#and started a resistance where everyone is named after condiments

[wield-the-mighty-pen]

When the most normal person in your friend group is a formerly homeschooled trust-fund baby model, who plays soccer with his hands, smells faintly of cheese, and moonlights as a catboy, you know you've goofed up

[keelywolfe]

FIC: A Waffle Lot of Trouble (baon)

Summary: Edge has learned many things since he began his relationship with Stretch, gone to a variety of places, done so many things. Surely he can endure this travesty. Surely he can survive...the Waffle House.

Tags:  Spicyhoney, Established Relationships, Domestic Fluff

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

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“Explain to me why we are doing this?”

Edge followed Stretch through the door beneath the glowing sign and the reluctant drag of his boots did not stop his husband’s determined march.

“three reasons,” Stretch said. He did not loosen his hold on Edge’s hand, as if suspicious he might flee if given a chance and Edge couldn’t say he was wrong. “one, because i’m craving horrible unhealthy eats and your cooking, while delicious, doesn’t qualify. two, you’ve never been to a waffle house and it is an experience that everyone should enjoy—”

“Endure.”

“—enjoy,” Stretch insisted stubbornly. “which brings us to the third and most important reason. you love me.”

“I do,” Edge sighed. This wouldn’t be the first occasion that his adoration would take him to strange and sometimes fascinating places for unique meals. They used to do it quite often while they were still dating and Stretch was doing his weekly restaurant reviews for his twitter. Somehow the banquet had dwindled off as he slowly ran out of places in Ebott to review. It was a shame, really, and perhaps he should speak to Stretch about starting up again. There was no reason they couldn’t travel a bit further out of the city so long as proper security measures were taken. It would be enjoyable to find another small hole-in-the-wall or old family business eager to share their signature meal.

From the looks of this place, the food would be better left unsigned.

The booths looked as if they’d been torn straight from an old sitcom, padded red vinyl with the occasional patch attempting, and occasionally failing, to hold the stuffing in. It was a match to the stools lining the long counter, separated by little islands of napkins, condiments, and straws nestled together. The overhead lights were glaringly intense with one in the corner flickering with seizure inducing intensity and in the other corner was a jukebox to complete the scene in searing neon.

If horribly unhealthy food was what Stretch was craving, then he’d found its haven.

“c’mon,” Stretch tugged at his hand to pull him along and Edge’s dragging stride had nothing to do with the cane he was leaning on. His husband led the way to one of the booths, still chattering, “i used to come here all the time before we got together. sometimes when i couldn’t sleep, i’d sneak out and take the late bus out and sit here for half the night, taking up space.”

There were so many horrible things wrong with that statement that Edge couldn’t pick one to start with; the very idea of Stretch alone on the bus after midnight, or him here and equally alone, hanging out with the sort of Human patrons who were eager for cheap, greasy food in the wee hours, or the last indignity, that he’d hidden his excursions from his brother. Anything could have happened and the fact that it didn’t only barely kept Edge’s mouth shut.

Then his teeth ground together for another reason as they halted in front of one of the booths.

The table was the sort of sticky usually reserved for movie theater floors and while Edge tolerated it beneath his shoes, having it beneath his elbows, or worse, beneath Stretch’s bare hands, was entirely unacceptable.

Before he could give voice to one of his many protests, Stretch was already rummaging through his bag, this one with the chemical formula for caffeine boldly on the side. "don't worry, babe, got you covered."

He pulled out a package of disinfecting wipes and busied himself cleaning not only the tabletop, but also the plastic bench seats and even the salt and pepper shakers. Everything on the table got a thorough wipe down and as soon as the seat dried, Edge grudgingly sat. Much as he was relieved that Stretch came prepared, the fact that he knew to be prepared did not instill much faith.

He tried very hard not to think about the state of the kitchen.

Edge picked up one of the freshly wiped down menus to frown at. “You still haven’t explained to me why we needed to come at 3am. We could have come at noon for the lunch special.”

“nah, that’s for soccer moms and octogenarians,” Stretch scoffed. “you come at 3am ‘cause that's when you go to a waffle house, babe! it's a liminal space, a place of transition, where you cross over from one space to the next and—"

“If I’d known we’d be traveling so much I would have worn better shoes.”

“always got jokes, babe,” Stretch snickered. He lowered his voice, leaning in. “but seriously, look around.”

Edge was well familiar with the subtleties involved in a careful awareness of one’s surroundings. Without lifting his head, he looked around the diner. There were only four other customers, all of them with plates already in front of them. One a group of college-age Humans who might have been fashionably dressed up for the club a few hours earlier but now their makeup was running from sweat, their hair fallen and straggly, and simply by looking at them, he had a fair assessment of their current smell. The other person, who looked as if they might have been in prison as recently as last night, was forcefully shoveling what might have been hash browns into his mouth. It was difficult to tell; whatever it was had enough ketchup poured on top to give even Sans a pause and a moment to reconsider. He could very well have been eating shredded napkins beneath that thick layer of red.

None of the Humans paid him and Stretch any mind, so Edge silently wished the man good fortune on his recent parole and returned to looking at the menu while touching it as little as possible.

The door that presumable led to the kitchen swung abruptly open and a harried waitress came through it, coffeepot in hand. She didn’t so much as give them a second glance, only thunked down a pair of heavy white coffee mugs and poured them full to the brim.

“Be back to take your order in a minute,” she said distractedly.

“take your time.” Stretch was already tearing open sugar packets to add to his cup. He took a sip, grimaced, and added several more.

Edge reached for his own cup, already braced for whatever burnt dregs ended up as the primary flavor, when the ancient jukebox suddenly came to life, blaring out a jaunty 50’s style tune about raisins in toast. Edge jerked, cursing softly as he spilled hot coffee over his hand. He hastily stripped off his glove and turned to glare at the jukebox…except there was no one by it. No one else was even looking at the blasted thing.

A light touch on his hand sent him jerking back the other way, to find Stretch holding out a fresh pair of gloves for him with one hand as he continued to peruse the menu with the other.

“Thank you,” Edge sighed out. He dried his stinging hand with a napkin before sliding on the gloves.

"no prob. that happens sometimes," Stretch said absently. "the old waitress here swore the jukebox was haunted. whatcha getting?"

The sudden u-turn from the supernatural to the mundane was nearly enough to add to his whiplash. Edge picked up the menu again with his fingertips, still trying to touch it as little as possible. He doubted if Stretch’s supply of gloves was endless. "If I had blood and flesh, a tetanus shot. Since that isn't an option, I'll settle for the ubiquitous waffles.”

Not that he had any intention of eating anything. He only hoped that pushing it around his plate and perhaps mashing pieces with his fork would suffice. He added a silent prayer that he might be able resist the urge to slap Stretch’s plate away like a poisoned entrée before he carried his husband back out to the safety of their car. It would be a enduring struggle, he was certain.

Sudden shouts rose and Edge jerked again, turning to see that a set of the college-ish humans were engaged in a combination of shrieking and hairpulling, while their companions shouted at them, in encouragement or deterrence, it was difficult to tell.

As quick as it began, it ended, and they all returned to the table, eating their fries and cheese sticks while one held a napkin to their bleeding nose and the other, a glass of ice water against her swelling eye.

“Stretch—” Edge began, low. The best waffles in the world weren’t worth putting his husband anywhere near this sort of danger and certainly not the greasy globs of fried dough that were on offer here.

“hmm?” He turned back to see his husband hadn’t even seemed to notice the brief outbreak of brawling three booths away. Stretch only flipped the menu over and frowned, “dunno, maybe i’ll get the hash brown bowl this time, what do you th—"

He broke off at the sound of shouting from the kitchen, the entire restaurant turning to watch a burly man in an apron storm out, the waitress at his heels. Whatever his complaint, it was difficult to parse around the vigorous swearing, words that might even manage to bring a hint of a blush to his brother’s face.

Might.

What couldn’t be mistaken was his last shout, two clear, concise words. “I quit!”

The gathered assembly watched as the man ripped off his apron and tossed it on the counter, stalking out the front doors and out of their lives.

A long moment of silence, then Stretch grumbled out, “aw, man, not again. why do they always quit in the middle of the night, this is the third time!”

The waitress only stood there, a helpless expression on her weary face. She turned to them, “Sorry, guys, the next cook isn’t in until six.”

“nah, it’s cool,” Stretch sighed and started to get to his feet. “we’ll have to try again another time, babe.”

The waitress began gathering their unused silverware and Edge could hear her miserable sniffle as he followed Stretch towards the door. She was very young, and as terrible as Edge was at guessing Human ages, he suspected if she’d been a Monster, she would have been barely out of stripes. “Don’t suppose either of you cook?”

Edge paused.

In front of him, Stretch also stopped when he realized Edge was no longer following him, the reluctant leash of his hand becoming a stubborn brake. “what are you…” His expression changed, his sockets narrowing. “babe. no.”

Edge said nothing, only looked back at Stretch and watched his growing outrage, “no! you wouldn’t let me work at the haunted house that time! that guy would’ve paid us at the end of the night, we could’ve been their best workers! bet you could’ve gotten a ton of macho men to wet their pants without breaking a sweat!”

“She needs help,” Edge said, quietly. He did not bring up the ending debacle of their haunted house trip that landed them in the parking lot after an unintentional shortcut, a prudent choice when persuading Stretch.

Stretch faltered, looking around him at the waitress. Who was near tears, fruitlessly trying to call someone on her cell phone who wasn’t picking up. He blew out a sharp breath, rolling his pale eye lights, but his faint smile was unmistakable.

“always got to be the hero, don’t you,” Stretch sighed. He jerked a thumb back into the diner. “go ahead, superman, have at it.”

Edge nodded and turned back, walking over to the young waitress determinedly. “Excuse me, miss.”

It was only five o’clock in the morning when the other cook arrived, still bleary-eyed and his hair sticking up in the back. He didn’t ask about the newly shiny cleanliness of the grill, nor the fryers. And the counters. The floor. Even the mysterious dark smudge that forever haunted the smoke hood was gone, but he had no questions. He merely grunted a greeting and took possession of the equally shiny spatula, already reaching for the eggs that were sizzling on the griddle.

Edge removed his spotless apron and hung it on the peg by the door. He gave the kitchen a last satisfied look, then went out the door.

Out in the dining area in a corner booth, his husband was curled up, asleep. His skull sagged back against the worn vinyl padding, his mouth open, and a faint snore escaping on each exhale. An oversized leather jacket was spread over him that was not Edge’s and certainly wasn’t his own, Edge reached for it with a frown, lifting it off him in a jangle of chains and zippers.

“I’ll take that off ya hands.” He turned to see last night’s possible parolee holding out a hand. Wordlessly, Edge handed over the jacket and the Man shrugged into it. “He was shiverin’, didn’t want to bother ya while you was giving Anna a hand. So I kept an eye on ‘im.”

“Thank you,” Edge told him softly. The man gave him a gap-toothed smile.

“Nah, thank you for helpin’ her out,” the man said gruffly, “She’s a good kid, couldn’t afford to the lose the paycheck for the night.”

“Ready to go, daddy?” They turned as the Anna in question, the waitress, came out of the kitchen, coat in hand. Another waitress was already speaking to the other early morning customers, coffee in hand and waffles on order.

“Ready when you are, kid.” The man turned and shuffled to the door, but Anna paused by Edge.

“Thank you,” she said. Tears were brimming in her eyes, unshed. “Thank you so much.”

“It was my pleasure,” he told her, honestly. A few hours of cooking and deep cleaning was soothing to him in its own way, body and soul, and while his leg was beginning to complain, the rest of him felt nothing but deep, almost luxurious peace.

She gave him a happy smile and went after her father.

Edge watched her go, then turned back to Stretch, who was already stirring without the protection of the jacket. “hummzat?” he mumbled out, and when Edge reached out to gently cup his cheekbone in one hand, he learned with drowsy contentment into the touch.

“We can go home now,” Edge told him softly. He did not expect that sleepy look to turn to one of dismay, his sockets going wide.

“but we didn’t get any waffles!” Stretch said, with deep layers of disappointment. It was true; he’d fallen asleep before Edge even figured out the industrial waffle iron.

Edge only shook his head and took a seat on the other side of the booth, “All right then, waffles it is. You were right, you know.”

“hm?” Stretch yawned, “’bout what?”

“I did cross over from one space to the next,” Edge said, solemnly. He kept his expression as straight as a ruler, concealing even the hint of a smile. “A transition, if you will, into a liminal space—”

“i didn’t mean from the dining room to the kitchen,” Stretch grumbled. But he reached out to give Edge’s hand a brief squeeze, his thumb brushing over the ring on his third finger.

“Nevertheless,” Edge picked up a menu, though by now he knew it by heart. “Now. What are you having?”

-finis-

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #378

“come as you are, as you were, as i want you to be”

Have you ever dreamt in another language? No. How long will you try out something you don’t enjoy before giving up on it? It really depends, but in most cases, admittedly very quickly. What’s something you recently realized or discovered about yourself? *shrug* What’s the most interesting news you read or received recently? What about the most depressing? Not in a good way really, but it was certainly interesting to learn I have such severe sleep apnea. Like, I was certain I didn't. The most depressing would be uhhhh... I guess Jason's mother's death, but I don't know how "recent" you'd consider that by now. Would you let politics get in the way of a relationship? It depends. Some beliefs I absolutely would not tolerate (like anti-LGBT), others I would just agree to disagree with. What is one way in which you need to learn to control yourself? I need to get better at controlling my mouth when I'm extremely upset. Do you use a photo editor? I use Lightroom and Photoshop for photography. Is your dad overweight? No, I think he's actually underweight. Ever been honked at? Yes. What’s the name of the most recent baby a friend has had? Easton, I think? An old middle school friend had him. Have you ever taken medication to help you fall asleep faster? Yes, but they never work for me. How did your parents pick your name? I dunno. If you had to move to another country, where would you move? Canada. Do you have a balcony? No. Who is a singer that has given you chills? Man, I get chills easily with music. David Draiman from Disturbed, his cover of "Sound of Silence" is BREATHTAKING. That's number one. There are many others, they're just not coming to me at the moment. Do you have a drone? No. What was the spiciest thing you’ve ever eaten? Some wings at Buffalo Wild Wings. I got some crazy hot sauce. Have you ever discovered something gross in your food at McDonalds? No. What was the last thing you used sliced bread to make? A sandwich. How long did your shortest relationship last? Like a day lmao. Would you rather have a trampoline or swimming pool? A POOL!!!! I've talked before about how I want one so, SO very badly to exercise my legs without having to worry about sweat, and I can take a break the very moment I need to. Do you own a Snuggie? Yeah, somewhere. Do you listen to any unsigned bands/singers? Who? Yeah, quite a few on YouTube, but my favorite in Jonathan Young. He is SO damn talented. Who is your favorite video game character? Pyramid Head from the Silent Hill franchise. What kind of pictures do you post on Facebook/Instagram/Snapchat most frequently? Mostly of my pets lmao. Have you ever been on vacation with a significant other? No. Have you ever considered “unplugging”/taking a significant period of time away from technology? No. I know I'd never stick to it. Do you prefer to watch a documentary that is about a situation/event or a documentary that is more of a personal character study/biography? The latter. Meerkat Manor comes to mind with that, and everyone knows how much I adore that show. There was also one about rhesus macaques I fell in love with. Basically, I love animal docs, haha. Can you think of a recent time in which you might have been better off resisting, but you did something because you “just couldn’t help yourself”? Probably eating something. When you are getting to know someone, do you tend to worry that the other person will lose interest in you once they get to know the “real” you? Yyyyep. What is something that you would like to do, but really aren’t able to because of your location? (e.g., see art or get a certain job) Man, a lot of things. Photograph meerkats is a biggie. What sort of job do you think is best suited for your skills? Is this an in-demand position or something you’re unlikely to actually get? If I could actually handle the heat and was in good shape to traverse the outdoors, I think I'd be a great wildlife biologist. Even more though, if I could beat my social anxiety, I would ADORE being an animal educator with kids. Do you believe it is the responsibility of businesses, or prominent business leaders (think Bill Gates) to take the lead on social issues whether by using their influence or their money? Saying it's their "responsibility" sounds unfair and puts a lot of weight on their shoulders, but I do feel they should by their own volition and kindness use their position for good, such as through monetary assistance and other things. Have you ever gone to a job interview and realized that you didn’t want the job? Yep. Have you ever asked that someone sacrifice something (a habit, relationship, job, etc.) for you? A habit, yes. Looking back it was stupid as shit. What would you call your body type? Ew. Has anyone ever hacked your accounts before? Yes. Do you enjoy big holiday dinners? Considering I spend them with my sister's bigoted, homophobic, and racist in-laws, not especially. I always feel very uncomfortable and disliked among everyone for being the "black sheep" among 'em. Is your vision good? God no. Even with my glasses, it's very poor. I need a new prescription badly. Do both of your parents have jobs? Mom has something of the sort, like she cleans a local church for a small pay, but it's not really a "job." She's still recovering from cancer, getting her strength back up and such before she can handle a consistent job. Dad's had a job for as long as I've lived. What is something you’ve always wanted a boy to do for you? How heteronormative. But whatever. It's so fucking cheesy, but singing a cute song to me while slowdancing sounds so super adorable to me. What food are you craving right now? I am craving something sweet like you wouldn't believe. It's annoying. Have you ever been in a car accident? Yes. Do you have a lot of scars? Yes, but most are very negligible. I just scar extremely easily. Last person you saw other than your family? My primary doctor. Last movie you’ve seen in theaters? The The Lion King remake. Who was the last person you played a video game with? Ummm I think Girt. Last game you played at an arcade? Zero clue. What was your favorite nursery rhyme as a child? I THINK I particularly liked "The Itsy-Bitsy Spider?" None stand out strongly, though. What is your favorite cousin’s first name? I don’t have a favorite cousin. Would you prefer to travel around the world by yourself or with a friend? I think with a friend to prevent loneliness, but at the very same time, I see a great beauty in traveling on your own. Just taking new things in, seeing so many different cultures, beautiful scenery... I feel it'd be a great chance for exploration of insight. Remind yourself how small you are, that there's a much, much bigger picture than your own problems, that people are so unique but hopefully share common morals... I see a lot of poetry in it. Do you like the smell of coffee? It's one of my favorite smells. If you have a favorite photographer, can you describe their work? I can't possibly pick. I watch literally hundreds on deviantART, and many of them absolutely blow my mind. What’s one aspect of your life that did not turn out as you expected? My lack of a career. Outside of school, have you ever used a thesaurus? Well, online ones for writing. When you see a good-looking girl in skimpy clothing, what is your initial thought? I envy her confidence, like gotdamn girl. Have you ever been in a lighthouse? No. Are you on a laptop or desktop? A laptop. What color is your shower? White. Where do you order your pizza from? Domino's or Little Caesar's. What was the name of the last dog you pet? We've been calling the dog we're holding right now Zoe. Have you ever had anything stolen from you? Yes. Have you ever seen the White House? I don't think so, but it's possible I have when we've driven up to New York, but from a distance. How about Niagara Falls? No. What do you like in your salads and what dressing do you prefer? I just like regular iceberg lettuce with some bacon bits and ranch. Man, that sounds good right about now. Any posters of a band on your bedroom wall? Yeah, Metallica and Marilyn Manson. Do you think it’d be cool to have your body mummified after you die? No. I couldn't rock the mummy look even if I tried, haha. Can you tell the difference between a Scottish & an Irish accent? Not really, no. Can you read music? I used to be able to. Do you work the night shift? I don’t have a job, but if I did, I absolutely do not want to work the night shift anywhere. Have you ever slept over at your best friend’s house? Yes. Is your mother diabetic? Are you? She is, but I'm not. Would you like to learn how to make ceramic pottery? It'd be cool, sure. Ever sang someone to sleep? No. Who did you last kiss? My cat. Why did you last lie? I don't recall. Probably to just avoid confrontation with Mom. What do you put on your hamburgers? Cheese, ketchup, and mustard, generally. Who do you think cares the most about you? My mom. Have you ever sent a dirty picture? No. What’s at the center of your dining table? Honestly, we sit in there so rarely that I don't even know. I think we might have nothing, actually. Have you ever started a rumor? No. Do you like being outside? If it's cool, yes. What’s your favourite condiment? Maybe ketchup. Or honey mustard. Who sang/played the last song you listened to? Chris Motionless is the singer of Motionless In White. I don't know if that's his real last name, though. Do you like yoga? I used to. Now all the bending and shit would make me dizzy as hell with my "how are you still alive" level of low blood pressure. Do you always carry breath mints? No, but I do carry Tictacs with me, but they're for my dry mouth. It forces you to salivate, so it helps. What do you think your reaction would be upon entering the White House? I don't really know. I honestly don't even know how it looks inside. Thinking about it, I'd probably be more scared than anything, waiting for a bomb to drop or some shit lmao. Have you ever grown your own sea monkeys or dinosaurs? OH MY GOD I LOVED those!!! I definitely did! Have you ever thrown a game controller (or the game) and broke it? No, I've never been the type to do that. If I'm SERIOUSLY getting mad, all I do is tighten my grip. Did you ever own an Etch-a-Sketch? Yes. Do/did you ever have glow-in-the-dark stars on your ceiling? I believe so. What movie were you really worked up for that ended up disappointing you? My answer is Warcraft, but only because the fucking orcs' voices were so baritone that I couldn't understand them almost ever lmaooo. Like I had a mild idea of what was going on because of the game, but still. What part of a paper is hardest for you to write? The intro, or the conclusion. Both are difficult to me. Like I want to compose a gripping beginning as well as an end that doesn't just repeat everything I've already said and ends on a strong note. Does it bother you that almost everything is done on computers now? No. KFC Chicken: original or extra crispy? I don't like fried chicken. Think about your first kiss. Did you have any idea what you were doing? I mean, I guess? Like I'd seen kisses enough to know how to give someone a peck. It just came naturally. Did you get Happy Meals just for the toys as a kid? Not just for the toy, but it's the main thing I wanted, sure. Have you ever seen your parents cry? If so, how did it make you feel? Seeing my mom cry absolutely destroys me. I don't want her to hurt EVER. Especially if it's seriously unfair bullshit that has her upset, I also get very angry (not at her, of course) and protective. I've seen Dad tear up once, back when he was telling us about his mother's funeral, and I felt immense surprise more than anything. He does NOT cry. How do you feel about animal testing? It's fucking disgusting and barbaric. Find a different goddamn way. Do you add condiments to your ice cream, or just eat it plain? If I'm having vanilla, I'll usually add chocolate syrup. Have you ever witnessed a crime? Yes. What’s the coolest personalized license plate you’ve ever seen? I'm forever gonna get a kick out of this one that just said "omw," haha.

