home, but… for werewolves, banshees, and everything else," Lydia jokes, but her smile is sincere. "It's a really good thing they're doing. The kids are so happy here."

"I can see why," Scott says, gazing back out across the garden. The snow has the sky practically glowing, in no way looking like it's dark enough to be night. 

There's a slight pressure against his hand from Lydia's fingers, moving slowly. 

"Do you… do you think that's something you'd ever want to do?" Lydia asks, careful with her words.

Scott looks back at her. She's watching him again, with curious eyes. His heart drops many beats.

"Wait, are you—?" he starts to ask, but Lydia's eyes widen and she quickly shakes her head.

"No!" she hastens to answer. "No, I'm not! I just meant… you know, in general, is it—is it something that you can see for the future? Not necessarily the foster home part, but… you know."

She chews her bottom lip. Scott takes it in, letting the question process. After a moment, a smile curves the corners of his mouth up.

"Imagine, the first werewolf-banshee hybrid," he says.

"That can't have been done before," Lydia agrees, a laugh to her voice. "I wonder if one side would skip them, or if we'd be creating a whole new species."

Scott actually does laugh now, and Lydia joins him. His stomach is buzzing with butterflies or bees, he can't tell. 

When they both go quiet, Scott slowly nods. He lifts his eyes to meet Lydia's.

"I like the sound of that," he says softly. "Whether it be a werewolf-banshee hybrid, or even an orphaned werewolf with nobody else… yeah. It's something I see for the future."

Lydia takes in a deep breath. She presses her lips together as her smile threatens to take over her entire face. She just nods, and breathes out slowly.

"Good to know," she says. "I do too, for the record."

"Okay, that's great," Scott says, grinning from ear to ear. 

Lydia hums in agreement. Then the ball of snow that she'd been forming hits him square in the chest. 

It's safe to say that it is freezing. The snow instantly seeps through his Christmas jumper, melting into his skin. He gasps while Lydia laughs behind her hands, hee eyes wide.

"You said you wanted a snowball fight…" she reminds him. 

Scott nods. "You're absolutely right. I did."

The ball of snow in his own hand hits Lydia. She gasps, snow sticking to her jumper as well now. 

"Oh my god, so cold!" she exclaims. "Why is that so cold?!" 

"Because it's real snow," Scott says, his excitement quickly returning. 

Lydia looks at him, her eyes narrowing. A familiar, competitive smirk forms on both their faces. 

"Game on," she says. 

Next second, they're trying to dodge out of the other's way, snowballs flying across the garden. There are gasps and shouts and laughter when they successfully land a shot. 

Maybe it's a little unfair that Scott taps into his heightened abilities to move faster. But the advantage doesn't stop Lydia from managing to sneak up on him and tackle him into the snow. It's so deep that they sink a few inches into it, laughing until their sides and faces ache, and neither of them actually win, both claiming they did. But they end up just lying there in the freezing snow, curled into each other, staring up at the night sky.