[lovelylogans]

love light gleams

masterpost | chapter one | next chapter

christmas eve will find me where the love light gleams i’ll be home for christmas if only in my dreams

-bing crosby, i’ll be home for christmas

part of the wyliwf verse.

the sideshire files | read my other fics | coffee?

warnings: food mentions, complicated parental relationships, teenage emancipation, emotional abuse, mentions of being disowned, mentions of transphobia and homophobia, classism, mentions of past underage drinking, crying, religious content (church, going to confession), remus cameo, mentions of choking/killing someone, something similar to the canon “have you thought about killing your brother?” monologue, please let me know if i’ve missed anything!

pairings: gen 

words: 57,686

notes: the way i came up with virgil’s dad’s name is, in fact, the nerdiest naming shortcut i’ve ever used. also, i used a middle name generator to come up with virgil’s middle name and That popped up and then i went back and did it again and that popped up and i Literally Couldn’t Resist. many thanks to @teacupfulofstarshine​ and @ for talking this work through with me!!!

virgil checks the time, again. yep. still 8:27 in the morning. still three more minutes. still he’s just sitting here, waiting, staring eagle-eyed at the last remaining people having breakfast or the people on coffee runs to see if they need anything else, just to have something to fill the time. 

he ends up just restacking the donuts in the little cake stand—it seemed a little crooked, and sure, the rest of the diner has been polished up nicely, but it’s just—they’re uneven. it’ll be noticeable if someone looks closely.

how many times have you seen dad rearrange the donut stand, he scolds himself. they won’t care, you’re overreacting. it’ll be fine. they’re your parents.

he doesn’t really stop, though. once he’s started it, he may as well keep going. 

it takes all of a minute and thirty seconds. 8:28. two more minutes. maybe he should wipe down the counter again, even though he did that five minutes ago. or top off the coffee pots, even though he did that seven minutes ago. 

he ends up going back into the kitchen to see if they need to add anything extra to the usual supply run that happens each week, checking the fridge and the freezer and jotting things down on the notepad he’s got hanging up on the kitchen wall—they should probably get more condiments—when he hears the bell jangle, and a familiar voice booms, “taylor, you old tightwad, you better not have done away with my son to buy our lot next door, i haven’t forgotten those threats!”

virgil grins. he hears taylor spluttering irritably at his mom. just like old times.

"where’s my son?” she calls.

“kitchen!” virgil shouts, finishing his scrawl as soon as possible, capping the pen and darting to the door of the kitchen, catching the doorframe and leaning so the diner comes into view so he doesn’t look like a little kid running to see his parents, even if that’s how he feels.

his mom is already crossing behind the counter, his dad trailing in her wake, and he steps forward in time for her to wrap her arms around him.

“there’s my baby,” she says, and virgil closes his eyes, really, genuinely feeling like a kid for a second, just for a second—she still smells like cinnamon and lemon-scented cleaning supplies, even after not working in the diner for half a year, and she’s wearing the same soft plum sweater he’s seen her wear hundreds of times with the same puffy black coat she wears in the winter.

“hi, mom,” he says, muffled by her shoulder.

she draws back, smiling, and keeps her hands on his shoulders. she still has the dark hair that virgil inherited from her, the bright blue eyes that virgil didn’t, the mischievous smile that got passed to his siblings. “happy birthday, bunny.”

“ mom,” he grumbles, ducking his head, and she laughs, ruffling his hair.

“i’m allowed to embarrass you, i’m your mother,” she says.

“virgil,” his dad says, mild as always. still with the brown eyes virgil got from him, the brown hair that’s just enough lighter than virgil and his mother’s that it’s a noticeable difference, tanner skin, from the italian side of the family (his last name used to be palmisano, before he changed it to danes after he got married to virgil’s mom, virgil is technically a family name, along with one of the... other parts of his name) the calm demeanor that virgil really wishes he had, sometimes.

“hey, dad,” he says, and his mom tugs virgil closer so that his dad can hug him, just for a moment, before he places a hand on his cheek.

“are you all right?” he says. “you look peaky. pale.”

“i always look pale, ” virgil points out.

“not coming down with anything?” 

“no, dad.”

“sleeping eight hours a night?” he says, narrow-eyed, and virgil hesitates for just a moment too long.

“ cinnabun,” his mother scolds.

“i’m running the diner!” he says defensively. “if anyone should know how busy that is, it’s you two, but i’m fine!”

his mom pinches his other cheek, so now each of his parents have a hand on his face, framing it. “no, you’ve definitely lost weight. three meals a day?”

" yes, mom,” he says. 

“prove it,” she challenges. “sit down, we can have breakfast.”

“in a second,” he says. “i’m just gonna make sure everything’s set before i take a break. you can make the rounds and dad can go sit in a booth and gossip with mrs. torres about how i’ve been doing lately, i’ll bring you some coffee.”

his father looks mollified—which is fair, mrs. torres is a pretty frequent diner customer and a prolific gossip and as such will probably know a lot more about virgil than virgil might even know about himself—so with their coffee in hand, his parents go to make the rounds. since a lot of virgil’s regulars are their old regulars, they’re saying hello to everyone and catching up on all the happenings of the town since they’d moved away.

his dad is deep in conversation with mrs. torres (probably somehow trying to ascertain the exact amount of sleep he’s been getting based on how often the diner’s been open early or late) and his mom is cheerfully picking a fight with taylor over all the associations he’s part of in an attempt to rise in power in the town.

virgil inhales deeply, smelling the coffee, the bacon, pancakes and syrup. it’s just—it’s nice. it’s back to the old times. it’s just like how things were before.

he serves some breakfast, and tops off coffee, and he’s hauling a tray of pancakes and french toast and omelets to a table full of businesspeople when the bell jingles again. he glances over, balancing the tray on his shoulder.

“hey,” virgil says to patton gruffly, and patton smiles at him—logan’s hidden by the way he’s been placed in the baby carrier strapped to the front of patton’s chest, but he can see the massive pom-pom on top of his winter hat moving, so logan’s probably awake and not crying, which is frankly miraculous.

“morning,” patton says. “um—happy birthday.”

virgil blinks. “how’d you—?”

“maria,” patton admits. “plus you mentioned it when we met. twenty-three, right?”

“right. well, thanks,” virgil says, and gestures to the dining room with his free hand. “you two settle in, i’ll bring you some hot cocoa/coffee?”

patton nods, and heads for a booth as virgil heads for the table and finishes serving breakfast, checking that they don’t need anything else, and virgil heads back behind the counter.

just in time to see his parents both wandering slowly over to patton’s booth, zeroing in on the baby. they probably think they look subtle. virgil quickly fills up a mug with hot cocoa/coffee, so he can rush over and make sure his parents don’t steal logan. 

“i haven’t seen you, are you new in town?” his mother is saying by the time he drops off the mug.

“he is,” virgil says, leaning his hip against the booth. “patton, sorry in advance, these are my parents, mark and meredith danes.”

“oh!” patton says, and shakes hands with his mom, and then with his dad. “very nice to meet you both.”

his parents are exchanging a glance, one of those Married Couple looks that no one else can understand. 

“so, how long have you been in town?” mark asks.

“um,” he says. “a month or so?”

“why sideshire?” meredith asks, and patton exchanges a slightly panicked look with virgil. virgil clears his throat.

“um, so, patton, look out, they’re definitely going to try and steal logan because they’re desperate for grandchildren.”

“you should have some kids,” mark says.

“ dad,” he says pointedly. “i’m twenty-tw— three, plus i’m single, i’m not about to have any kids. i’m busy dealing with the diner.”

“well, they could help out,” mark says.

“half the reason we had you is because of the free labor,” meredith says fondly, and virgil rolls his eyes.

“if you want grandkids, bug wyatt, he’s oldest,” virgil says pointedly. “or essie! she’s getting married, bug her!”

“aw, it’s cute that you think we aren’t doing that too, bunny,” meredith says.

“ mom,” virgil groans.

“bunny?” patton says, amused.

“we all have food-based nicknames,” virgil grumbles. “they ran out of material by the time they got to me.”

“ cinnamon bun has the good fortune of offering even more nicknames, mister,” meredith says.

“oh, sure,” virgil says. “wyatt and essie and silas all get relatively normal ones, but by the time you got to freddie and i it’s snickerdoodle and bunny, this definitely isn’t eldest child favoritism.”

virgil isn’t just talking about nicknames here, but he digresses.

“why cinnamon bun?” patton asks, glancing between virgil and his mother, a smile on his face.

“he always fell right to sleep whenever we swaddled him, so we basically always swaddled him,” meredith says. “and he just looked like the sweetest little bun of a baby.” 

“as such, he became cinnamon bun,” mark adds. 

“that’s—”

“don’t—”

“ sweet,” patton finishes, and sticks his tongue out at virgil, who lets out a theatrical groan at the pun, mostly because patton gets very satisfied with himself when he does. 

his parents look thoroughly charmed. logan, however, makes a squalling noise of protest.

“oh, hey there,” patton says. “hey, i just fed you, you okay?”

he frees logan from his carrier, and holds him in his arms, and virgil sees both his parents melt, absolutely weak for the presence of a baby. he’s pretty sure the reason for his and freddie’s existences were partially about, yes, free labor, but also they wanted to have a baby around the house.

his parents are exchanging another one of those Married Couple looks. virgil wants to ask, but patton’s making comforting noises at logan, and he quiets a little.

“you just wanted attention, huh?”

“oh, he’s precious,” mark says.

“how old is he?” meredith asks. 

“two months on the third,” patton says. “so i guess a month and a half, give or take?”

his parents make the appropriate cooing noises, though virgil’s pretty sure that they’d react the same way if patton had said any passage of time from birth.

patton rocks logan a little, more and more, until logan’s quiet again. his parents are Looking At Each Other like that again.

“patton, would you like to join us for breakfast?” meredith says, and patton looks up, startled.

“oh, you don’t have to,” patton begins.

“i’m honestly trying to figure out the best strategy to get you to let me hold the baby,” meredith admits breezily, no shame, and patton laughs.

“well, you can now, if you want?”

so meredith swaps seats so she can slide in next to patton in the booth, and carefully starts cradling logan, and mark gets up too, straightening the hem of his sweater vest.

“virgil,” mark says. “why don’t i follow you back into the kitchen, to help get things settled before you take a break? i want to see how it’s doing.”

that makes sense—his dad’s domain was the kitchen, while his mom had been out front. so virgil nods, and he gestures vaguely back toward the counter.

“don’t steal logan,” he tells his mom.

“no promises,” meredith says without looking up from logan, and virgil and his father fall into step together.

“i didn’t really change much,” virgil says, when they’re in the kitchen. “just rearranged the cabinets a little, and—”

“virgil,” his father says, voice serious and quiet. “how old is that boy?”

virgil hesitates, looks around the kitchen—mostly empty—and pitches his voice as soft as his dad’s. “sixteen, but he turns seventeen next month.”

his father lets out a slow breath, and says, “his parents?”

“he’s a runaway, so i don’t know them,” virgil says. “but from what i hear, it’s not good. he moved here because when he was running away he happened to come into the in the diner, and it was—”

he breaks off, remembering it, and all the things that had happened since; how patton hands had been shaking for ten minutes on either side of his first attempted call home, which he’d hung up on before the phone had even gotten through its first ring, and how virgil had made the excuse of taking a break to sit with him when he called and the way patton’s voice trembled after. how he’d used a burner phone he bought in the city to be sure they couldn’t track his call to sideshire. how he’d held logan tight afterward in an attempt to calm himself down.

how scared patton had been. of losing what tenuous new start he’d had in sideshire, of losing his newfound independence, of losing logan, of any legal action his parents might take. how helpless virgil had felt to comfort him. 

so virgil might not know what his parents are like, but jesus, if patton’s that scared of going back—

“it’s not good,” virgil repeats. 

“not—” his father begins, looking incensed.

“no,” virgil says quickly. “no, no—i mean, they sound like assholes, but i don’t think they were abusive.”

his father’s face smooths back into its usual placid expression. 

“and he’s living... where?”

“at the inn,” virgil says, and scowls. “in the poolhouse.”

“in the—?”

“not maria’s choice,” he says. “she offered him a room, or at least somewhere that’s at least inside, but he didn’t want to take away business. i mean, i offered—“ he gestures above their heads. “but, i mean, i don’t blame him for not taking it, it’s for one person, not two people plus a baby—”

“not the lot next door?” he says.

“dad, that’s no place for a baby, it’s under construction,” virgil says, and his father sighs.

“i know, it’s just—“ his father frowns. “it gets too cold here, in the winter, and i can’t imagine a pool house has much in way of insulation.”

“we’re trying to work on it when we can,” virgil says. “but—i mean, it’s been a pretty mild winter so far, thank god, maria and i have been planning on tugging them in for a sleepover when it gets too cold.”

a familiar voice coos, “oh, what pretty eyes—i know it’s not everything, but he really is a cute baby, patton.”

“well, thank you, ma’am,” patton says, and the kitchen door opens to see patton holding logan again, his mom staring lovingly at the baby.

“we’re eating back here, aren’t we?” meredith says.

“i—yeah, yeah,” virgil says. “um—just here, i don’t think all of us will fit into the office, what do you—?”

“no,” meredith says, cutting him off. “you’re not working, it’s your birthday.”

“ you’re not working, you both retired,” virgil says.

“ none of you are working, it’s family time,” sarah says exasperatedly, sweeping past them with a tray, and his parents laugh.

“retired?” patton asks, glancing between them. 

“well, relocated,” meredith says. “we’re making a new diner but taking a step back from running it day-to-day, you know.”

“not open yet, but it will be soon,” mark adds. 

“what’s the estimate on that again?” virgil says. “you wanted all of us to come down for the opening, right?”

“all of us?” patton says. 

“siblings—wyatt, esther, silas, winifred, and i,” virgil says. at patton’s startled look, he gives his parents a Look. “yeah, virgil doesn’t sound so out of place with all that, does it?”

“we like old-fashioned names,” meredith says, unrepentant. 

“i mean, i can’t talk, my name is patton,” patton says.

“and what a lovely name it is,” meredith says. 

“well, thank you,” patton says. “i thought so too.”

“speaking of all those old-fashioned names,” mark says dryly, “virgil, do you know when your siblings are coming to town?”

“freddie’s coming tomorrow, silas and essie and annabelle are coming on the twenty-third, and wyatt can’t get off work until christmas eve, so he’ll be there in the morning,” virgil rattles off. 

“ah, wyatt,” mark says.

“darn wyatt, coming in late for family bonding time because he’s held up by being a surgical resident,” meredith quips.

“whoa, really?” patton says. “what kind?”

“orthopedic,” they all chorus. 

“still a resident,” virgil adds. “but he’s doing well.”

“that’s great,” patton says sincerely. “a surgeon, wow.”

“we knew as soon as he kept picking out operation for game night,” meredith jokes, and patton giggles. 

virgil’s found himself trying to make him laugh a lot, over the past month—when he does, it seems like the new bags under his eyes and the almost-always-furrowed brow disappear, and the transformation’s practically magic. eyes crinkling at the corners, smile wide and bright, carefree and happy. he looks like a kid, just for a moment. like he should.

it seems like, after seeing patton laugh, his mom picks up on that mission too.

she’s cracking jokes left and right—telling old diner stories, resorting to puns and knock-knock jokes, at some point, which patton sure doesn’t seem to mind—as sarah ends up taking their orders and his dad takes his turn on holding logan.  

mark danes is usually a pretty straight-faced, non-reactive kind of man, but every time he holds a baby, it gets pitched out of the window. virgil basically sees his dad melt into a puddle of syrup as he coos softly at the sleeping logan.

he kind of pouts a little when he has to put him down to eat.

after sarah darts off, meredith asks, “so what are you two planning on doing for the holidays?” and virgil freezes, just a little. he has been very carefully Not Asking that exact question, but now—

“oh,” patton says, and laughs a little nervously. “um, i’m not sure yet? working, maybe, i think maria mentioned something about holiday overtime pay—”

“you can’t work on christmas,” meredith says, aghast. “maria wouldn’t make you—“

“well, no, but since i don’t—i mean, i’m not really—“ patton fumbles.

“right, so, work is a potential plan,” virgil cuts in, mostly out of pity, in an attempt to take some of the attention of patton. “could you pass me the syrup?”

patton does, obligingly, and by the time he’s set the pitcher in virgil’s hand it seems like he’s a bit less spooked, a bit more settled.

“i guess i haven’t thought about it very much,” patton says. “it’s not very—i mean, i’m not much of a christmas person, i guess.”

virgil frowns. “you’ve been singing logan christmas songs since december started.”

which is true—logan does not seem to be a fan of “frosty the snowman” or “i saw mommy kissing santa claus,” considering he cries whenever patton tries to sing them, but he likes “deck the halls” and “god rest ye merry gentlemen.” virgil’d had no idea a baby could be so opinionated about music.

patton flushes, and virgil immediately feels bad. patton clears his throat.

“i don’t know my plan, really,” patton finishes in a mumble.

“well, if you’re looking for a plan,” meredith says, “surely virgil’s brought up—”

virgil could kick her—he would, if the counter wasn’t in his way—and hisses, “ mom, he doesn’t have to—”

“did you not offer? virgil danes, we raised you to have manners , for god’s sake, don’t tell me—“

“—well i didn’t know if we were still doing that, there isn’t as much space in the apartment as there was in the house—“

“—oh, and you expect the diner will be open on christmas, we’ve always done it in the diner, don’t try to pass off lack of space as an—“

“—well i didn’t know, usually you’re in charge of christmas stuff—!”

“—we’re having it in your diner this year, virgil, it’s not ours anymore—”

“ dear,” mark says, equable even as patton squirms a little in the face of virgil getting a parental lecture, “let’s remember that it’s virgil’s birthday, he has a friend here, and there’s still almost a week to christmas, shall we?”

meredith settles back with a huff, picking up her fork and knife to pointedly cut a triangle of pancake, and virgil, feeling his face heat, nudges at his hashbrowns with his fork, avoiding eye contact with anyone.

“i was going to bring it up once i knew the whole plan,” virgil mutters, and his mother sighs—a familiar sigh, one that’s been decreasing since his teen years, but one that still grates anytime he hears it—and takes a sip of her coffee before she speaks. 

“it is your first time planning the family christmas,” she says. “sorry. long night of travel. you know how it is.”

he does. his mother, impetuous and quick-tempered and a direct inverse to his coolheaded father, was quick to snap but quick to calm—these kinds of squabbles with his mom tended to look bad, from the outside, but most every member of the danes family knew these fights are over and forgotten as soon as someone says sorry. 

at least, it’s over and forgotten as soon as someone said sorry with his mom. mileage on that ranged when it came to the other members of the danes family, considering all of them have been called some variation of “an impossible, bitter, surly, stubborn, infuriating killjoy” by taylor doose at least once in a continuation of the “doose vs danes” family feud that had been going on for two generations. granted, those two generations consist of taylor, meredith danes, and meredith danes’ children, so it’s not as impressive as it sounds.

“it’s fine,” virgil says, and it is, mostly. since he’s the only member of the danes family who’s prone to keeping arguments in the back of his head and running them over and over and over to see if the thousandth time he thought about it meant that he’d suddenly discover exactly why they hated him and why he was bound to be disowned. he’s also the only member of the danes family with anxiety. so. even though he might think about how everything is about to go wrong and collapse around him—

“it’s fine,” he repeats, more for his own benefit than anyone else’s. or at least, he thinks that, but his mother relaxes her shoulders and smiles at him, sheepish and apologetic, and... and it really is fine.

patton, observing this, seems to relax a little, too.

“patton,” mark says, cutting through any of the remaining awkwardness, “you wouldn’t happen to know maria’s christmas plans, would you?”

“she said she was going to visit her son, i think?” patton says uncertainly, and both mark and meredith make noises of recognition.

“oh, i wonder how john’s doing in—was it santa fe?”

“santa barbara,” virgil corrects absently, and the rest of the breakfast continues with virgil catching up his parents on the latest of the sideshire gossip, patton chiming in, when he can. 

when they’re straightening up the dishes once they’re done, and virgil offers another refill for everyone, patton checks the time and says, “mine better be to go.”

“right, work,” virgil says, making sure that his cup is half-caf—he’ll probably notice, he always does, somehow, but honestly, the kid should cut back on his caffeine intake, it’s ridiculous—before he hands it over.

“well,” his mother says, offering her hand to shake. “it was very nice to meet one of virgil’s friends, patton—“

“— mom —”

“—and since i’m apparently still in charge of christmas plans, if you find yourself free, we’d love it if you and logan stopped by,” meredith says, chipper, and patton blinks.

“um—?”

“only if you want to,” virgil says hastily, but his father raises his voice just slightly to say, “well, since all the kids are coming and none of them have blessed us with grandchildren—“

“— dad—”

“consider it?” mark continues. “especially since maria won’t be in town, and it’s baby’s first christmas, and all. i know he won’t remember it, but a parent does—”

“ dad, seriously—“

“well, think it over!” his mother declares, as she ushers patton toward the door, “and have a wonderful day, and no matter what you decide, i would love to see your precious little logan again—“

"o kay, thanks, mom, i think patton gets it,” virgil says loudly. “you don’t need to walk him all the way back to the inn, you can go back to interrogating mrs. torres now.”

virgil takes over the ushering and ends up ushering both himself and patton (and logan, by proxy) right out the door.

“uh,” patton says. “so. those are your parents.”

“i am so sorry,” virgil says. “i think their social filters skipped a generation and then all got crammed into me for an overabundance of filter, or something. i think that’s what anxiety is, right?”

patton laughs, soft. “they were nice,” he says reassuringly. “really, i liked them.”

“seriously, you don’t have to feel pressured if you don’t wanna come,” virgil says. “they can be kinda pushy, but if you don’t wanna come, i can—”

“virgil,” patton says. “i—just let me think about it?”

“yeah,” virgil says. “yeah, of course. um. i hope you two have a good day at work.”

“you too,” patton says, and virgil watches close enough to make sure that he and logan cross the street safely, to take a deep breath, and to re-enter the chaos that is having part of his family in town.

oh, great. now he gets to look forward to everyone in his family in town.

⁂

“ah, patton!” maria says, and patton comes to a stop, smiling the best he can at her. she’s nice. she’s incredibly nice. patton is still a little nervous around her, but that’s because she’s, you know. his boss? and landlord? even though he knows that she’s incredibly nice.

“hello, ma’am.”

“oh, when am i going to break you of all that ma’am nonsense?” maria says warmly, before handing him a slip of paper. “now, i’ve got your schedule for the day written down, here, but if you wouldn’t mind meeting me in my office for lunch?”

“oh!” patton says, and winces when his voice cracks. “um, okay. did i do something wrong—?”

“no, no, nothing of the sort!” maria says hastily. “you’ve been a model employee. since you’ve been here a month or so, i just want to talk about how you’re settling in, that’s all. very routine.”

“oh,” patton says, and tries for a smile again. “um, okay! sure. when should i drop by?”

“noon will work just fine,” maria says, and smiles warmly at logan before patting patton on the shoulder. “now, pip pip! we’ve got a lot of work to do. it’s a new day!”

“yes, it is,” patton says, and opens up the schedule. he thinks that they’re made only for him because one, he’s newest, and on decreased hours since maria had pointed out that patton wold still be on paternity leave if he’d started working at the inn before logan was born, but two, he’s just been really forgetful lately, probably since he doesn’t sleep that much anymore. he isn’t sure how much of it is logan crying, or general insomnia, or being kept up at night by his head, or the fact that his “bed” in the poolhouse is a busted old pull-out bed that was a reject from one of the rooms; maria keeps telling him that she’ll get him a mattress, but he made her promise not to rush it, or anything, so he’ll get a proper bed when a customer damages one. but, anyways, he’s been very forgetful, and he really only remembered that it’s virgil’s birthday because maria mentioned it on his way out the door. 

which he feels terrible about. sure, virgil didn’t mention the exact day of his birthday, when they met, but he still should have asked people. he didn’t even get him anything, and with how fast his funds are depleting, even with a job, he isn’t going to be able to get him anything nice. and virgil really deserves something nice, because virgil’s been so kind to him. 

really, everyone in sideshire is being kind to him. it’s kind of weird. because they’re not like his parents or his parents’ friends' version of kind, the “i’m being nice to you now so you’ll do something nice for me later” kind of kind, but real, genuine kindness.  

cindy in the kitchen had given him a ton of old baby clothes that might last logan until he’s two, swearing up and down that they’d been meaning to drop everything at goodwill for ages now and really patton was doing them a favor if he just swung by their house and picked it up, their wife would be glad to see them gone, she’d been lecturing cindy about it for ages.

hector with landscaping had been sealing up all the drafty parts of the poolhouse during his breaks, winking at patton and making him promise he won’t tell maria, because apparently hector was supposed to do that three summers ago and he’s really just catching up on late work, and patton doesn’t want anciano hector be in trouble with the big boss, now, did he? plus he’s promised to take a look at the clawfoot bathtub in the poolhouse where patton bathes, where the water never really heats.

pauline with the front desk had sniffed at his hair and said he looked like an unkempt puppy and given him a haircut, for free, and then a ton of her husband’s old sweaters, because patton had to at least look like he was proud to work at the inn, saying all of this sternly, even though when patton left he’d found three twenties slipped into various pockets that she refused to take back every time he’d tried to confront her about it.

rafael with repairs, after hearing he was trans, had donated some of his old binders for patton to use once he’s done with nursing logan, since he didn’t need them anymore, and had promised patton that this was a good place for trans people and if he needed anyone there was a group of trans or otherwise non-gender-conforming people in town who met up at remy aserinsky’s coffee shop once every month and he could give patton some of their numbers if he wanted and patton had nearly cried . (well, patton’s close to crying a lot these days, but all the post-partum research he’s been doing says that’s normal. even without.... everything else.)

and that’s just people at the inn alone, the big things they’d done, not even counting all the small, little kindnesses along the way—saving him a seat at lunch, making sure patton got whatever kind of cookie he wanted, helping pick up the slack with any rooms patton had forgotten, before he’d had a written schedule, picking up logan and bouncing him and cooing at him, and now logan has a cadre of honorary aunts and uncles and godparents. 

not even counting the store-owners who point patton to where to find sales or coupons or tell him when to swing by so he gets the old food they discard and donate at the end of the day. not even counting just the neighbors, who always wave or say hello or murmur at logan, and—

and virgil. god, virgil, who’s feeding him and helping with logan and now inviting patton and logan to his family christmas, who’s there to listen and hug patton, if he needs it, and patton—

patton’s overwhelmed, is the only word for it. he’s bowled over by the level of kindness here. it’s a level of niceness that patton would have thought impossible, like it’s a completely unattainable utopia. people are kind here like it’s a given, like it’s thoughtless to be good, kind, gentle. they’re kind in the way that patton wants logan to see, growing up, to learn about helping people and being nice like it’s a given, and not an exchange of services. they’re kind in the way that patton desperately wants to be, but he knows he falls short every time, and—and he doesn’t even know how to start paying people back for everything they’re doing for him.

so that thought’s rattling around his head all morning along with everything else—really, it’s been knocking around up there for the past few weeks—so distracting that it’s nearly noon before he remembers that he’s due in maria’s office and he nearly swears before he hastily finishes making the bed of the latest room and dashes up the stairs, swinging around the doorframe, one hand bracing logan’s head.

“hi!” patton pants. “am i late?”

“right on time,” maria says and gestures. “please, take a seat anywhere you like.”

patton hesitates, eyes going to one specific spot, and maria laughs.

“i put that there on purpose,” she says reassuringly, rising from her desk and settling on the patterned, childish rug with, well—a nice spot for logan to lie down, really.

“um, okay,” patton says, and lifts logan from his carrier, unbuckling it, before he gently sets logan on his back. logan blinks up at him, considering, before he sticks his fingers into his mouth. patton sits back, and tries to make eye contact with maria, just for a moment. well. tries.

“adorable,” maria murmurs, eyes soundly fixed on the baby.

“sure is,” patton says proudly. 

“and he’s doing well?” maria checks.

“other than the colic? healthiest little baby there could be, the six-week doctor’s appointment was a few days ago,” patton says. he’d swapped the appointment’s time three times to make sure that he wouldn’t have any surprise parent drop-ins, but they might have been notified by the insurance company that he’d gone, so. “he’s eating plenty, gaining weight, growing even more to make up for how small he was, since he was a preemie, you know—on track for all his milestones. early, for a few, actually.”

“oh?”

“yeah! apparently, it’s a bit weird that he started vocalizing early, that isn’t supposed to happen until about two months. oh! and i think he’s starting to recognize himself, yesterday he kept smiling and babbling and waving at whoever that strange baby in the mirror was. he seemed a bit confused that there were two of me. i think he’s due to start laughing any day now, too!”

“how wonderful,” maria says warmly. 

“yeah, he is,” patton says, beaming. 

“and the... other part, of that day?” maria asks, arching her eyebrows. “you were hoping to meet up with logan’s other father. christopher, wasn’t it?”

“yeah,” patton says quietly, looking down at logan, who removes his fingers from his mouth and waves an arm at him. “yeah, it’s christopher.”

mostly, kind of stunned to see patton. mostly, kind of stunned that patton had told him that yes, running away was a serious, permanent thing. mostly, kind of stunned that patton had a job, and a place to live, and no intention of returning home. mostly... well. mostly, stunned that out of the pair of them, it was patton who was going to legally sever himself from his parents. but... well. patton probably wouldn’t have to grocery shop for diapers or formula or anything a nearly-two-month-old baby could possibly need for about three months, along with a few things that logan is distinctly not old enough for—he’s pretty sure that the stuffed animals are okay, but the toys with little parts aren’t, and also that the brandy christopher got him (”you know giving a baby brandy to help with teething is an old wives’ tale, chris.” “didn’t say it was for him, mac.”) is going to turn into a christmas gift, or a donation to the inn’s kitchen, or something.

bittersweet. that’s what it was. it had felt so distinctly like an ending, for the two of them. patton and logan had both started crying during the drive home— home . to sideshire. patton guesses this is home now.

“he was good,” patton says. “supportive of, you know. the plan.”

maria surveys him for a few seconds, before she says, “well, that’s good, i suppose. do you have a preference for lunch? i can’t remember what’s on the menu today.”

“i don’t have a preference,” patton says quickly. he doesn’t want to put anyone at the inn out any more than they need to—who cares if he doesn’t like cassoulet, it’s food that they’re giving him, right? he doesn’t want to be ungrateful.

maria smiles at him, says “all right,” and buzzes for cindy to bring in some food and coffee. 

they drop off a tray of sandwiches, and chips, and some cut-up fruit. okay. patton can stomach that. it’s unexpected, sure, considering the usually fancy menu that the inn boasts, but—but patton can stomach it.

“so, patton,” maria says, picking up a sandwich. “how have you been liking it here, so far?”

"it’s been fantastic,” patton says honestly. “everyone here is so nice.”

“i’m happy to hear it,” maria says, and she continues to ask him questions: does he knows his way around now, are his hours are good, would he like to switch up his schedule to better care for logan, now that he’s nearing the end of both paternity leave and shadowing the other housekeepers, have any guests given him any problems, is there anything he’d like to suggest to better the inn? 

she and patton eat their way slowly through about half of the sandwich platter (turkey bacon, basil chicken, ham and cheese, italian deli) and maria continually pushes fruit in his direction.

“i swear you and virgil are ganging up on me,” patton says ruefully, accepting the grapes she’s nudged toward him, shortly after the melon, strawberries, and cantaloupe that he’s already eaten. 

“you’re a growing boy,” maria says, blasé, and patton smiles a little at that.

“now,” she says, picking up yet another sandwich, “tell me about your plans for the future, what you’d like to do here.”

“oh,” patton says, startled. “um. to tell you the truth, i haven’t really—i haven’t really thought about it very much?”

“well, rightfully enough, you’re sixteen,” maria says. “plenty of things you could do, if you wanted, and you’ve only been here a month.”

“do you have any advice?” patton asks, because sure, he may have only been here a month, but he knows that maria is smart.

“well,” maria says. “i’d wager you don’t want to be a housekeeper forever.”

patton smiles sheepishly. “no, i don’t think so. i mean, it’s great here! but—”

“but you have quite a life ahead of you, i can tell,” maria says. “you’d be capable of plenty, you’re an intelligent young man.”

patton looks down at logan, face burning, and pretends to occupy himself with making sure that logan’s comfortable. intelligent. right. 

“well, i don’t know about that,” he mumbles.

“well, i do,” she says firmly. 

she’s just being nice, patton thinks. 

“i’d like to keep you on, for as long as you like,” maria continues. “if for mostly selfish reasons.”

“i—i would like that,” patton says. “thank you.”

“now,” maria says. “i know i mentioned working on christmas, but i’m afraid that won’t be an option—there aren’t many guests staying, so it’s down to a skeleton staff. it will be up until after new years, i’m afraid, but christmas day seems like it’ll be out of the question, in terms of pay. it’s first come, first serve, and we have some employees who volunteered for it rather early this year, i hope you understand.”

“oh,” patton says.

“i hope you have plans,” maria says.

“i—well,” patton says, “i mean, virgil invited me to his family’s christmas, but—”

“oh, good!” maria says. “you deserve a nice christmas break. i’ll let cara know. their christmas dinners are wonderful, you’re in for a treat.” 

“i—i’m sure i am,” patton says.

“on another piece of christmas business,” maria says, and digs around in her suit pocket, handing over an envelope. “we did very well this year, so here’s your christmas bonus.”

patton hesitates. “i—i can’t take that—”

“well, of course you can!” maria says. “everyone else is getting one too—”

“but everyone else isn’t living in your pool house,” patton says. “i mean, i-i’m grateful, of course i am, but i’m not paying enough for rent as is, and—”

“i take your rent out of your paycheck,” maria says softly. “the pool house is in disuse anyway, the most we were using it for was storage and we have a unit for that, regardless.”

“but—“

“patton,” she says, and then, firmly, “if you won’t take it for yourself, then take it for logan. put it toward toys, diapers, his college fund, whatever you like. children are expensive.”

a beat, and then she adds, “and if you won’t take it, i’m afraid i’ll have to use the check to buy logan a drumset when he is old enough, and you will think back on this conversation and rue allowing me to keep it.”

patton huffs out a laugh and, reluctantly, takes the check.

“thank you,” he mumbles to the ground. 

“you’re quite welcome,” maria says, and then, “some mail came for you today.”

she reaches up onto the desk, and hands patton a manila folder.

patton’s mouth goes completely dry as he takes it. “oh.”

he swallows, and opens it just enough to slide out the sheaf of papers to see the heading— PETITION FOR EMANCIPATION —and swallows again, suddenly feeling dizzy and very grateful that he’s sitting on the floor.

“now, i know you didn’t want my john tangled up in it, but he has a friend who’s still in a firm in-state who knows this kind of law, and is willing to do it as a favor,” maria continues. patton slowly slides the papers back into the folder so he doesn’t see the heading.

“right,” he says.

“i know you’ve been struggling with whether or not you want to do this, but whatever you decide is right for you,” maria says gently. “do not let them change your mind. you will have help here, always, and not just from us in town—you can apply for temporary family assistance, if you like. but i looked into it and it would be much more likely if you were living with a relative—”

patton’s already shaking his head. 

“state administered general assistance, then, i think it’s called,” maria says. “the lawyer—rachael, i can’t remember her last name—could probably help walk you through anything to get any help you and that sweet boy might need. i could give you her number.”

“right,” patton says, voice barely a whisper. “okay. thank you.”

maria sighs, before she reaches over and gently pinches the squishy part patton’s cheek.

“oh, my baby,” she says, “i know this will be hard for you, and i am so sorry. there is not a person in the world who deserves this level of heartbreak less.” 

patton sniffles and swallows. he feels the strong urge to look away, to bury his face in his hands, and he could—maria’s hand on his face is in no way restrictive—but the cool, reassuring weight of maria’s hand is too comforting to discard. maria gently swipes her thumb across his cheek, erasing whatever tear track there might have been. 

“whatever you decide, just... just know that you and that baby will be able to stay here for as long as you like. all right?” maria says softly. 

“all right,” patton whispers. “thank you.” 

maria smiles at him, sad, before she pats his cheek. “all right. would you like some cookies? chocolate is the fastest way to defeat sadness, you know.”

patton sniffles, again, and picks up logan, just to hold him close. “i—yeah, okay. sure. i’ll have some cookies.”

⁂

virgil has a morning routine half because routines and habits help with virgil’s anxiety, and half out of necessity.

he rolls out of bed and drags himself into the shower. he gets dressed in whatever combination of purple, plaid, and black that he wants to wear for the day. he gets a cup of coffee, because the timed coffee machine that he got himself after he moved into his apartment was frankly a blessing. he eats breakfast—usually a protein bar or an apple or something small, which his parents would probably disapprove of, but it’s fine because he makes up for it by having an early lunch to beat the usual lunch rush—and then descends the stairs to the diner, where he kicks on all the coffeemakers downstairs and turns on the lights and then unlocks the front door, for all of the workers on morning shift, and then retreats into the kitchen to start, well. cooking.

he’s on his way to unlock the front door when he draws back and tries not to shriek.

there’s someone sitting there, leaning back against the door, so he can’t see their face, with a winter coat and scarf and hat so he can’t even see their hair or skin color or any identifying factors.

virgil hesitates, before he moves to unlock the door and knocks gently against the door. please move please move please move please don’t be someone who died of exposure on my stoop—

they get to their feet before they dramatically spin and throw the scarf away from their face, revealing an impish grin that has haunted virgil since he was born, basically, and virgil slams his hand against the door as soon as he notices that she’s laughing, before he throws open the door.

“you asshole, i thought you were someone who decided to camp on my stoop and die of hypothermia to make some kind of anti-junk-food statement!”

“aw, i love you too, v, the most babiest of brothers—“

“—i am not a baby, i’m twenty-thre—”

“—gimmie a kiss!” freddie sings, attempting to box virgil in with some kind of hug. “kiss, kiss, kiss—“

“—ow, get off , you’re demon sent straight from hell to torment me—”

“—do not make me jump on you i will jump on your back and hang on until you acknowledge that your favorite sibling is back in town with some outward display of affection—“

“—okay first of all saying that you’re my favorite sibling is a stretch—”

“—well, it sure as hell isn’t silas, we both know wyatt is an alien, and considering essie is further from you in age, this means that you’ve clearly bonded the most with me—”

“—and second of all, if you jump onto my back i will throw you onto this tile floor, you see how mom and dad aren’t here to stop me and this is my diner now?”

“what are you, a professional wrestler?” freddie says, and virgil manages to squirm free and makes a hasty retreat to the counter. or, well, he tries. freddie is hot in pursuit.

“you realize that if you don’t now i’ll start this again during breakfast rush!” freddie taunts. 

virgil weighs these options, before he heaves a massive sigh and, making a show of how grudging he is, leans over to give her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. 

freddie gasps, and clasps her hands under her chin, making a show of beaming up at him with a loud “ awww!”

virgil looks like a more even blend of their parents—dark hair, brown eyes, pale—whereas freddie much more favors their mom, dark hair, blue eyes, that same mischievous smile.

“aw, you do love me.”

“i said nothing of the sort,” virgil says, scowling.

“and that i’m your favorite, which i totally expect to be reflected in my christmas present,” freddie continues, bouncing behind the counter. virgil makes a sharp noise at her, making a cutting motion with his arm, as if to make a barrier to prevent her from following him.

“bar!”

freddie looks offended.

“unless you’re volunteering your services in the kitchen, in which case—“

freddie scuttles to a barstool, and virgil stifles his smile. freddie’s loudly and frequently expressed distaste for kitchen-work meant that she was always out front waitressing or handling orders with their mom.

“coffee!” she demands.

“absolutely not,” virgil says. “you’re already like this at five in the morning—“

���yeah, because i haven’t slept for twenty-seven hours,” freddie says. 

“how is that my problem,” virgil says, “and also, what is wrong with you?”

“if you don’t give me caffeine, i’m tattling,” freddie says.

“if you keep complaining, i’m tattling,” virgil says, “guess which of ours is going to go over better?”

“you’re a snitch,” she accuses.

“who brought up tattling first?” virgil demands.

freddie then resorts to the deeply mature and time-honored tradition, a response that frequently gets shared between siblings—she sticks out her tongue and blows a raspberry.

virgil rolls his eyes, and he’s about to keep this sibling bickering thing going, except the door opens and sarah walks in, yawning, so that gets put on pause as sarah wakes up enough to see who’s sitting at the counter, so virgil gets to escape into the kitchen as the whole reunion thing goes down.

if the theory that virgil inherited an overabundance of filter is wrong, then he thinks that whatever social butterfly gene that usually gets distributed, freddie stole his in the womb, absorbing enough of it that there wasn’t any left for him nearly two years after she was born. she’s always been gregarious, noisy, chatty, managing to talk to anyone about anything. virgil thinks that freddie probably doesn’t know the meaning of the words shy, subtle, or embarrassment. she has no fear of making a fool of herself when she talks to anyone, and virgil means anyone.

case in point: she’s friendly with isadora prince. virgil would say friends, but he thinks that remus is closer with her than freddie is, especially since freddie’s been... god, who even knows where freddie’s been lately? virgil’s sure he’ll get his ear talked off about her various exploits since he’d last seen her.

and she does—between ducking back into the kitchen and running out orders, freddie keeps a stream of constant chatter going like she doesn’t really care if virgil’s there to listen or not. apparently, she was last in atlanta for a casting call, which she says was a bust with a grin and a shrug like it doesn’t really matter, and she’s been awake for twenty-seven hours because she’d gotten on the wrong bus and had a detour to st. louis—

“fred, even hearing you talk sometimes just skyrockets my blood pressure,” virgil says, trying not to cringe.

“what doesn’t?” freddie says pointedly.

“how did you confuse sideshire with st. louis?” virgil says.

“oh for god’s sake, i didn’t confuse them, it’s not my fault the bus depot doesn’t know how numbers work—“

the bell jangles, and then, “is that my snickerdoodle?”

freddie rolls her eyes at virgil, not quite able to tamp down her grin, and spins around to see their parents. 

now that he’s not the center of it, virgil can appreciate that it is kind of funny to watch their parents fuss and fret over freddie; is she eating, is she sleeping—

“she was just telling me that she hasn’t slept for twenty-seven hours,” virgil says, fake-innocent, and squints at the clock in the corner. “twenty-eight now, i bet.”

freddie dramatically cries out “TRAITOR!” as their father immediately nudges freddie’s coffee cup toward virgil to take away and “winifred jane,” their mother scolds, and virgil cackles.

“i told you what would happen if you kept complaining!”

“what are you, a cop?” freddie demands. “what happened to youngest sibling solidarity?!?!”

“payback for scaring me.”

“ everything scares you!”

“scaring me on purpose, then!” virgil says, and ducks into the kitchen to dump out freddie’s cup when she starts looking murderous.

when he risks peeking out again (silas may not be his favorite sibling but freddie is definitely the one to look out for when it comes to retribution) his parents and his sister have clustered away into a booth. freddie, upon seeing him looking, proceeds to flip him off under the table, so he can see, but mark and meredith can’t. virgil tamps down his grin. 

another time-honored tradition started back up, then.

not that he’d ever tell her this, but. it’s nice to have freddie home.

[sailorsei]

Jacob Seed x Fem!Reader/Deputy

Rating: Explicit, 18+ only!

Word Count: 4.1K

Warnings: vaginal sex, cunnilingus, blow job, masturbation, rough sex, etc.

Summary: Deputy has to spend the night at the Veterans center because of a storm, but she hates storms :////

Author Notes: this is my first time writing for Jacob, hope it’s good for you guys!! And I also wrote this on my phone and my word app isn’t letting me edit it, so if there’s a typo or grammar mistake I missed, sorry lol ᕕ(ᐛ)ᕗ also if the read more button don’t work I’m sorry lol

It had been 2 months since you had struck a deal with the Seed family. In exchange for you, they agreed to stop kidnapping and forcing people to join the project as well as needless killing. Your friends with the resistance were upset.

“How are you so sure we can trust them? It’s the Seeds, for fucks sake.” Joey had said, pacing the room. Everyone was pleading that you would call it off.

“I need to do this. If this is the only way we can get them to stop and tone it down, I need to take this chance. And if they’re faking, well, leave that to me.” You had said, leaning against the door frame.

You had made your decision quickly after Joseph had presented it to you. John had called you on your radio to meet at the same compound where you had attempted to take Joseph into custody not too long ago. Peggies lined the walk way as you had walked up to the church. You opened the doors and there stood the Seed family, eyes narrowed with distrust, and yet, curiosity.

You sauntered up to the podium and crossed your arms expectantly. John huffed and looked to Joseph. Jacob never took his eyes off of you. Faith held her arms behind her back and swayed a little bit, lost in thought, or bliss, or both. Joseph cleared his throat.

“I’m sure John told you why I asked you here.” He said.

“Not really, no. Just said to come here to “chat”.” You said with air quotes. Joseph sighed.

“I have been talking with my siblings and we would like to present an offer that would benefit us as well as you and your...friends.” He said. You cocked your head.

“And what would that be?”

“I’m not going to beat around the bush. We ask that you join us here at Edens Gate, and we will cease interfering with the people of Hope County, unless they come to us out of their own volition to be saved. This will ensure no more blood shed, on either side.” Joseph looked to you for your response. You blinked a few times, in shock. What did you possibly have to offer that was worth enough for them to stop their fuckery? And that’s exactly what you asked.

“What do I have to offer you that would make you guys stop all this bull...crap?” You said. Even though this was Edens Gate, you didn’t feel comfortable cussing in a church, and you were sure Joseph appreciated that.

“I have had visions of you, little lamb. Of the not so distant future. You by my families side, helping me lead the lords children to salvation. I know we have not known each other for long, deputy, but I have seen your heart. It is made of pure gold. You have a tender, and caring soul. And I know you will make the right choice when it comes to protecting those in need.”

Joseph stepped down from the raised part of the church to stand in front of you. He closed the distance between you two and rested his hand in the back of your neck and pulled you into one of his weird forehead touch things. You froze at the sudden contact. He smelled of pine trees with a mix of something earthy.

He soon pulled back, keeping his hand on the back of your neck, and looked into your eyes. You looked as if he was searching for the answers to the universe in your eyes.

“I know this is a lot to take in. Please have your answer by sundown.” He released you and began to walked towards the main doors when you turned and grabbed him by the forearm. He turned to look at you, hopeful.

“I don’t agree with you guys kidnapping and forcing people to join you. If you can guarantee that only truly willing people will be taken and put through what it is you guys do to new, uh, followers of the lord, then fine. I’ll stay.”

You released his forearm and waited for his response. Joseph smiled from ear to ear and gave you the tightest hug you had ever gotten. Your face pressed against his chest as you looked to the side to see his siblings smiling, looks of relief had washed over them. You could only imagine what they had prepared for if this had turned sour.

You gathered your things from the little house you had been living in near Fall’s End that night and you heard a knock on the door. You walked over to the door and opened it to reveal Joey. She stormed in, pushing past you.

“Yeah, please, come in, Joey.” You said sarcastically you yourself. She rested both hands on your dining table and huffed. She turned her head to look at you.

“You have a lot of nerve rookie.” You rolled your eyes and went back to packing up the last of your clothes. You didn’t have time for this. You wanted to be settled into your new place before sundown and Joey, in pure Joey style, was going to draw out her goodbye with her attitude.

“Can’t you just say goodbye like a normal person? And again, it’s not like you won’t ever see me again. I’m just going to be on Joseph’s island. I’ll still be around.” You finished packing up your back pack and slung it over your shoulder. You turned to look at Joey. She had tears in her eyes. Your anger subsided and you walked over to her, pulling her into a hug.

“Hey, listen, I promise I’ll come say hi all the time. This is important, Jo. I need to make sure no one innocent lives get taken. On either side.” You pulled back to look up at her. She nodded, wiping her cheeks.

“I know, Rook, I know. It’s just hard. The idea of losing you is driving all of us wild.”

“C’mon, Jo. Me? Dying? Please. You know how stubborn I can be. God himself will have to come down and take me before I let some Peggie get the chance.” You looked at her, smug. This caused her to laugh.

“This is true. I guess we better get you over to your new family. You gonna change your name to Seed too?” She giggles and bumped hips with you as you walked over to her truck. You snorted.

“Yeah. Totally.” You said your name and replaced your last name with Seed. “Hey... it’s not half bad, actually.” You looked at Joey, a matter of fact. She frowned and let out an audible “ugh”.

The car ride was quiet, but mostly because everything was finally starting to hit you. You bounced your leg rapidly and spaced out until you pulled into the compound. Joey had to shake you a little to pull you back to reality. She offered you a weak smile as she watched you get out of the truck.

You waved her off and walked up to the Seeds, waiting by the front of the church. You put your hands on your hips and looked at them.

“Alright. I’m all yours.”

—

You were really starting to get sick of his shit, you really were. It wasn’t enough for him to comment every time you missed a mark. He had to come up and stand right behind you and watch you. You could practically feel him breathing down your neck.

You looked him directly in the eyes as you drew your bow back and let go. The arrow, by some grace of god, landed just barely into the center of the target. Jacob held eye contact for a beat more before stepping back.

“Next time, look where you’re shooting.” Was all he said. You stuck your tongue out at him and set down the bow.

You followed him into the veterans center and headed into the kitchen to make yourself something to eat. You had been starving all morning since dick for brains got you up at the crack of dawn and didn’t give you time to eat.

You rummaged around the fridge for some lunch meat, cheese, and condiments. You set them down on the counter grabbed bread from the bread box and went to work. Jacob leaned on the door frame and watched you, you could feel his eyes on you.

“Want one? It’s turkey.” You asked. He grunted in response which you took as yes.

You set the sandwich down on the table and sat down at the other end of the table. You took a bite and looked outside. It was starting to cloud over and the wind was picking up. It was supposed to storm tonight. Jacob watched you as you observed the sudden change in weather.

“Is there something you want to say or are you just gonna kill me with your eyes?” You shot daggers at him. He just stared back. You didn’t know what his problem was. You were here weren’t you? You were upholding your end of the deal. You even indulged him in his training regimen.

You finished your sandwich and threw away your paper plate and walked outside to chill out.

Thunder could be heard in the distance and you rubbed your arms. The hair on your arms started to raise and you looked confused.

“Better get back inside, little lamb. Lightning ain’t too far away.” Jacob didn’t even wait for you to try to move yourself. He took hold on your arm and pulled you back inside. You went to protest when lightning could be heard, hitting somewhere in the woods close by. You jumped and instantly grabbed onto Jacob.

You looked from window to window to see if you could see where the lightning hit when you heard Jacob chuckle. You looked at him and then your hands clutching his shirt. You released his shirt, blushing profusely and looking away.

“Sorry, got startled. I’m going to head home.” You didn’t even get a foot away before Jacob blocked your path.

“No way, little lamb. Better wait out the storm, Joseph would kill me if I let you go out there.” He crosses his arms.

“I’m not going to get struck by lightning numb nuts.” You went to walk around him when he wouldn’t budge out of the doorway. You looked up at him.

“For real? I can’t leave?”

“Nope.”

“Oh my god, fine. Where am I supposed to sleep?”

“There’s a spare room upstairs, follow me.” He finally moved out of the way and motioned for your to follow him.

You ascended the stairs and headed towards the front of the building, you could see Jacobs room at the end of the hallway. For a second you thought he was giving you his room, but then he turned to the right into a small make shift bedroom. It had a twin bed on the ground, a dresser, and a desk. The small window it had showed that it had started to pour down rain. You walked up to the window and frowned. Now you really weren’t going to leave.

Jacob grabbed a few blanket and a pillow from the other room and set them on the desk.

“Thanks but it’s hardly bed time. Gonna tuck me in, daddy?” As soon as you said it, you regretted it. Jacob tensed for a second, looking at you with wide eyes and a amused look.

“Sorry, that was weird...” you said, laughing nervously. Jacob made his departure and shut the door behind him leaving you to your own devices.

Night fall came quick with the storm raging on. Thunder roared above you as rain pelted the window. Jacob had come back not too long after he had brought the blankets to give you an oil lantern in case the power went out, which it did.

You turned on the lantern and laid down on the bed, listening to the rain, your mind lingering. Why did you grab onto him when you got scared? Why did it make you flustered when he looked at you like that? And most importantly, why did you accidentally call him daddy?

Your mind swirled with your feelings about Jacob and your situation. You found him attractive, sure. But it’s not like anything would ever go anywhere. You couldn’t let yourself feel anything for him, or any of the Seeds for that matter. But... that didn’t mean you couldn’t indulge in some pure fantasy to help pass the time. At least that’s what you told yourself... “fantasy”.

You looked at your door to make sure it was shut all the way and you got up to turn off your lantern.

You laid back down and pulled the covers over you and you began to let your mind wander as well as your hands.

You thought about Jacob and his large hands and arms, having his way with you while the other Seeds watched. You thought about Jacob marking you up. You thought about Jacob filling you up. Your hand dipped down into your panties and you massages yourself. You held back soft moans and whimpers as you grew close to climax.

You hoped that no one would hear you but in the back of your mind, you hoped that Jacob would come in and claim you. You let out a groan as you arched your back.

“Mmm... Jacob, oh god...” You came on your hand as you worked yourself through your orgasm. You stilled to catch your breathe when a loud clap of thunder rattled the veterans center. Lighting must have hit nearby as an explosion could be heard.

You shot up in bed, pulled up your pants, and looked out the window to the pitch black night. You began to get a little scared. You felt silly but you decided maybe to check in with Jacob.

You opened your door and peered out. It was so hard to see when there was no light. You slipped out and padded towards Jacobs room.

His door was slightly ajar and you peaked in to see him on his bed. You couldn’t tell if he was awake or not and you didn’t want to wake him. You went to shut the door when your heard Jacob move in his bed and you froze.

“What are you doing, little lamb?” Jacob said quietly. You peaked back in and looked at him. From what you could tell, he was laying on his back, one arm under his head, the other resting on his stomach. He looked like he was only in boxer briefs which made you feel very warm. Good thing it was dark because you were blushing severely.

“I was uh...” you didn’t want to say you were afraid of the dark and storms but it had come to that.

“Are you afraid of the dark?” He said, you could tell he was smiling. This pissed you off.

“So what if I am?!” You strode right up to him and crossed your arms. Jacob looked up at you, studying, what ever he could see, of your face. He huffed a little bit and scooter over on the double sized bed.

“C’mere.” He patted the bed and moved his arm so that you could sit down. You froze. Did you want to do this? Did you want to take this step? There was no going back if anything happened between the two of you.

He picked up on your uncertainty and held out his hand to you. You couldn’t see it, but there was fear in his eyes.

It was the day you agreed to join them that Jacob began his downward spiral into smitten-ness for you. He admired your personal sacrifice you made to protect the people of Hope County. You were a hard worker and tried to better yourself at every turn. It was only natural that he would grow to love you. But he wouldn’t admit that to a soul. He hardly admitted it to himself.

You took his hand reluctantly and sat down onto the bed. Another loud clap of thunder sent you straight into Jacobs arms. You had nuzzled into the crook of his neck when you realized what you were doing. But by this point you didn’t care. You were scared and in the arms of the man you had feelings for.

Jacob wrapped his arm around you and rested his chin on the top of your head. He rubbed the small of your back as a way to calm you down. You let out a defeated chuckle.

“Pathetic, isn’t it? I risk my life everyday for my job and yet I’m terrified of the dark and storm.” You felt so embarrassed. Jacob hummed against your head.

“We all have our quirks.” He replied. You scoffed at his remark.

“What’s yours? And be honest. No bullshit.” You asked. Jacob thought about it for a second before answering.

“Not a big fan of bats.” He said. You scowled as you looked up at him to try to see if he was lying. He looked down at you. Your face softened as you held each other’s gaze. Even in the dark you could see a little blue in his eyes.

Jacob acted before he talked himself out of it. His lips gently met yours. You froze at the sudden contact and he pulled away to gauge your response. You took a second to ground yourself but then you dove back to him for more.

You lips came together and you placed your hand on the back of his neck. You realized this was all you ever wanted. Even though you had only been here a short time, you had grown to really care for all the Seeds, especially Jacob. You had heard what he had gone through from Faith and it made your heart hurt. You wanted to take away all the pain, even if it was just for a little bit.

He placed his hand on your hip and pulled you closer. You urged him to get over you so you two could be more comfortable.

He moved on above you and began to kiss your neck. His lips were wet and soft against you. You let out soft moans as he used his other hand to run up and down your thigh. You grew wetter by the second.

“Don’t think I didn’t hear you earlier, fucking yourself to the thought of me.” He whispered in your ear. Your eyes shot open as he said this.

“W-wait, you heard that?” You asked. Jacob chuckled.

“It’s not like you were particularly quiet, little lamb. I didn’t know you were such a filthy thing.” He ground against you which made you gasp. You could feel his hard on pressing against you. You were too embarrassed to respond.

“Don’t worry though. I’m going to give you what you want.” He said. His hand moved from your hip, and went down the front of your pajama pants, directly to your pussy.

He used one finger to gather some of your wetness and began to massage your clit. You pressed your head back into the pillow and gasped.

“So wet. And all for me.” He inserted one finger and then two, as his palm ground against your clit. You moved your hips in sync with his hand as he kissed you. You held onto his shoulders as he pleasures you. He moved his other arm under you and used his hand to cradle the back of your head, gripping in your hair not too hard, but firmly.

You felt your orgasm starting to bubble up as you continued to ride his hand. Jacob somehow sensed this and pulled his hand away, making you grumble in frustration.

He removed him self from you and kneeled on the ground next to you, pulling your pants from your hips, then pulling your hips to his face. You dove right back in with his mouth, working you with his tongue. You let out a loud groan and grabbed onto his hair. His tongue moved against your clit perfectly.

You came as his tongue worked you through it. You breathed heavily against the sheets as he got back up and looked down at you.

“Don’t be tired yet, little lamb. We’re just getting started.” Before he could move down back to you, you sat up so that you were eye level with his dick. You ran your hand slowly up and down his member. Even through his underwear, your hand felt heavenly. He rolled his hips against your soft touch.

You ran both hands up his thighs and hooked your fingers into his waist band and pulled down, his dick springing out of its confinement. He was long and girthy, precum leaking out of the tip.

You licked your lips as you looked up at him with doe eyes and licked a long stripe up to the head. He caresses you face and then grabbed a hold of your hair. You suckled on the head and then began to take all of him into your mouth. He pushed with his hips into your mouth. You hummed against him as you bobbed your head.

Jacob closed his eyes as he fucked your mouth. You gripped the back of his thighs, taking your nails against him.

After a few more bobs, he pulled you away. You looked up at him and his eyes were filled with lust. You moved on to your back for him. He hovered above you and lightly kissed you.

“Do you really want to? I understand if—“

“Jacob, if you don’t fuck me silly right now, I’m going to go apeshit.” You looked at him expectantly. A devilish smirk found its way onto Jacobs face. He kissed you deeply as he aligned him self with you. He pushed in, not giving you any time to adjust. You opened your mouth to groan when he bit your bottom lip and his tongue found its way into your mouth.

His thrusts were slow at first, relishing in the feeling of how perfect he fit in you. You wrapped your legs around his hips so that he could go deeper. He growled into your neck as your nails raked down his back. The bed creaked under your movements, the metal railing back board hitting the wall. The sounds of the storm seemed so far away now.

“You take me so well, little lamb.” He groaned into your ear. You went to respond when he snapped his hips rough into you, making you cry out in ecstasy. “I love the sounds you make for me, and only me, right, little lamb?” You love how possessive he was being. You nodded your head.

“Say it.” He nibbles on your neck.

“I’m yours, Jacob.” You moaned loudly. “Only yours. Only you.” Saying that sent him into over drive. He pulled out and flipped you onto stomach, sliding back in. You turned your head to the side so you could breathe. Jacob gripped your hips and slammed into you.

You felt your orgasm building up. Jacob reached down and massaged your clit and it was all over. You screamed into the pillow as you clenched around him. Jacob then focused on his own release.

He continued to slam into you as he left a trail of bites on the back of your neck and shoulders. His thrusts became staggered when he groaned into the crook of your neck, you could feel his cum coating your walls. He rested his head between your shoulder blades for a moment to catch his breath. He kissed your back and then slowly pulled out, cum leaking down your thighs and onto the bed.

He laid down next to you, pulling you to him, head on his chest. You listened to his heart beat slowly come to a resting pace. He pulled a sheet over the two of you. You traced patterns on his chest as the storm started to slowly die down. He held you close as if you were going to be torn from him from some unknown force.

“Jacob, I—“

“If you don’t want to do this again, that’s fine.” He said softly. You could tell he was holding his breath for your response. You lifted your head and pressed a kiss to his nose and smiled.

“If you would let me finish,” you said. “I wanted to do that for a while now. And I would like to stay here, with you, if that would be ok?” You rested your chin on his chest and looked up at him. Jacob was quiet for a moment before pulling you into a hug.

“Nothing would make me happier, little lamb.”

[taeheyhey]

Please Pull Me In

(Requested - I hope you like it lovely anon!)

Taehyung x f! Reader - Angst/Smattering of Fluff 7.8K words

Part Two Here

It was his favourite part of the day. He would find himself eyeing the clock keenly from 11.45am onwards – every single day – even though he knew it would inevitably make time pass much more slowly.

It wasn’t exactly unusual for people to enjoy lunch time in particular, especially those people who work in offices made up of row upon row of cramped cubicles, just waiting for that sweet half an hour to sixty minutes of freedom. Millions of people across the world every single day, just waiting for their afternoon break for the chance to breathe air that hadn’t been recycled around the same room for countless years.

Taehyung looked forward to all those things too, of course he did, but for him lunch time held another draw; another small incentive to drag himself in to work each day; that was a little bit more unique to him.

When 12.30pm eventually rolled around he would leap from his seat, armed with his tatty notebook, and make his way enthusiastically across the section of the large room which was his home for at least nine hours a day, five days a week, taking sandwich orders excitedly and drawing perplexed glances from his co-workers at his perpetual exuberance at being tasked with doing the daily lunch run.

Their team manager had suggested that they put a rota system in place, to save the same person being put upon to carry out the chore, after all it did cut in to that person’s precious free time, fetching food for everybody else. But, much to the relief – and thinly veiled confusion – of everyone else in the team, Taehyung had insisted. He didn’t mind. He was happy to do it for the team. It was a small sacrifice to make to ensure everybody else’s day was that little bit easier.

He would swear those were the reasons right up until he pushed the large revolving glass doors of the office building and stepped out on to the street, the spring in his step barely contained as he made his way closer to you.

The small brass bell above the door rang out cheerfully, the sound more welcoming to him than to most likely anyone else who stepped over that threshold. Your head lifted and – much like every other day – he was dazzled by the smile you greeted him with. He smiled right back, impossible as it was for him to resist reciprocating when you looked at him like that.

“Good afternoon Taehyung! So nice to see you as always, what’ll it be today?” You ceased in your task of slicing tomatoes, wiping your hands on your apron and pulling a pen from it’s pocket.

He said nothing as he walked up to the counter, the grin widening with every step that closed the distance, his hand outstretched with the list of his co-worker’s orders. He always seemed to struggle with the first words that left his mouth in your presence, like the first time a person speaks after they wake up in the morning. It didn’t matter how many times he had walked through the door to the cafe, whenever you would turn your gaze on him his tongue would feel swollen in his mouth and his heart would start to pound faster and faster and he would feel more or less all the blood in his body rush to his face, heating his ears and cheeks to the point where it took all his energy to will it back down to is extremities where it belonged. Quite frankly that was enough to deal with without attempting to come up with something suave to say on top of that.

“Hi y/n,” he finally managed after allowing a few seconds to compose himself, his voice cracking with your name as though he was going through puberty again. It seemed appropriate really, given that you made him feel as though he was a teenager lost in the throes of his first crush. “How are you?”

You took the paper from his hand and studied it, your fingertips brushing against his skin with the action, and he gulped nervously at the contact. There was no way you couldn’t have noticed the effect you had on him, right? The other two girls that worked alongside you would always exchange knowing looks and giggle softly, concealing whispers behind hands in to one another’s ear whenever he came in. If it was that obvious to them then it didn’t make sense that you should be so oblivious, did it?

He never used to be like this. He was confident and one of the biggest flirts among his group of friends, capable of reducing a girl to coquettish mess with one look – and now? Now he could barely look at you for too long without feeling as though he would spontaneously combust.

“Taehyung?” You were standing with one hand resting on your hip, observing him with an eyebrow raised in mild amusement.

“Sorry?” He had been looking at your lips again. He had watched them forming the words that were leaving your mouth in something similar to a trance. He had been watching you say the words with such rapt attention that he hadn’t actually heard them.

“I asked how you were,” you leant towards him, resting your arms over the glass counter. “I told you I was fine, and then I asked how you were. You know, like people do.” Your smile was kind and warm, and you clapped your hands together and Taehyung could almost see the lightbulb ping above your head. “Why don’t you eat your lunch here today? I’m on break in ten minutes, we could eat together, if you want to, I mean.”

Did he want to? Was that a serious question? Also, was it normal to be able to hear your own pulse in your ears, because if not he should probably think about seeking medical attention rather than worrying if he was going to end up with food stuck in his teeth if he was going to be eating with you?

Every day, once the initial nervous exchange passed, you would always chat pleasantly to one another while you put together the food order for that afternoon, talking about not very much in particular and sharing small titbits of personal information. Enough information had been traded in those five-to-ten minute interactions over the past few months to upgrade your relationship from acquaintances to something resembling a friendship.

For example, you had learned that for a year or so now Taehyung had been decidedly single; and – much to his great disappointment – Taehyung had learned that you were decidedly not. And while any specifics divulged regarding your current relationship were few and far between, Taehyung had enough knowledge to be of the opinion that your boyfriend was nowhere even approaching deserving of you.

He had sufficient self-awareness to know that it would be unlikely for anyone to be good enough for you in his eyes, but there were just small things – seemingly insignificant utterances – that made Taehyung wish that your boyfriend was out of the picture for reasons other than any petty jealousy that he might feel.

Despite your burgeoning friendship, you had never spent any time without a three foot high counter between the two of you and so, fifteen minutes later when you were sat facing him, regarding him intently, Taehyung ran his tongue across his teeth nervously – just to be sure – after swallowing a mouthful of sandwich. “Is there something wrong?”

You shook your head before tilting it to one side. “You’re incredibly attractive, you know,” you said matter-of-factly, causing him to choke a little on the sip of coke he had just taken. “Like, stupidly good-looking.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Taehyung managed once his breathing had returned to normal.

“You have to know that, right? I mean, you have eyes and I’m assuming you’ve passed a reflective surface or two at some point,” you picked up a crust from one of your sandwiches and gestured at him with it. “Why is it that you’re so shy?”

He knew his confidence didn’t exactly shine through in your presence, but he had never expected to be confronted about it, especially not by you. Still, you found him attractive and he felt pride begin to swell in his chest, and a pleased smirk began to tug at one corner of his lips.

Your eyes widened and your eyebrows shot up at the expression. “See, you go walking around looking like that and girls would be all over you.”

“Looking like what?” His smile faltered self-consciously as you continued to examine his face.

“Are you serious? That smirk on that face of yours? Jesus, you could have any girl you wanted.” You finished the last bite of your sandwich and licked a drop of mayonnaise from the tip of your index finger.

“Is that right?” Taehyung chuckled at your words and tried not to be distracted by your tongue swiping across your lips checking for any more errant condiment.

You nodded emphatically, evidently missing the bitter edge to his laugh, before rubbing your hands together to rid them of the crumbs and standing to collect the bag of sandwiches for Taehyung to courier back to the office. “I know a girl who'd be perfect for you actually. I could set you guys up if you’re interested.”

You stood with your arm outstretched, holding out the bag to him, a broad grin plastered across your face as Taehyung felt his heart sink at your offer. He'd already met a girl perfect for him, and you had absolutely no idea.

~~~

Later that day Taehyung sat in his cubicle and chewed on his thumbnail thoughtfully, staring blankly at the screen glaring obnoxiously back at him.

Two days.

In exactly two days – give or take a couple of hours – he would be on a blind date with a girl that his perfect girl thought was perfect for him. And to make matters worse, his perfect girl would be there with her extremely less than perfect boyfriend. He flipped the lever beneath his seat so that he could recline far back in his chair, covering his face with his hands to muffle the defeated groan that left him.

“Did you ask her out yet, hyung?”

Taehyung removed his hands to see Jungkook leaning over the top of their shared cubicle wall. “What do you think?”

Jungkook was the only person he had confided in, mostly because the younger man knew him so well it would have been hard for him to hide his feelings for you, inexplicable as they may have been. He had noticed a change in Taehyung almost the instant he had met you. He had suddenly stopped trying to pick up girls on their nights out together, only acting as wingman for Jungkook – not that he ever really needed any help in that department.

Jungkook dropped out of Taehyung's field of view behind the tall cubicle divider before reappearing seconds later, stepping around the corner and in to Taehyung’s workspace with a large bag of tortilla chips in hand and resting his behind on the edge of his friend’s desk. He pulled out a handful of chips and shoved them greedily in to his mouth before tilting the bag towards Taehyung, shrugging to himself when the older of the two refused and then grabbed more for himself. “I think you probably wimped out like you do every other day,” he lifted the bag and tipped it’s remnants in to his mouth, before tossing it in to the trash bin and dusting his hands off on his thighs. “So why do you seem so much more dramatic about it today?”

Taehyung sat upright and turned in his chair to face Jungkook, not meeting his friend’s eyes as he spoke. “I’m going out with her on Saturday,”

Whenever Taehyung had envisaged saying those words for the first time, he had expected to feel more elation with it. It had been eight months and three days since he first walked in to that cafe; and seven months and thirty days since he felt that heart-dropping moment in which he realised that the incredibly pretty and charming girl that worked there was occupying his thoughts for an awfully large portion of his waking hours. A fair few of his unconscious ones too.

To finally be in the position to say he was spending a Saturday evening with you lost it’s shine considerably when there would be two other people there as well: one of which he didn’t know well enough; the other he knew far too well for his liking.

Jungkook clapped a congratulatory hand on his shoulder, making him wince and wonder how many more times he would need to warn his dongsaeng to be mindful of his own strength. “Hyung, that’s amazing! Why do you –?”

“It’s a double date,” Taehyung rubbed the top of his arm, pouting at the sensation and the situation. “Her and her boyfriend; and me and the girl y/n wants to set me up with.”

Jungkook grimaced sympathetically. “Wow, that’s...”

“Yeah, I know.”

The two young men sat in silence for a few moments before Jungkook broke the silence with a question they were both curious about the answer to “Why didn’t you just say no?”

~~~

Taehyung would continue to ask himself that very same question over and over, many times a day over the next couple of days, the repetition hitting it’s peak at around eight-thirty that Saturday night.

The four of you sat in a booth, and you – being the common denominator in the group – were working hard to get everyone talking to one another, enthusiastically mentioning mutual interests or bringing up family similarities, particularly between Taehyung and the girl he had learned earlier that evening was named Rebecca.

Taehyung had also learned that Rebecca was a sweet, pretty, friendly girl who did in fact share a lot of his hobbies. She was in to art and fashion and was incredibly close to her family. You had been absolutely correct: for all intents and purposes, Rebecca was perfect for him.

But she wasn’t you.

And while you were putting so much effort to make sure that everybody was having fun and getting along; your boyfriend was putting a similar amount of energy in to checking out other girls in the bar whilst trying not to get caught.

Taehyung shifted in his seat and tried to pay attention to the anecdote Rebecca was trying to regale him with, but he was too distracted the poorly hidden look of hurt of your face as you caught Paul eyeing up an attractive redhead sat in the booth next to yours, looking over Taehyung’s and Rebecca’s heads to do so.

“So Paul,” Taehyung began, trying to draw his attention back to the table. “How long have you and y/n been together?”

You looked at him gratefully before turning to your boyfriend to await his response.

“I don’t know, years by now. It feels like it anyhow.” His tone was flat, uninterested, and Taehyung flicked his eyes towards you to take in your expression, hovering somewhere between crestfallen and embarrassed.

“Aw that’s sweet,” you responded and patted his leg, a faint note of sarcasm poorly concealed beneath your words as he knocked his drink back without looking at you. You smiled apologetically at Taehyung and Rebecca as a means of excusing yourself, before sliding out if the booth seat. “Anyone for more drinks?”

Two out of the three people sitting around the table watched you head towards the bar with concern clear on their faces, while the third now blatantly looked the girl from the next table up and down without his significant other there to impede him. Taehyung saw Rebecca narrow her eyes at her friend’s boyfriend, and the scowl was not lost on Paul either, although it seemed to have little impact on him.

Taehyung felt an indignant anger begin to boil inside him, mostly on your behalf, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t feel personally affronted by Paul’s behaviour. How on earth had this guy managed to convince you to stick around for so long? Taehyung had come to know you as intelligent, kind and charming; what was it that you were you getting out of continuing a relationship with this jerk?

“I’m going to help y/n at the bar,” Rebecca explained, placing a friendly touch to Taehyung’s arm, her fingers curling around his bicep enough to signal that she was definitely interested in him but had more pressing things to attend to. “You okay?” she asked him, and Taehyung wondered if he was being too blatant in his displeasure at the events unfolding before him.

Taehyung shook the thoughts from his head momentarily to smile gratefully up at her. Of course he had wanted to follow you to the bar and check on you, it was too strange for him to see you so forlorn. You had always been so...bright to him. He couldn’t think of a better word to describe how he saw you; or a more fitting description of how you made him feel. He could be having the absolute worst morning – a day full of deadlines and meetings and various other work-related inconveniences that usually impacted his ability to enjoy his job – but just knowing that all he needed to do was stick it out for a couple of hours before he would feel infinitely better in your company was motivation enough to make sure his hair sat right when he left the house; and that his shirt remained free of coffee stains from 9am to lunch time at least.

After watching Rebecca’s retreating form he leant forward on the table in an effort to distract Paul further. “You must be really happy right? I mean, to be together for so long,” Taehyung knew there was an edge to his words, and he trained his eyes on Paul’s intently as he finally tore his gaze away from the object of his interest.

Paul took a swig of beer from the bottle and put it back down in the table with more force than was strictly necessary. “Listen, I know all about you okay? My girlfriend comes home and tells me all about your little chats, and believe me I know enough about guys to know there isn’t a chance in hell you are not trying to sleep with her,” he continued to meet Taehyung’s eyes unwaveringly throughout his tirade, stopping only to take more pulls on his drink. “Y/N has been with me for years, do you really think she’s going to throw all that away for the sake of some pretty boy with a crush?”

Taehyung had begun to take deep breaths in an effort to calm himself from the moment Paul had begun talking, and he clenched his fists down at his sides, allowing his blunt fingernails to dig in to the soft flesh of his palms to tamp down the irritation sending electric currents through his body. He inhaled heavily one final time before resting his hands on the table surface and pushing himself to his feet. “Probably not,” he acquiesced, letting out the breath before leaning down close to the other man’s face and speaking steadily. “But I know enough about you to know that you don’t deserve her, and whether it’s down to me or not, she'll realise it some day.”

Paul gave Taehyung the satisfaction of looking shaken for a moment before he blinked rapidly and threw out a shrug and an unconvincing “whatever.” He slid out from the booth and they stood toe-to-toe with one another for a few moments before Paul backed away first. “Tell y/n I’ve gone home would you, I’m bored,” he tipped his bottle back one last time and walked unsteadily but swiftly towards the exit.

Taehyung sat back on to the booth seat and slumped back, rubbing a hand over his face and wondering if the night could have gone any worse. As if by magic Rebecca appeared suddenly and placed a hand on his shoulder, startling him enough to let out a small yelp as he spun to greet the source of his surprise.

Rebecca smiled sheepishly and crouched down by the table to be heard better. “I’m really sorry, y/n has gotten more than a little too far in to the bottle and I can see that her prince charming has done his usual trick of bailing before things get less than pretty,” she gestured towards a small seating section in the lobby of the bar. “Could you sit with her while I get the coats? The line’s really long and I don’t want to leave her alone if I can help it.”

He stood immediately, nodding mutely and making his way towards the area Rebecca had pointed to while she headed in the other direction to join the cloakroom queue.

He found you sat on a worn couch pushed up against a wall, chipping nail polish from your fingernails with a level of concentration so intense you were unaware of his presence until his weight dropping on to the loveseat jolted you out of your stupor.

“That was not how I wanted tonight to go, I’m really sorry Taehyung.” Your words were a little slurred and your make up had smudged some, making your eyes look huge as you stared up at him contritely.

He was flustered for a moment, caught captive in your unwavering – if a little glassy-eyed – gaze. “You don’t have anything to apologise for y/n,” he managed after failing to keep eye contact with you.

“I told you I’d set you up with a nice girl and I messed it up.” You looked down in to your lap and chewed on your lip, sniffling a little, before continuing to pick at your nail varnish.

Taehyung thought you might be the cutest thing he had ever seen. “What makes you think you messed it up?”

“Well,” you waved vaguely in the direction of the cloakroom. “She’s in a line a mile long getting our coats and your stuck here with me,” you lowered your hand and it rested atop his, startling him enough to cause him to sit bolt upright at the contact, his mind running at a mile a minute as he tried to work out if your touch was intentional or not.

“I don’t mind being stuck with you,” he answered weakly, his eyes wide and focused on your thumb stroking absent-minded circles on to the back of his hand.

“You don’t?” You turned to face him again, the beginnings of a smile lifting the corners of your lips just barely. Your hand squoze around his and he watched as you shifted your attention to where your hands met, your eyebrows furrowed as though you were previously unaware of placing it there.

“I like being with you.” The words left his mouth before he was able to stop them. It was the absolute truth and yet he knew all too well he shouldn’t be telling it. Not like this.

“Really?” The smile spread across your face as you continued to seek sweet words from him, words you deserved to hear but most likely never did, and he couldn’t help but want to be the reason that smile stayed there.

“Really. Coming to see you at the cafe,” he swallowed and rationalised to himself that although your exchange could eventually cause issues in the future, it was unlikely you would remember given your drunk state. At that moment in time – at any given moment in time since he met you – he just wanted to make you happy. “It’s my favourite part of the day.”

You sat quietly together, and the noise from the main room of the bar was reduced to white noise as Taehyung turned his hand over in his lap and laced his fingers through yours. He wondered how may lines he had crossed that night, and how many more he would be willing to disregard in order to keep feeling the heat from your palms on his skin.

You made a small contented hum as Taehyung clasped his hand around yours, leaning your head against his shoulder. After a few moments he saw a tear fall on to his fingers and he shifted to better see your face. “Y/N, what –?”

“I wish I’d known, Taehyung,” you murmured in a small voice, further tears threatening to spill from your eyes. “I would have waited longer.”

He lifted his free hand to swipe his thumb against the teardrop trailing down your cheek. “What are you talking about?”

You allowed only a few seconds to let yourself cry, and it looked to Taehyung as though it was something you had needed to do for some time. You inhaled deeply to compose yourself, meeting his stare determinedly, and in the moments that followed you appeared to be completely sober. “If I’d have known that guys like you existed, I would have waited longer.”

He was dumbstruck. Your eyes were entirely clear and earnest, gone was the watery-eyed confusion from minutes before, and had he not been so bewildered by the sudden shift he might have noticed you moving closer to him. “Like me?”

You stretched to be closer still, and it was then that Taehyung noticed the few inches between you, and he closed the distance without really realising he was doing so until the tips of your noses touched.

“Exactly like you,” were the last words you said before your lips met.

Something akin to vertigo coursed through Taehyung’s body, his heart beating furiously against his ribcage, as you removed your hand from his grasp and ran it gently through the hair at the nape of his neck. He didn’t know how long he was still for, just basking in the softness of your lips pressing to his at long last, his brain a chaotic combination of lust, elation, and guilt.

You were drunk. You were spoken for. You were everything he wanted.

Unable to hold back, he returned the kiss with a fervour that caused a moan to escape you, his lips moving slowly but purposefully against your own. The kiss might have lasted seconds or hours, he couldn’t tell. All that existed to him was the two of you and the press of your lips, the stroke of your tongue, and the grip of your fingers on his body, pulling him to you. Close but not close enough.

He was the one to break the contact, the guilt finally overpowering the lust. He kept his eyes closed as he spoke, knowing that if he saw your swollen lips and the heaving of your chest as you tried to regain your breath he would be powerless to stop himself from feverishly crashing his lips in to yours once more. “I shouldn’t have...y/n I’m so sorry. Are you –?”

“God I thought I was going to be in that line forever,” Rebecca announced, causing you to leap apart from one another as though licked by flames. She threw her own coat on to the arm of the sofa and pulled you to stand to arrange yours around your shoulders. Her breezy tone made it fairly clear that she had not seen anything, and if she noticed the strange tension in the air she didn’t mention it. “Let's get you home, shall we? Cab's outside already.”

Taehyung couldn’t trust himself to not try to kiss you again and he struggled to decide if he was put out or relieved by Rebecca’s reappearance. He shrugged his jacket up on to his shoulders and caught you staring at him meaningfully over your friend’s shoulder, although whatever that meaning may have been was lost on him.

He traipsed up the stairs to exit the bar behind you, his lips still tingling and heart still pounding. He held the rear door of the waiting taxi open and resisted the urge to pull you to him as you brushed past him to carefully lower yourself in to the car. He firmly shut the door after you before folding himself in to the front seat.

As Rebecca directed the driver to the house you shared with Paul, Taehyung’s eyes repeatedly met yours in the reflection of the passenger side wing mirror, causing you to avert your gaze to your lap each time it happened.

The car finally slowed to a halt outside a small house at Rebecca’s instruction, and she opened her door and walked around the back of the car to retrieve her friend. Alone in the car for only a few short moments, you leant forward and rested a hand on Taehyung’s shoulder.

“Thank you, Taehyung. Tonight was...” your voice was quiet and your words rushed. “You were....thank you. So much.”

There was so much unsaid and he had no time to ask for any clarification before Rebecca pulled open the door and helped you out of the car. “Would you mind waiting a sec while I see her inside, I won’t be long?”

Taehyung shook his head and she smiled and pushed the door shut. He caught the taxi driver looking at him strangely out of the corner of his eye as he faced forward. “Good night?” he asked with a wry smile.

“I don’t know,” Taehyung answered sincerely as he craned his neck to watch you turn your key in your front door and step in to the dimly lit hallway. “I honestly have no idea,” he reiterated, more to himself than anyone else.

A few minutes later, after Taehyung handed the fare to the driver and walked Rebecca to her front door, his curiosity got the better of him. “Is he always like that? Paul, I mean,” he clarified in response to Rebecca’s confused expression. The question had come out of nowhere after a somewhat drawn-out silence, which Taehyung would later realise was due to Rebecca trying to work up the courage to ask him out again.

“Um, I guess so. He’s always been a bit of a dick and he's not the most sociable of people, he’d rather be sat on his behind watching TV than taking an interest in his girlfriend's life,” she shrugged and looked blatantly bemused by Taehyung’s interest in your boyfriend.

“Why does she put up with it?” he wondered aloud, his lips pouted and brows knitted together in consternation.

“I mean, they’ve been together for so long it’s probably habit more than anything else,” she took in the troubled look on Taehyung’s face. “I’ve told her countless times that she should leave him but...I don’t know. I don’t understand it any better than you to be honest Taehyung,” she spread her hands out in front of her in a resigned gesture.

“Oh,” was all he could really manage in response, no closer to comprehension.

Rebecca sighed and placed a hand around his bicep. “This isn’t going to go anywhere is it?”

It took him a little while to take in what she had said, his thoughts still absolutely full of you. He smiled apologetically at her. “I don’t think so, you’re really –”

She lifted her hand to stop him. “It’s okay, really,” she declared, letting him off the hook. “Y/N was right about you though, you are unbelievably hot,” she admitted before reaching in to her small bag to retrieve her keys.

“Did she say anything else about me?” He couldn’t stop himself from asking, and he immediately regretted it the moment the words left him.

Rebecca stopped lifting her keys to the lock and a look of realisation lit up her face. “Oh wow, you’re in deep aren’t you?”

Taehyung was relieved to find she seemed amused rather than affronted, and not for the first time that night he found himself wishing he could put you out his mind and let Rebecca in. But, as he learned over and over again since meeting you, wishing for something – no matter how hard – didn’t do a thing to help anything.

He was surprised to feel her lay a gentle kiss to his cheek and press a small slip of paper in to the palm of his hand. “Listen Taehyung,” she smiled warmly at him when he finally focused on her. “I think you seem like a really sweet guy, we’ve got a lot in common and I think we managed to hit it off tonight, even if you were pining after my friend for most of it,” she joked, her words entirely devoid of bitterness. “Also the aforementioned hotness. Call me if you manage to get over this y/n business, okay?”

And with that she opened her front door and entered her house, closing the door behind her without giving him a chance to respond. He unfolded the scrap of paper and examined it under the light of Rebecca’s porch, before folding it neatly and sliding it carefully in to his wallet for safe keeping.

~~~

When you awoke on the sofa the following morning, your throat was dry and you were still wearing your clothes from the night before. You groaned and groped around on the floor blindly for the glass of water you hoped drunk-you had been decent enough to leave for you before she passed out.

Unsurprisingly, the only thing your fingers made contact with in the exploration was a half-empty beer bottle which was now spilling it’s contents on to the floor and was very soon to be an empty beer bottle. Drunk-you was an absolute moron, you reminded yourself at your recollection of chucking a few shots down at the bar after Paul had humiliated you in front of Taehyung and Rebecca.

The sound of a glass of water hitting the coffee table in front of you was both a relief and a cause of discomfort as the bang reverberated around your hungover brain. You made your displeasure known by groaning loudly.

“Guess you overdid it again last night,” came Paul’s voice from somewhere behind you, and the TV flicked on and you heard the unmistakable creak of his armchair as he flopped in to it.

You gingerly sat up and placed your feet on to the floor, recoiling as they landed in the cold beer you had just liberated from it’s vessel. “Did I do anything embarrassing?”

You stood and made your way over to the kitchen to fetch a towel to mop up the spill. Your memory was always a little hazy after only a couple of drinks, and last night had been no exception. You only hoped that you hadn’t made a fool of yourself in front of Taehyung.

Rebecca had seen you drunk many a time, and you and Paul had been together long enough that it was near impossible to be surprised by each another in any way anymore. But it was the first time you had been out with Taehyung, and you had hoped very much that it wouldn’t be the last. Even if setting him up with Rebecca didn’t amount to anything, you still want your friendship with him would develop beyond the walls of the cafe for a few minutes a day.

In fact, there was a small part of you that you were trying to ignore that hoped that maybe he and Rebecca hadn’t clicked. You couldn’t quite put your finger on why, but it was definitely there, the tiniest sliver of jealousy at the thought that Taehyung may have walked her home and gifted her with a goodnight kiss, or that they may have arranged to meet up again without you there.

You finished cleaning the beer and rose to your feet once more, moving across the room again to dump the now-soiled towel in to the sink to rinse it off.

Paul tutted loudly as you obscured his view for a moment, leaning around you dramatically as he did so. “I don’t know. I don't think much of that Taehyung guy, y/n,” he called to you loudly over the sound of the running faucet after a few moments.

You wrung out the excess liquid in to the sink before throwing it in to the washing machine and tried not to be offended by his announcement. It was utterly beyond you how anyone couldn’t like Taehyung, he was easily the nicest person you had met in a long time. You struggled to keep your voice neutral. “And why’s that?”

“He’s just not the kind of person I want to hang out with,” he shrugged, still not deigning the conversation interesting enough to drag his eyes away from the screen.

“Why because he doesn’t just talk about sports and perv on girls?” You rolled your eyes as you began to dry off the dishes which had been sat airing for two days. For once you were grateful that he wasn’t paying enough attention to you to hear the hurt in your voice.

You weren’t naive, you knew that it was a rare person indeed who resisted the urge to check out people they found attractive, although you had repeatedly asked Paul to do you the courtesy of at least attempting to hide it in your company. A request that he frequently and flagrantly disregarded.

“That’s what you think is it? Is that why he spent all night eyeing up my girlfriend?”

Now it was your turn to tut, turning the mug upside down and shaking the excess water from it before wiping it dry and stretching up to open the cupboard door. “Don’t be stupid, why would you –?”

Your words were cut off by a sudden image flashing through your memory. Taehyung’s lips, less than an inch away from yours.

I like being with you.

The mug you were about to store in the cupboard slipped from your grasp and smashed on to the worktop, it’s shattered pieces clattering on to the floor.

You cursed loudly and crouched to pick up the broken crockery, trying to keep your voice nonchalant. “Why on earth would you say something like that?”

“He more or less told me to my face. Don’t pretend like you didn’t know about his little crush on you, y/n.”

“You don’t seem too bothered by it,” you felt the burning sensation of tears gathering behind your eyes as more snippets of the evening came back to you.

His long fingers lacing through yours, and the warmth from his skin spreading throughout every part of you.

It’s my favourite part of the day.

“Why should I be? It’s not like you’re going to run off with him is it?”

Before you were able to answer, a sharp pain sliced through the fog gathering in your mind, and you focused through the tears hampering your vision to find a deep cut in your thumb from a shard of ceramic that you had gripped too tightly.

You held the towel to your wound tightly and ran to the bathroom without answering him to retrieve gauze and bandages from the medicine cabinet. You lowered yourself to the floor and rested your back against the side of the bathtub, trying and failing to open the clips on the first aid kit one-handed.

You sobbed out in frustration and kicked the small green plastic case across the tiled floor, causing it’s contents to fly out in all directions like some medicinal Catherine wheel. You folded your arms and leant them atop your bent knees, resting your head against your forearms and cried as silently as you were able.

You thought about Taehyung. You thought about how you looked forward to him coming in to the cafe everyday, and how much your daily conversations had come to mean to you over the past few months. The truth was that your feelings for him had developed over time to something beyond friendship, and in to something much more significant than simple flirtation.

You had feigned incredulity when the girls you worked with had teased you about Taehyung’s crush on you, when the fact of the matter was just the mere thought of him wanting you in that way thrilled you more than you were able to articulate.

You thought about how you tried to prove your indifference to him by trying to set him up with Rebecca in some warped attempt to call your own bluff.

And that’s when you remembered the kiss.

You had kissed him and you were sure he had kissed you back and – despite your inebriation – nothing had ever made more sense to you than the feeling of his lips on yours.

You touched the fingers of your unimpaired hand to your mouth at the memory. It can’t possibly have been as wonderful as you were remembering it, could it? But you were sure that it must have been, there was no other reason that you could still feel the heat on his mouth on your own, the soft slide of his thumb against your cheek, maddening in it’s contrast to the firm press of his lips.

Your tears ceased then, and a clarity settled over you and leaving you in no doubt as to what it was you needed to do.

You tended to the small but deep cut across your thumb, cleaning and dressing it thoroughly before tidying away the mess you had made on the floor and examining you face in the mirror to check if you looked as determined as you felt.

If you had even the smallest doubt in your mind, the slightest concern that your hungover mind was impeding your decision making abilities, these were swiftly assuaged when you heard an impatient knocking from the other side of the door.

“Come on now y/n, I don’t know what’s taking you so long but I need to get in there like ten minutes ago.”

You would have laughed aloud if you weren’t busy making a mental list of all the things you would need to pack now; and the non-essentials you could come back for later. You opened the door and strolled past him, every step you took lightening your mood exponentially. You could feel his eyes on your back as you made your way in to the bedroom and closed the door behind you.

“You’ve left a real mess in that kitchen as well, I hope you’re going to clear it up.”

~~~

Hours later as you sat on the end of the bed in your hotel room, with everything you owned stuffed in to two suitcases and a backpack on the floor at your feet, your mind was less occupied with the huge decision you had just made than it was with the realisation of your feelings for Taehyung.

You honestly didn’t know how things might progress with Taehyung, but now that you were free to explore it you supposed it didn’t really matter. The fact was that now things could progress, and being able to admit to yourself how deep your feelings for him truly ran was so exhilarating you felt as though your heart would beat free from your chest.

That exhilaration remained as you got ready for work the following Monday, the anticipation of seeing him too much to bear, and the butterflies took up residence in the pit of your stomach and refused to leave, remaining long after the clock on the wall by the cash register displayed 1pm.

After checking your hair in the employee bathroom for the umpteenth time, you paced restlessly up and down the narrow walkway behind the counter and tried not to be too overtly distracted as you served the many other customers picking up their lunch.

You almost gave yourself whiplash by looking to the door as quickly as possible every time the little brass bell rang on it’s bracket, until eventually a young man with a mop of black hair and a wide smile handed you a slip of paper on which the order name looked decidedly familiar.

“I’m here to pick up this order,” he announced with a grin as you took the slip of paper from him. “You must be y/n. I’m Jungkook.”

You examined the list. This was for Taehyung’s office. Why wasn’t he here?

“Um, sure. Is Taehyung...sick?”

The young man shook his head. “Ah no, he just asked me to come today. We’re all supposed to take in turns to be honest but he likes to do it himself. Or he used to I guess.”

You knew he couldn’t have possibly been saying this words to hurt you, but you felt a small prickling behind your eyes and worried that you may not have remembered Saturday night quite right. Maybe he hadn’t kissed you back; maybe drunk-you had thrown herself at him and freaked him out. Maybe you had the entire situation backwards and he didn’t feel anything other than friendship towards you.

You realised you hadn’t moved or said anything for a little longer than was strictly normal, and shook yourself from your reverie to find Taehyung’s colleague staring at you, concern clearly etched across his features.

“Is everything okay, y/n? You look like you’ve been paused.” He looked genuinely worried about you, and had you not been so troubled by Taehyung’s absence you would’ve noticed how attractive the young man was.

You lifted the list in front of your face and examined it theatrically. “Yes! I, um...actually. We’re out of cucumber,” you declared, shifting your stance to block the towering pile of pre-sliced cucumber in it’s metal tub on the salad bar. “I’ll have to pop out and get some before I make your order, is that okay?” You could hear your voice was too high pitched and you wondered if you looked as unhinged as you suddenly felt.

“Sure,” Jungkook nodded uncertainly. “But you could just leave it off the sandwich –”

“No!” Your interjection was a little on the loud side and drew the attention of your workmates. You took a deep breath in an effort to calm yourself before you continued. “It’s no trouble. I’ll just bring the delivery to your office when it’s done.”

With Jungkook's agreement you ushered him from the cafe and took a few moments to clear your head. You tried to talk yourself out of panicking, it was most likely a coincidence that he hadn't come in today, you couldn't have misread everything you had shared, surely.

You put together the order as quickly as you were able, not really paying much attention to the details as you shoved sandwich after sandwich in to the brown paper bag and asked the other girls to cover you for a little while.

You stepped out on the street and felt both excitement and trepidation in equal measure. You were nervous to the point of nausea. As you drew nearer to Taehyung’s office building your heart was moving closer and closer to your throat as you thought about how much your life could be about to change.

Your life had already changed. You had left Paul and that was something that had needed to happen for a very long time. That had been the easy part.

Now, rounding the last corner that would bring you to the tall glass building in which he worked, you only hoped that Saturday night had been the start of something wonderful. As your eyes fell on Taehyung and Rebecca sat together on the wall to the left of the large revolving doors, you could see clearly that it had been.

Just not for you.

[vagrantblvrd]

Burn the Stars (1/1)

Summary: Trevor meets Alfredo when he’s having one of those pesky out of mech experiences. (The kind preceded by being dropped into a combat zone as support for a Federation Militia squad who is just incompetent enough to lead them into ambush.)

Notes: This video gave me Ideas. I also borrowed elements from Titanfall 2 in this because I love that universe a lot. /o\

(Read on AO3)

Trevor meets Alfredo when he’s having one of those pesky out of mech experiences.

The kind preceded by being dropped into a combat zone as support for a Federation Militia squad who is just incompetent enough to lead them into ambush.

========

While Trevor does love a good I told you so, protecting the squishy humans under his protection comes first. He covers the squad as they retreat into the underbrush and engages in good old-fashioned fisticuffs with the other pilot who has the gall to cheat by using missiles. (Uncouth.)

The Consortium's mech he goes up against is all shiny and new, most likely just off the supply ship that  arrived a few days ago.

And that’s another I told you so right there, since the Militia commander in charge on this planet hasn’t been taking their warnings seriously. Seems to think a bunch of low-life mercenaries know fuck all about war. (Ironic, really, when you think about it.)

“Well now,” Trevor says, information about the mech he’s facing flashing up on a screen for him thanks to the onboard AI. Vanquisher-class combat mech, its key weak points highlighted in red. There’s...not a lot red to speak of really, which is far from ideal.  “This ought to be fun.”

========

Trevor wins, on a technicality.

The Consortium mech goes down, but his own is so badly damaged he has to abandon it. Pulls the AI datacore, and tucks it away all nice and safe in a handy pocket in his pilot suit. Waits until he’s at a safe distance before setting the self-destruct to make sure its chassis doesn’t fall into enemy hands.

From there -

Well.

They were dropped far behind enemy lines and Trevor’s armed with a pistol and a survival knife.

Also, he’s bleeding. (Just a little, because believe it or not, mech battles are brutal things.)

Still, he’s got all his limbs and while they’re a bit battered and bruised, they work well enough to get him started o his way back to base.

If he’s lucky, he’ll run into the militia squad. If not -

Well.

========

Trevor is not lucky.

Not lucky at all.

========

No, Trevor runs into a Consortium patrol instead.

Couple of ground troops perched on the shoulders of a Strider-class mech.

Lightly armored, it’s mostly used by civilian law enforcement agencies since they’re perfect for navigating city streets. The Consortium’s adapted them to support patrols on heavily forested planets like this one.

Nimble little things, really.

Terrifying when one’s coming after you, and you become so very aware of how soft and squishy you are in comparison.

Back to a cliff and the Strider looming over you with all it’s shiny weapons primed to fire, when you suddenly remember you never quite got our affairs in order. (Whoever will take care of your precious collection of leftover condiment packets from all those scrumptious MREs now?)

Trevor’s hands are in the air. He’s considering taking his chances with the drop behind him when his earpiece crackles and a voice he doesn’t know reels off a set of numbers.

Coordinates.

He has no idea what he’s supposed to do with that, when a gunshot rings out – and the Strider’s canopy spider-webs around a neat little hole just about the height where its pilot’s head should be.

There’s a moment where the Consortium troops don’t seem to know what just happened, looking around for the source of the gunshot. Haven’t realized the mech pilot is dead, that their major advantage has been taken out of the equation.

And then the sniper fires again, taking out the patrol commander and scattering the others giving Trevor the chance to escape into the forest.

========

The coordinates takes Trevor to a nice little cave where by a gently babbling brook where a group of mercenaries hold him at gunpoint until the sniper makes an appearance.

The mercenaries lose interest in Trevor when the sniper ambles over with a wide grin on his face as Trevor gives him a betrayed look.

“Yeah,” he says, looking Trevor over. “I probably should have given them a head’s up about you.”

It would have been nice, yes, but -

“I mean,” Trevor says. “You did save my life. It would make me seem ungrateful if I held that against you.”

========

Alfredo’s friends are more hospitable when they recognize the patch on Trevor’s shoulder, realize what he was doing out there. (Which squad he must have been with, what with chatter about it being all over their comms.)

“Your squad made it back to base safely,” Alfredo tells him, a little too casual and nonchalant. “No casualties.”

Booked it straight back to base, didn’t bother looking back, which is part and parcel with this whole war thing.

Stings a little bit more sometimes, though, when you’ve got your militia soldiers on one side of things and mercenaries like them on the other.

People fighting for their homes, their loved ones, all nice and noble. Honorable sorts, not like those dirty mercenaries. Cutthroat bastards with no loyalties to speak of to hear some people talk.

Come in with their guns and mechs. Their fancy little ships, and help the militia with their war out here.  Thrown into the thick of things and expected to give their all, and treated like they have no stake in the outcome.

Like most of them are from colony worlds the Consortium has a stranglehold on, like their families aren’t involved. Like they don’t give a damn if the resistance falls, how many friends they lose, because at the end of the day they’re just chasing a paycheck.

“That’s good,” Trevor says, light and carefree. “I’d be annoyed if they hadn’t.”

Alfredo hums, and Trevor nudges him with his elbow as he pulls out his lucky coin and rolls it across his knuckles.

“Want to see a neat trick?”

========

Alfredo’s group gets pulled out a week later, and Trevor goes with them. Hitches a ride here and there until he gets back to his base and Geoff yells at him for being a goddamned idiot for ten minute straight. (Trevor times it.)

He’s put on medical leave – something about injuries and parasites and tap dancing all over Geoff’s last nerve.

Gets drafted to deal with Geoff’s paperwork that piled up in Trevor’s absence because Geoff was too busy trying to get answers out of the militia about his whereabouts. (Very secret, hush-hush, mission that needed a mech to them take out a weapons depot before they walked right into an ambush.)

“Trevor,” Gavin says, sidling up to him with this gleam in his eye that means trouble. “What do you thing would happen if we - “

And Trevor, who’s been eye-deep in paperwork and red tape for days now, turns to him and grabs him by the shoulders.

“I have no idea, Gavin,” he says, very much aware he sounds a bit unhinged. “But whatever it is, let’s do it.”

Gavin blinks, clearly expecting more of a fight to get Trevor to agree.

“Are you sure? You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

There is absolutely no doubt in Trevor’s mind that whatever Gavin is up to is a terrible idea.

The worst.

And yet -

“Yes!” Trevor is going to lose his mind if he has to deal with the mind-numbing tedium any longer. “Yes I am.”

“Okay then,” Gavin says, and pulls out a datapad. “We’re going to need - “

========

There’s a fire.

A tiny, one really.

Certainly not something that necessitates another bout of yelling from Geoff, but he provides it anyway because he’s a generous soul when it comes down to it.

========

Trevor gets a shiny new mech off the assembly line, and decides it looks like a Billy.

“’Billy’,” Ryan says, like he’s not sure he heard Trevor correctly, which is fair as the hangar’s always noisy the day before a mission. “You’re going to name him Billy.”

Trevor grins, sitting pretty in the cockpit of a forty-something ton Titan-class mech. Missile pods on its  shoulders and sweet chainguns mounted on its forearms.

It’s not really a done thing to go around naming a mech chassis when they’ve got AI partners, but Trevor thinks it’s a little rude not to.

“Billy the Murder Robot, yeah.”

The basic AI from his previous mech has been loaded up and it’s getting a feel for the new chassis.

Running diagnostics and poking around like the new tenant it is. Smoothing all the rough edges in the coding and unnecessary redundancies. Making room pretty little bits of code and protocols the engineers back home still haven’t caught on to. (Don’t realize how vital they are no matter how many times Trevor sends a data packet back detailing the reasons why they’re so important.)

A window pops up on the screens in front of Trevor with an ASCII thumbs up.

“See? Hector approves.”

Ryan sighs, but there’s a faint smile on his face as he moves back to the catwalk and to watch Trevor finish running initial checks on Billy with Hector’s help.

========

Geoff worries, Trevor knows.

In charge of a bunch of assholes he sends into combat and wondering when one of them won’t make it back.

A hell of a position to be in, but there’s no one else any of them would trust with it.

“Geoff - “

“Look, asshole,” Geoff says, rubbing his temples and looking a hell of a lot like he'd wants to kick Trevor out of his office on his ass. “The last time I sent you on a mission, you blew your mech up. You think those things grow on trees?”

Well that’s just ridiculous.

Everyone knows that when a mommy mech loves a daddy mech very much -

“Trevor.”

Trevor looks at Geoff, who is using his Serious Voice.

“Geoff.”

Trevor is an asshole.

Geoff scowls at him, because he is very much aware of that.

“I’m cleared for duty,” Trevor says, and does a little spin to demonstrate how uninjured he is. “And you can’t keep sidelining me when you need everyone out there.”

“I know that!” Geoff snaps, but it’s less anger at Trevor and more at the entire situation, this ugly little war.

Trevor waits, because this is Geoff, and after a few moments, he sighs.

“Talk to Ryan, he’s leading the next mission.”

========

It’s a retreat, plain and simple, and Trevor and the others have been called in to back up the Militia’s forces. Protect the dropships as they ferry troops back to the forward base and various outposts.

It’s loud and chaotic, Billy’s filters and scrubbers working overtime to pump clean air into the cockpit, Trevor can still smell the smoke, taste it.

Hector sends up a warning trill before a new voice comes over the cockpit speakers.

It’s Alfredo, and he’s in trouble. Squad pinned down and there’s not much a heavy sniper can do up against the armor plating on a Harbinger-class heavy, but there he is anyway.

Trevor reaches up to tap the pair of fuzzy dice Lindsay gave him for luck, and goes to help. (He’s got a debt to repay after all.)

========

“You know,” Trevor says, when everyone is back at base. “It takes a tank to bring a Harbinger down.”

Or a Titan-class combat mech, not to toot his own horn.

Alfredo gives him a look.

“Hey, you just stick with your mech, and I’ll stick with my sniper,” he says, but there’s laughter in his voice and an easy smile on his face he does.

And to be fair, he has a point.

In a fight everyone’s focus is on the mechs in play. Tend to forget about the squishy human running around with their heavy sniper. Powerful enough to punch through the plasteel canopy of most mechs, and a small enough to go unnoticed in the thick of battle. Slip behind enemy lines unnoticed to take care of enemy commanders and high-value targets.

The base is still in a bit of an uproar, mechanics running around barking order as they race to get damaged mechs back up to fighting speed. Militia soldiers waiting to be ferried back to their own bases, and the odd displaced mercenary like Alfredo just loitering about.

“Alright,” Trevor says, and pulls out that lucky coin of his again, because they’ve got time to kill and everyone loves a good magic trick.

[stubblesandwich]

The One You Feed

A werewolf AU for the Captain Swan Supernatural Summer ( @cssns). Part one of two. Summary: Emma Swan is an underpaid, overworked waitress at a small-town Denny’s. Once a month, a curious customer pays her a visit. In fact, he’s so strange, he’s warranted a special nickname from her friend Ruby--Cute Creepy Guy. He always orders a mountain of cheap breakfast food and eats it like it’s his last night on earth. Oh yeah, and apparently he’s a werewolf. 7,500 words. Name stolen with love from a podcast, which is based on this old poem. Story idea based on this amazing “prompt”. Artwork by the fantastic @spartanguard! See the full manip here. It’s GREAT.

Find it on A03 here.

Rated PG for perilous moments and uses of a crude three-letter word for someone’s tushy.

(for those on mobile, there is a “read more”, I swear!) -------- There was something about rain that made too many people in Massachusetts want pancakes at the same time.

When the wind picked up and the temperature dropped, good old-fashioned comfort food seemed to be on too many minds at once. The Denny's where Emma Swan worked always seemed to be a little fuller when the weather was crappy.

Today was an exception.

She didn't mind when it was busy. After all, full booths meant more tips, and more tips meant she got to pay her rent on time. It was the slow days, like today, that sucked; the breakfast joint turned into a black hole where time stood still and all happiness went to die. She made peanuts with her hourly wage, so when the patrons were few and far between, it was hardly even worth her time to be there.

Emma was a hard worker, always finding something to busy herself with. Idling about only made time move slower, she'd learned. Besides, someone was paying her to be there (even if it was hardly any money), so she might as well be working. It was a huge pet peeve of hers to see some of the other waitresses and cooks on their phones when there was a lull in the day.

(But, it was easy to criticize. Emma couldn't afford a smart phone.)

Not all of her co-workers were bad. She'd made a friend, working there—a fellow waitress named Ruby.

The time was 8:00 p.m. on a Thursday. Unsurprisingly, not many people were craving breakfast food (or anything else Denny's served) that late on a week night, and the restaurant was about as slow as it ever got. Emma had paused in front of the little television behind the register, in a rare daze as she stared at the local news flitting across its tiny screen with zombie eyes. Ruby's sharp voice yanked her out of it.

"Earth to Emma!"

She glanced over at her friend sheepishly. "Sorry," she said, "Were you talking to me?"

Ruby gave a little scoff and a roll of her eyes, but there was no real annoyance behind either. The corners of her mouth twitched upward in a smile. "Uh, yeah!" she said. "It's your turn to wait on Cute Creepy Guy." She gestured over her shoulder, jabbing in the direction of the back corner of the restaurant with her pen.

Emma's gut dropped.

She glanced up at the customer in question, who was frowning down at the menu. Like he couldn't decide what he wanted to order--or like he had heard Ruby's comment about him.

Both options seemed impossible. He was way too far away to hear either of them talking, for one. Secondly, Cute Creepy Guy always knew what he wanted. He came in regularly enough—about once per month since the start of the year—to warrant a special nickname, and he always ordered the same thing. Essentially it was the Lumberjack Slam, a popular Denny's feature for men with something to prove, only modified. A lot.

Said slam featured the following: two hearty buttermilk pancakes, a slice of grilled ham, two strips of bacon, two sausage links, two eggs, hash browns and two slices of toast.

It was an obscene amount of food. Emma had never seen anyone finish it without sharing. That was, of course, until Cute Creepy Guy started frequenting their establishment.

Cute Creepy Guy always, without fail, doubled the portions of meat—sometimes tripled them. Occasionally, he would sub out the pancakes for a Belgian waffle. It was an enormous, seemingly insurmountable amount of food. And he finished it. Every time.

In fact, he often ordered more, after finishing the slam. He took his coffee black; sometimes he'd opt for tea—also black.

Emma had realized long ago that it was probably weird she knew his order so well. But, it was easy to see the pattern when he got the same thing every time. The guy knew what he liked. Besides, she told herself, Ruby likely knew what he ordered, too. The only reason either of them bothered to go up and take his order from him anymore, as opposed to just bringing his food directly out to him when he sat down, was the fact that they didn't know his hot beverage choice of the day or how much extra meat he wanted.

Cute Creepy Guy was in his usual spot, in the most remote corner of the restaurant, alone. He always came alone. He had the same worn out, haggard look he usually did. Dark circles hung beneath his eyes, which only made his eyes seem all the more blue. His dark hair was tousled, as if he'd had his head out the window like a dog on the drive over, but he wore it well. And, as always, he sported the same well-loved, over-sized leather jacket he wore every time he came in.

His hands were resting on the table in front of him. Well, his hand was--the other was a prosthetic, as Emma had come to learn fairly quickly.

(Ruby had never noticed this until Emma had pointed it out to her. "What?!" she'd said when Emma mentioned it to her offhandedly the first time. She'd had to grab her friend's shoulder and pull her back as Ruby spun around to blatantly stare at the back corner where he'd been sitting. "No way! He's missing a hand? How did I never notice that?" Emma had no answer to that.)

Ruby was watching her now, as Emma looked at the customer in question. Ruby donned a wolfish smile that made Emma prickle for some reason, like she knew something Emma didn't and was lording it over her.

"I can't wait on him today, Ruby," Emma started firmly. "Regina has me re-organizing the condiments shelf for the next hour and she really wants it done ASAP for some reason. Besides, he's in your section."

Ruby huffed. "Yes, but sections do not apply to Cute Creepy Guy," she said. "You know this. He's weird, so we take turns. Today, my friend," she said, as she jabbed her pen at her, "Is your turn."

Emma just barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "I don't know why you're so put out by him," she said. "He's not that bad. Just... odd. Besides, he tips really well."

"He tips okay," Ruby said with a shrug. "The same as everyone else here, on average. Which means he doesn't tip all that much, since the food here's so cheap."

Emma paused at that. Cute Creepy Guy had always tipped her exceptionally well, usually at least double the percentage he was socially obligated to. But, apparently this wasn't standard; it seemed to only apply to her. She wasn't sure how she felt about that.

"Fine," she said, "I'll do it. But you'd better start on those condiments for me."

"Deal," Ruby said, shooting her a wolfish grin.

Emma plastered on her fake customer service smile. Ruby saw right through it and bumped her playfully on the shoulder as she passed.

Emma didn't even bother taking out her order pad as she approached his table. Without raising his head, he perked up noticeably as she approached--almost like he could sense her coming.

His whole demeanor changed. His shoulders, tense and hunched up close to his neck, slackened and relaxed. His back straightened, righting his terrible, slumping posture.

And she could have sworn the tips of his ears tinged pink.

He looked up as she stopped at his table, beaming at her.

"Swan," he said, his voice deep and as smooth as velvet. “I was hoping it'd be you.”

Her stomach did a little flip each time he said her name. Not for the obvious reasons--they called him Cute Creepy Guy for a reason, after all, and his English accent was far from off putting--but because she had never actually told him her full name.

The plastic tag on her chest read "Emma", her first name, just as every other server in every other restaurant's read their first name, too. But Cute Creepy Guy had taken it upon himself to give her a moniker, after he had aptly noticed the swan pendant she wore around her neck every day. He had noticed it, complimented it, and turned it into an affectionate nickname.

A nickname that happened to be her real-life surname. But there was no way--outside the very possible realm of stalking, cyber or otherwise--he could have known that. At least, that's what she told herself.

Because Cute Creepy Guy wasn't actually all that creepy. Not to her, anyway. Sure, she understood why Ruby found him to be a little repelling. He was definitely strange. But, Emma had never been scared off by strange. She dealt with weirdos everyday in the serving industry. There was no shortage of creeps trying to peer down the front of her polo shirt as she leaned in to refill their coffee, or checking out Ruby's long legs when she wore shorts in the summer. But this guy wasn't like that. He kept his eyes where they belonged, never straying below Emma's neck--or more accurately, where her necklace ended. She could always feel him watching her when she walked away from his table, but she didn't mind that so much. (At the risk of sounding cocky, she was fairly accustomed to people checking her out.) With Cute Creepy Guy, she never seemed to mind. He was different. It took Emma a few seconds to realize she was staring at him, blatantly admiring his stubble--a little thicker and darker than it was the last time he'd been in--around his jaw instead of answering him.

"Jones," she said. He smiled one brief, impossibly wide smile. A quick flash of white in a Cheshire Cat grin and it was gone, concealed as he ducked his head in a mock bow. But she would swear later his eyeteeth looked impossibly sharp.

“At your service, lass,” he said, dipping his head forward in a mock bow. 

“Actually, I think it's me who's at your service today, buddy,” she said, but she smiled in spite of herself. “What can I get you? The usual?”

He nodded. “Earl Grey today, though.”

“You got it.”

Her sneakers squeaked faintly as she pivoted on her heels and turned back toward the front register. “Swan?” Emma paused, looking back toward him. “Yeah?”

“Extra sausage this time, if you would be so kind,” he said. He smiled brightly at her, and she would have thought him altogether innocent, if not for the look in his eyes, in which there was nothing innocent at all.

There was a dirty joke about sausage right on the tip of her tongue, but an older gentleman in the booth next to where she had paused was staring at her. So instead, she just gave a quick, awkward nod and walked away.

She'd redeem herself when his order was up.

First came the tea. Not many people at Denny's ordered tea. Hipsters now and then would, trying to prove they were cooler than coffee—or at least coffee from a place like Denny's. In all honesty, Emma didn't really know how to make tea very well; the different steep times had always intimidated her. She always left the little bag in too long, making it way too strong and bitter.

But, it was embarrassing to admit in front of an actual Englishman that she didn't know how to properly brew tea. To remedy this, she usually just brought him a cup of hot water with a packaged bag of tea on the side, nestled in beside the cup on a saucer. And bless his soul—he never said a word about it, apart from sharing his thanks.

Jones typically opened said tea package with his teeth, presumably the easiest way to open a tea bag when one only had one hand.

And maybe this was wrong, but the first time Emma saw him do it, she thought it was one of the sexiest things she'd ever seen.

He gave her an appreciative smile when she brought him his saucer and hot water. “Thanks, love.”

She nodded. “No problem.”

He pulled the tea bag out from beside his cup and brought it to his mouth, ripping it open easily with his teeth.

She was staring at him again—biting her lip, no less—and she was suddenly so embarrassed she could have darted outside and straight into traffic. Emma Swan didn't do things like this. She wasn't like this over guys, especially guys she hardly knew.

Heat flooded her cheeks, and she was just about to turn and head back for the kitchen area when he spoke up again.

“So, Swan. How's your day going, love?”

If he had noticed her staring, he was blessedly ignoring it. She could have melted into the tile floor in relief.

“Oh, you know,” she said, “Another day, another dollar.”

He smiled up at her before he turned his attention to his tea cup. She watched as he looped the tea bag string around his index finger and bobbed the bag up and down a few times as it steeped in his cup, dancing like a marionette. “Is your shift just about over?” he asked.

“Actually,” she said, the word coming out through a sigh, “It's just getting started. I'm here past midnight.”

She wasn't sure why she'd told him that, exactly. Emma never, as a general rule, gave anything even resembling personal information to a customer, to include what time she was getting off work. It usually led to conversations she didn't want to have.

But instead of hitting on her, Jones just offered up a sympathetic look. “Sorry, love.”

She shrugged. “I need the money. Hey, most of my section is on the other side of the restaurant today. So if you don't see me, I promise I'm not ignoring you.”

The wolfish grin reappeared on his face. “I would despair if you did.”

She couldn't help the smile that broached her face, though she tried to hide it. Somehow, he was the only person she'd ever met who was able to make such cheesy, melodramatic lines seem sexy. It was impressive, really.

“Yeah,” she said, as a little smile still played across her lips, “Whatever you say, Romeo. I'll be back in a minute.”

It took about twenty minutes, actually. A few more families came in, occupying the tables in her section across the restaurant. She was glad, because this meant more tips and thus more money for her, but it made things a bit awkward with Jones. She was just far enough away that she couldn't see his table to check on him.

What was even more awkward was that he was in Ruby's section, and Ruby came through to check on and refill the coffee mugs of everyone but him. Thankfully it wasn't entirely obvious that she was avoiding him, as his booth was in the far corner and the tables nearest to him were empty. He was a lone wolf, as it were. But still. It was odd for Emma to have the majority of her section on the opposite end of the restaurant with a single table as far away as it could possibly be.

Ten minutes ago, the restaurant had been dull, quiet enough so that she could actually hear the faint, terrible country music playing on the building's outdated speaker system. Now, the place was abuzz with conversations being shared across tables. Everyone in the big group that had come in obviously knew each other; all the kids were wearing matching uniforms, clearly all members of the same local baseball team.

Emma was a good waitress. She was friendly, smiled, and was genuinely good at her job. She asked the kids if they'd won their game—they did—and charmed their parents with a bright smile that wasn't too bubbly or flirty. A few more families came in, obviously from the same team and coming to celebrate the big win against their school's arch nemesis. Her order pad filled and she made lots of promises of ice cream she hoped she could keep—the soft serve machine had been on the fritz earlier—and before she knew it, twenty minutes had flown by.

Cute Creepy Guy's order was definitely up. By the time she made it over to the half wall that divided the kitchen from the rest of the restaurant, where all orders were handed off to and from the cooks, she could see his table; he already had his food, and he looked about halfway finished eating it.

Emma cursed under her breath. She passed off her small mountain of orders to David, Emma's roommate and the restaurant's head chef—or as close to a “head chef” as a Denny's can have—and booked it over to Jones' table. He had a mouthful of something when he looked up at her, his cheeks adorably full.

“I'm sorry,” she said in a rush, even as he waved her apology away with his prosthetic hand. “Really, though. I got caught up with this big group of little league players and--” “Swan,” he interrupted graciously, “It's quite all right. Truly. Ruby brought it out for me not five minutes ago. You're fine, love.”

Relief washed over her. She always hated leaving a customer unattended for too long. It didn't usually bode well for her tip. She knew she'd hear an earful about it from Ruby later, but she didn't care. She was just glad he wasn't upset with her. She let out a breath and gave him a small, appreciative smile. “Okay. Thanks, Jones.”

He returned her smile, but this one didn't quite touch his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something else, but she spoke first when she noticed the plate in front of him.

“Holy crap,” she said, “How are you halfway finished with all that? You said Ruby just brought it to you.”

He looked down at his plate uncomfortably, bravado deflated.

“You must've been hungry like the wolf,” she offered, smiling at him.

He barked out a laugh that was so loud she nearly jumped out of her skin. “What?” she asked, but he just shook his head.

“Nothing,” he said, but his grin belied him. “I'm just going to have that bloody song stuck in my head for the rest of the night.” “Not a Duran Duran fan, are you?” she teased.

“No,” he said flatly, but his eyes still danced. “Can't say that I am.”

She offered him more tea, which he accepted, and she tried to bring it back to him in a timely manner to make up for her utter lack of service before. Over the next hour, Emma was fairly busy. Between checking periodically on Jones and completing the seemingly countless needs of her other tables (the ice cream machine was working, after all, and she had to carry the cones out two by two for a plethora of hungry young baseball players), she was swamped and her shift was finally flying by.

Before she knew it, it was past ten o'clock and she just had a couple hours left on her shift.

Ruby was heading out just as Emma was making her way back to the front register to ring up the final bill from her cluster of tables. “Bye, babe,” Ruby said, shooting her friend a wink. “Hope you made the big bucks today.”

Emma gave a sarcastic huff of a laugh in response. Ruby went on, “Oh, I bussed Cute Creepy Guy's table for you, so don't worry about it.”

Something dropped in Emma's stomach. “Yeah?” she asked. “He left?”

That knowing look was back on Ruby's face. It made Emma so uncomfortable that she had to avert her eyes, suddenly finding the little television above the register very interesting again.

“No,” Ruby said, keeping her voice curiously neutral and devoid of any inflection. “He's still sitting at his table.” This got Emma's attention again and she looked back to her friend. “I'm pretty sure he's waiting for you.”

He was, in fact, waiting for Emma. Still nursing the same mug of tea, which had to be cold by now, he sat in his booth, looking down intently at a book he had laid out across his table. This time, he didn't look up when she approached.

“If you look at that thing any harder, I think you're going to set it on fire,” she said. Jones nearly leaped out of his skin. It was so uncharacteristic that she couldn't help but laugh outright at him. He looked up, his usually wolfish smile looking sheepish instead.

“Swan,” he said. “There you are. I thought you might have gone home early.”

“I wish,” she said. “That would be amazing. I'm scheduled for a morning shift tomorrow, too, so I'd love to go home and sleep. But someone screwed up the schedule, so I'll be here bright eyed and bushy tailed.” She gave a jaunty little swoop with her fist and forearm joined by a sarcastic smile, to which he responded with a wince.

“That's bollocks.”

“Yeah,” she said with a sigh. “Nothing I can do about it now. Anyway, it's time for my dinner break, so I need to go scrounge up something to eat. Just wanted to make sure you were still good back here.”

“I've a free spot right here, if you'd like some company,” he said, gesturing to the empty booth seat across his table with his prosthetic.

Emma hesitated. She had never spent so much time talking to one customer before, let alone sat down to share a meal with one. It should have been weird, but she found that strangely, it wasn't at all. She liked Jones. Sure, he flirted with her recklessly every time she saw him, but she never took it too seriously. He had made it more than clear he was into her, but he never pushed her. Just flirted with her playfully to make his interest clear.

“I promise I won't bite,” he said, his eyebrows wagging at her. “Not today, anyway. Not unless you want me to.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “All right,” she said, “Fine. Let me go put in an order for myself and I'll be right back.”

“I assure you, Swan,” he said, still grinning at her, “You'll find nothing but pleasure in my company.”

She shook her head as she walked away, thinking for the second time that night that no one on earth could get away with lines like that except him.

She returned with a fresh mug of tea for him, which he seemed pleasantly surprised by, and a burger accompanied by a hot pile of onion rings for herself. Jones's eyes went a little dark as he stared down at her plate, and she heard him take in a deep breath through his nose, clearly smelling her food.

“Okay, weirdo,” she said, as she shifted in her booth seat and made herself comfortable. “You can have some, if you want. I get free food here when David's on the fryer.”

“David?”

Emma made a noise around the giant bite of burger she'd just taken. “Heev my fend in bah.”

Jones just stared at her. Emma swallowed and tried again. “Sorry. He's my friend in back.”

“Ah,” Jones said, a little strangely as he looked down at his steeping tea. “I see.”

“He's married,” she said. She wasn't quite sure why she felt the need to tell him this, but Jones looked up at her brightly, and Emma gave him a soft smile. “His fiancee comes in here all the time to visit him. They're my roommates, actually. She's really nice, teaches elementary at the school near by. She probably teaches that horde of kids who came in here. And then David's the night shift cook here. I think she comes in when misses him while he's working.” “That's sweet,” Jones said, as he brought his mug to his lips. Emma watched him for a beat.

“They're really sweet,” she finally said. “Too sweet, actually. Kind of makes you sick.”

He laughed, which made her laugh. “Has there been no great love in your life, Swan?”

Without even thinking, she reached up and grasped the swan pendant around her neck. He watched her, and she dropped her eyes to her lap.

“No,” she finally said, “I have never been in love.”

“Pity,” he said. He had lowered his voice both in timbre and volume, and she noticed suddenly he was much closer, leaning in over the table as he reached out to put his hand over hers.

His palm was hot, and after a few seconds, she jerked her hand away in surprise. He pulled his hand back, too, and stuffed it awkwardly into the pocket of his leather jacket. “Sorry,” he murmured apologetically, but Emma shook her head.

“No, it's just... your hand,” she started. “It's so hot. Are you feeling all right?”

Once she'd asked the question aloud, she noticed that he didn't look the same as he had when she had first waited on him hours ago. He didn't look well at all. The dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced, looking especially dark compared to his skin, which she was now noticing looked pale, ashen.

“I'm fine,” he said, offering a smile she saw right through.

“You don't look fine,” she said pointedly.

He helped himself to an onion ring. She gaped at him, marveling at how he still had room in his stomach for food after everything he'd eaten. “You can't still be hungry,” she said in disbelief, staring at him openly.

He just shrugged in response, concealing a sly grin as he brought another onion ring to his mouth.

“You're something else, Jones.”

“You know,” he said around a mouthful, “I do have a first name.”

“Yeah,” she said, “Something with a 'K', right? I only know your last name from your debit card, when you pay your bill.”

He chuckled. “Yes. Killian.”

“Killian,” she said, trying it out. She liked it. It was unique. She'd never met a Killian before. It was strange, referring to him by an actual first name instead of what she and Ruby usually called him. Thinking of Ruby's nickname for him made her smile, and he canted his head just slightly to one side in questioning, but she decided to keep his less-than-affectionate epithet to herself.

“I dunno,” she went on playfully, “I think it's best if I still think of you as a nameless patron of Denny's. Can't be caught fraternizing with customers and all that.” That signature grin was back on his face. “What if said customer were dashingly handsome?”

She shook her head in dismissal, but still smiled at him as she took another bite of her burger.

The rest of her break passed in easy conversation. He expertly danced around any question pertaining to himself, only giving vague answers that weren't really answers at all, always managing to turn the question back on her.

Most of the time, she didn't fall for it. But Emma found Killian Jones strangely easy to talk to. She told him about her roommates, how they were getting married in the winter, how she'd been asked to be a bridesmaid but was pretty sure they were only asking her because they felt bad for her or because they needed one more person to make the bridal party even. Killian had scoffed openly at that, dismissing it entirely.

“You're mad,” he said. “Anyone would be lucky to have you as part of their wedding. I'm sure you're a wonderful friend, Emma.”

She looked up at him, struck by his use of her first name instead of his usual, affectionate nickname for her—the one that happened to be her actual last name. She missed it.

He returned her gaze, clearly confident in his words. And for awhile, they just looked at each other, until Emma's curiosity fell to shyness and she dropped her gaze.

She cleared her throat awkwardly and reached over for her phone to check the time. “Crap,” she muttered, “I'm over on my break. I gotta get back.”

Killian looked around the restaurant pointedly, as if to say, “Clearly it's so busy in here,” but Emma shook her head as she started to scoot across the booth seat to stand up.

“They use time punches here,” she explained. “My boss has been a real stickler for break times not being over lately.”

“Ah,” Killian said, “I see. Well, in that case, Swan, it was lovely sharing dinner with you.”

“You stealing a few of my onion rings hardly constitutes dinner,” Emma retorted. “Agree to disagree,” he said with a smirk. “Next time, I shall remember to bring the champagne.”

“For?”

“Our second date, of course.”

He was joking. He had to be. The gleam in his eyes gave as much away, but something in his tone was serious. She could just tell, easily, that if she took his invitation and actually said yes to a date with him, he'd be ecstatic.

Suddenly, it was all too much. He seemed to notice, and his entire demeanor shifted as the smile dropped from his face. He opened his mouth to say something, but Emma was already gone, tossing a quick “Catch you later,” over her shoulder as she turned on her heels and made a bee line for the kitchen area.

She would feel bad, later, after hiding in the kitchen area like a coward for nearly fifteen minutes. Regina would chew her out for not punching back in after her break, going on and on about how she would have to go back in and manually adjust her break time, even though David vouched for Emma, saying he saw her come back from her dinner break on time.

When Emma finally came back out onto the floor, Jones was gone. His table was empty, completely bussed and wiped down, as if he had never been there at all.

The restaurant suddenly seemed terribly lonely.   +++ Whoever's idea it was to make Denny's an open-24/7 establishment deserved to be shot. Not killed, necessarily, but maimed. Definitely maimed.

At least, that's how Emma felt as her third night shift in a row was coming to an end at nearly two in the morning. Naturally, five minutes before her shift was supposed to end, a group of teenagers had sat down in her section, taken forever to order a few cheap appetizers, and then left no tip at all. On top of that, Regina had goofed up the schedule and Emma was due to be back--peppy, uniformed, and ready to take orders--at 7:00 a.m. sharp.

It was too late to do anything about it now. No one had noticed the schedule glitch until it was too late, and Denny's, like most entry-level serving jobs, went by a find-your-own-replacement policy when it came to trading shifts. No one in their right mind was going to take an early shift off her hands on short notice.

The back door had a tendency to stick. As Emma gave it an extra hardy shove in anticipation of a fight with the door, it whipped out, jerking her forward, and slammed against the outside wall of the building. Emma swore, pausing for a second to regain her composure before she started toward her car.

The sky was ink black. There was no wind, the night as silent as it was dark, but there was a noticeable nip to the air and Emma pulled her red leather jacket a little tighter anyway, hugging her middle with her forearms. Her purse thumped against her thighs with each step.

She had parked at the far end of the parking lot behind the building. The best spots were reserved for customers, after all, so Emma's faithful yellow bug sat parked next to the dumpster.

The lot was poorly lit, the closest street lamp casting its light only just to the back of her car. She didn't usually make a habit of parking in the darkest, eeriest corner of the lot, but it had been fairly busy when she'd first started her shift. The employee parking lot was nearly to capacity; any better spots had been ruined by a handful of idiots who didn't know how to park inside the lines.

And that's how Emma found herself, on a cold, dark night, almost getting mugged.

She didn't see the man until she was nearly to her car; most of him was hidden by the position of the dumpster.

The moon, full and swollen in the sky, did more for her vision than the street lamp. It at least let her see the glint of metal in his hand as he stepped out and toward her. A knife, if she was lucky. A gun if she wasn't.

“What the hell,” she said, the words shooting out of her mouth in a startled jumble. Reflexively, she reached for her purse. Her fingers fumbled, but she had what she wanted in seconds: a travel-size canister of pepper spray. Her fears weren't misplaced. The man darted out from behind the dumpster and started coming at her, fast—too fast to have honorable intentions.

What came next happened so fast, she could barely process it.

A sound tore through the air then, so loud it seemed to grab her by the bones and shake her.

She whipped around and was met with a set of teeth.

Enormous, gleaming white teeth. They were attached to an even larger snout, black enough to blend in with the night, directly behind which sat a pair of wide, seemingly iridescent blue eyes.

Emma did what any self-respecting woman standing in the cold dark holding a canister of pepper spray in front of a monster would do: she screamed, threw up her arm, and sprayed the hell out of it.

This was, she was instantly certain, the worst decision of her life.

It let out a deep, piercing bellow of rage and pain. She could see the moonlight reflect off its white teeth, felt its hot breath on her face as it roared at her.

The man behind her stood gaping like an idiot, petrified. When the creature cried out, he let out a shriek of fear and took off across the parking lot, leaving Emma to fend for herself.

Which, of course, she was relatively capable of. She immediately took a step back, just in time as the creature lurched forward at her. It bent down low, pawing wildly at its eyes as its cries turned to pain-filled yelps. It sounded like an injured dog more than a monster. And really, as it pushed forward into the light from the street lamp, it looked like a dog. An insanely huge, nearly horse-sized dog. It was ink black, its fur slick in the light. But as its lips pulled back over knife-like teeth, Emma knew this was no dog.

Emma's brain screamed at her to run, to get the hell out of Dodge, but her legs wouldn't move. They were numb with fear.

She could only stare, saucer-eyed, as the thing in front of her kept pawing at its face. Then she noticed something—it only had one paw. Where the other should have been, instead there was a stump. It wasn't as effective and didn't reach as far as the monster's actual paw did, but it still jammed it up into its eye, rubbing furiously.

It howled, arching its back up toward the moon, before it threw itself forward onto the ground, so close to Emma's feet that she could feel its wet breath on her legs through her jeans as it panted.

Finally, she snapped out of it and jerked herself away, stumbling toward her car. She dug around for her keys in her bag, wishing for the first time in her life she'd had the foresight to clean all the unnecessary crap in her purse.

If she lived through the night, she swore she would be the cleanest, tidiest person on the planet. Because apparently, being tidy meant you could get to your car keys faster in the dark when there was a terrifying monster on your ass. She let out a happy, crazy little laugh when she finally found her keys. She was trying to hurry, but her hands were trembling. She was brave, but she was human, and she was scared out of her mind, even with a canister of mace in her hand.

Her hands were shaking so badly that her car keys immediately slipped out of them and hit the ground with a soft clink. She cursed and dropped to her knees, feeling around blindly for them in the dark, feeling horribly close to Velma from Scooby Doo, searching for her dropped glasses. “Crap,” she said, as her search grew more and more frantic. “Crap crap crapcrapcrapcrap--”

The dog-thing behind her gave a strained, elongated groan that was so deep, it rattled Emma's car. She felt it through the pavement on her palm, and a chill shot up her spine. In her peripheral vision, she could see the creature writhing jerkily on the ground.

She could have sobbed in relief when her fingertips finally brushed her keys for the second time. She grabbed them, and they jangled loudly as she jumped back to her feet.

Her car was so ancient, it didn't unlock with a button and had to have the key manually inserted into the door. This took her a few moments, trying to jam it into the slot in the dark with her still-shaking hands, but once she did she ripped the door open faster than she ever had in her life.

Surprisingly, the car started easily, on the first try. Emma couldn't count the number of times she'd had to get a jump start from one of her co-workers because her decrepit car wouldn't start up. Today, the old bug was faithful. She jerked the car into reverse and slammed her foot on the gas, nearly giving herself whiplash as the car lurched backward. The creature wasn't in her rear-view mirror, and her brain wanted to tell her it was gone, that it had fled off into the night, but her gut told her otherwise.

For now, though, it was nowhere in sight, and Emma was getting the hell out of there. She threw the car into drive as soon as she had enough room to move forward. The car's rubber tires squealed against the pavement, skidding for just a second before Emma hit the gas all the way.

And then there was a naked man on her windshield.

She felt him before she saw him. The thump was loud, sickening, and she felt it in her chest before she saw anything. But then there was a whole lot to see, with someone's ass cheeks pressed to the glass of her windshield, and she screamed more in surprise than fear.

The car jerked again as it was thrown back into park, clearly not accustomed to being put in and out of gears so violently. As soon as the car stopped, the man rolled off her windshield and onto the ground in front of the car with an audible thump.

Emma closed her eyes and pressed her forehead onto her steering wheel for a second, trying to keep herself from slipping into a panic attack through sheer will power, hoping to God she hadn't just killed someone with her car.  

She knew it couldn't be same man who had tried to mug her, since he had been fully clothed only seconds ago, but there was a freaking monster in the parking lot and she was not about to leave the person she'd hit with her car as its midnight snack.

She shouldered her car door open and rushed around to the front of her car. “Oh, my God,” she said. “Are you okay? Please be okay. I'm so sorry—I didn't see...” She trailed off as she hovered over him, completely unsure of what to do. He was buck ass naked, every inch of his pale body visible in the moonlight, and she could feel her cheeks flushing as she scrutinized him for injury while trying to avert her eyes from certain portions of him at the same time.

And then her eyes focused on his face for the first time, as he groaned and raised his head up from the pavement.

“What the hell,” she breathed. “Jones...?”

It was, in fact, Killian Jones. He was naked, in the back parking lot of Denny's, and she had hit him with her car.

And that wasn't even the weirdest part of her day. Because she remembered then that there was a monster on the prowl, a monster she had pissed off by spraying it in the face with pepper spray.

“Killian,” she said, and somehow using his first name made the situation all the more real to her. “We have to go.” She bent down and grabbed his arm, trying her best to pull him to his feet. He was unexpectedly heavy. “Come on, we have to get out of here. I have so many questions for you, but they'll have to wait. There's a monster in the woods, but it could come back any second and I really don't want it to--” “Swan?” Jones said, sounding utterly confused. His voice was coarse, as if he'd lost it screaming his heart out at a concert the night before. His face was turned up toward her, and he was looking at her, but it seemed like he was having a hard time finding her with his eyes, or focusing them at all.

“Yeah,” she said, “It's me. I really want to know why you're naked in the back parking lot of my workplace, but right now I need you to get in my car.” Tired of waiting for him to accept her hand, she moved around behind him, squatted down, hooked her arms under his shoulders, and started hauling him to his feet.

“I know it sounds crazy,” she continued, trying to keep some semblance of calm in her voice so she didn't sound like a complete maniac, “But there's something in this parking lot. Some kind of monster. It's huge, and black with these weird glowing eyes, and it almost killed someone who was trying to mug me before I sprayed it in the face with mace. I think it ran away, but I'm pretty sure I only pissed it off.”

He let her help him to his feet, but then he had the audacity to laugh at her. Just a short, uneasy chuckle, but a laugh none the less.

“Are you laughing at me?” She said, jerking her hands away from him. Her arms went immediately to her middle, self-consciously hugging herself. “I know it sounds crazy or whatever, but I know what I saw. I know what happened. If you think just because--”

“Swan,” he said, cutting her off firmly. “You're not crazy.” Her jaw fell slack as she stared at him. “Want to know how I know that?”

He reached out and put his hand on her shoulder, gently and soothingly massaging the leather of her jacket with his thumb. He stopped as soon as he realized what he was doing. She wished he hadn't. But he didn't remove his hand, the warmth of which she could feel even through her thick jacket, and she was so struck by the tenderness of this that she forgot for a second how weird the situation was—and how very, very naked he still was.

She swallowed, then nodded, and he went on. “Because I'm still scrubbing pepper spray out of my eyes. That was me.”

She felt like her brain was buffering. She understood all of the individual words he had said, but what he'd told her—what he was actually saying—wasn't registering. It didn't make any sense. If she'd sprayed him, that meant something that couldn't be true.

She took a step back, and his hand dropped back to his side.

“You... You're...” Any useful words faltered. Her mouth opened and closed a few times. She was vaguely aware that she looked like a surprised trout.

“Aye,” he said, ducking his head to rub at his eyes again with his hand. She noticed then, for the first time, how they were red-rimmed and watering. “A giant, terrifying monster by night. Normal diner patron by day.”

She laughed a sharp, awkward bark of a laugh. Because “normal” wasn't exactly the word she would have picked to describe him. He had always been strange, stood out like a sore thumb—so strange that he'd earned a special nickname amongst the waitresses.

It turned out strange didn't even begin to cover it.

[writerofblocks]

It’s a Process

[Note: This is an original work I submitted as part of a creative writing class. it’s kind of long, so I put it under a cut. I hope you enjoy.]

Two thousand words. How is anyone supposed to write a story that long? I mean, I know it’s technically possible; this definitely isn’t the first time this teacher has given out this assignment to a class, and it certainly won’t be the last. Page count wise, that’s like… ten, isn’t? That’s not much. Or at least it shouldn’t seem like as much as it does. The last story I wrote was 500 words- if you can even call something of that length a story- and it still felt like a stretch at the time.

At least it’s only a first draft. First drafts are allowed to be flaming garbage piles. And given that it’s due tonight and I only remembered its existence about thirty minutes ago, it’s a safe bet that this draft’s more likely to be a flaming garbage pile than not. Resisting the temptation to throw it all out and make it perfect is going to be a challenge. It’d feel better to wipe the slate clean than try to fix something that’s broken and worthless.

Wait. Stop. Thinking like that isn’t going to help.

What am I supposed to write about, anyway? The teacher said we could write about anything (within reason), but where am I supposed to go with that? Not sci-fi, I know that much. The amount of words I’d need for world-building would take up all the space given. I could write an elaborate fanfiction and disguise it by changing the names, but that just seems tacky. Besides, I already did it once this semester. Never again.

…Too hungry to think further. I need food.

The cafeteria’s a bearable enough place. At least there are a few staples I can get by on if the daily rotation of meals doesn’t work out in my favor. Though pizza every day has gotten pretty boring after a while. Maybe it’s the depression talking, but everything just tastes bland when it comes out of a buffet trough. Hot sauce would be a good way to go to fix that, if anything spicier than pico de gallo didn’t disagree with me. I still don’t know how people can willingly subject themselves to oral torture via condiments, let alone get into contests over who can eat the spiciest pepper in existence. What was it my friend said? Something about how some people are nontasters and need stronger spices to actually feel something and some people are supertasters where everything is intense. Dang, I need to look that up sometime. I wonder if the ratio of supertasters to nontasters or vice versa is linked to specific regions of the world? Would explain why some cultures enjoy spicier food while some can’t stand anything stronger than salt.

There are burritos today. A small blessing.

Write your story. Stop watching that video on your phone, pull out your notebook, and write your story. You’ll feel much better with it done, but you need to actually write the story. You’ve already watched this video ten times already, you know it by heart, why are you watching it over and over again when you have other things you’ve been meaning to get to? Put it away on the count of three. One, two, three. I said, one, two, three four five- damnit.

“We now bring to you on the Inner Brain Radio “Mambo. No 5”, but only the first measure. This will be on repeat for the next three hours.”

Excellent. Hey, can I request something different? Like, maybe some silence, or some thoughts on how I’m actually going to finish this freaking story?

“Sorry, we don’t take requests.”

That’s what I figured.

Damn, this burrito is hot. Why are all the burritos from the cafeteria burning hot? The rice is always overcooked, too. Tasteless. Feels like chewing on actual rice grains instead of, you know, cooked rice. At least it fills me up- won’t have to break my writing stride to get a snack, if it comes to that. And it always comes to that.

…Noise.

Too much noise. Mouths chewing with wet and obscene sounds. Conversations I can’t piece together but try to anyway. What if they’re talking about me?

I can’t tell whether they’re laughing or crying.

I can’t tell whether they’re laughing or crying.

I can’t tell whether they’re laughing or crying.

Need to move. No more people. I’m tired after two classes, how am I supposed to work in the real world? How am I supposed to do anything worthwhile? How am I supposed to grow and be an adult? I don’t feel like an adult. I stopped changing at sixteen and I’ve been stuck in this worthless rotten excuse of a body ever since.

Stand up. Stand up! Prickling in my muscles, everything’s too loud. Beep boop, out of people juice again. Where can I get more? People juice machine broke. Why am I thinking in memes at a time like this, I need to pack up my bag and go.

Out of the cafeteria, into the fall air. I don’t need to think about the path I’m taking. I may not be able to remember meetings, due dates, birthdays, names, anything short-term memory related, or anything that makes me viable and valid as a human adult worth caring about, but by God do I still have my muscle memory! Wondrous miracles!

What should I listen to on the walk home? Oh yeah, I’ve been meaning to listen to this album. It’d be good to listen to something new. Or, I could listen to the same set of songs I’ve been listening to on repeat for weeks now because that’s what’s comfortable to me.

Yeah. Let’s go with that.

It’s getting windier by the minute. I left my good jacket in my bedroom closet- didn’t think I’d need it today. I need to make it a habit to check the weather before I go out, I can’t keep going out under prepared like this-

What on earth is that squirrel doing?

…God damnit. Did it again. I’m just a walking stereotype at this point. I really hate that joke about people with ADHD and squirrels, but it’s true. Maybe that’s why I hate it so much.

I did take my pills today, didn’t I? The section for today is empty, so I must have. Good. I’ve gotten better about doing that.

Walk faster towards home, bow my head against the galeforce winds. It’s not galeforce, I’m exaggerating, but it’s damn windy is what it is. I’m swimming upstream, I’m a carp trying to jump a waterfall. I’m Sisyphus up a hill made out of air. I’m an adventurer on a solemn quest, I’m a badass with somewhere to be, I’m making up things that I am because the walk home is boring and I’d rather be at home under my duvet instead of be out here freezing my everything off.

Finally home. My room’s at the top of three sets of stairs. I’m the crazy lady in the attic. Stick me up here, forget about me. Or it could be that it’s smaller so they make the single rooms out of the space they have. Self reminder- finish reading “The Yellow Wallpaper”.

When I take off my shoes, I need to place them in the shoe caddy. If I do so, it will be easier to find them and they won’t be a trip hazard. Everyone wins.

I didn’t place them in the shoe caddy. Figures.

Set your bag down, pull your laptop and notebook out. This whole day will be a waste if I don’t get something down at least. Sit on your bed and make yourself comfortable. I’m not going anywhere for the next however-long-it-takes, and the desk chairs are too hard for my delicate lil’ butt to handle.

My bedsheets already smell like farts and sweat. I just washed them a few days ago. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.

A thousand underperformances on the back of my neck, constricting my lungs. I’ve barely opened the laptop and already I’m at anxiety DEFCON 2, how am I supposed to start this thing? It’s impossible, why did I put it off for this long, I’m going to fail, I’m-

Wait! Breathe. Breathe in for five, hold for five, exhale for seven. That’s it, just like your psychologist taught you. Still stressed. Thoughts still racing. Howie Mandel, I’m going to use a lifeline on this one. Pick up my phone, flip over to texts.

[Mom are you in a good place to talk right now?] [well, text] [not up for calling atm]

[I am. What’s up?]

[just. kind of stressed out] [I have a story due by midnight and I haven’t started  it yet] [trying not to beat myself up about it. not really working]

[At least you’re trying, right? That’s better than in the past.] [Maybe try doing something nice for a bit?] [Not forever, just something that will calm you down.]

[did I mention its due tonight at midnight]

[I know. But trying to do things when you’re riled up doesn’t work.]

I hate it when she’s right.

[maybe I’ll do some knitting for a bit] [still have to finish that blanket]

[Sounds like a plan <3]

One, two, three four… seven? Fuck, I dropped a stitch somewhere. Time to frog it and start over. Mom’s always astonished when I spend so much time on something and destroy it when it’s not perfect. Like I didn’t inherit it from her. She’s gotten better in recent days, but still. Still. Why do knitters call it “frogging”? Because you rip it, rip it.

…It’s nine o clock at night. When did it become nine o clock at night? Put your knitting away, goddamnit, what are you thinking? The story’s due before midnight, just open your Word doc and go!

Focus. Play with form. Poetry, writing, dance, art, living- it’s all just one connection of motion to another. But at what point does a story become a poem? Or a poem become a story, either or. I know free verse is a thing, will the teacher dock me points if it’s not within at least a certain limit of change? Maybe. I don’t know.

The word counter’s ticking up, one agonizing number at a time. It’s all bullshit, of course it’s all bullshit, I can’t write anything but bullshit. But in the Game of College Classes, all that matters is that it fulfills the requirements of the assignment. Nothing more.

Something something too rhythmic, something something “all writers are failed poets”, something something I don’t know what I’m doing, something something, just as long as it’s something.

You’ll never be good enough. This story will never be good enough. You’re unoriginal. And even if you were original, who would want someone who can’t turn things in on time? That’s all you’re good for, menial tasks, just get used up and thrown out when you’re no longer needed. You’re disposable. There are millions of other people just like you, only better because they aren’t lazy worthless garbage. No one likes you. People who say they like you and like what you do are lying. Why can’t you just write what’s in your head? You think you’re better than everyone else at this, but when it comes to brass tacks you just can’t live up to your own fantasies of greatness. Face it- you’re never going to get anywhere with this. You’re never going to get anywhere with anything you do. You’ll just give up as soon as things become even slightly tough; what were you thinking coming here, where it’s all tough all the time? Oh wait, you weren’t, you just go along with whatever someone in authority tells you because you’re a coward and can’t think for yourself without someone else giving the go-ahead. If you’re ever given control you just throw it all away and don’t do shit-

11:50pm. It’s done. Aborted thoughts that pro-lifers would have a field day with, flimsy thoughts, very little structure, absolutely meaningless in the long run, but done, blessedly done. Open your email, send it off to the professor. Write an apology for it being late at night. Send a joke that at least it’s on time. Delete the part that says “for once”- only so much self-deprecation is allowed when interacting with others before they get concerned. Hit the SEND button and try to feel proud, though you know you could have done better if you hadn’t put it off.

It’s late. I’m tired. Time to attempt to sleep. I’ll stay up until one watching videos- I know myself- but at least I need to pretend I’m going to bed or I’ll stay up even later with meaningless distractions

I’ll have to face my mistakes I’ve made with other classes tomorrow, the assignments I’ve put off elsewhere. But this is a victory. A victory that shouldn’t be this hard to get, but it’s a victory. And I’ll take it for all it’s worth.

[cribcrate22-blog]

Grilling Tips for A Healthy Smoked Brisket on Your Electric Smoker Done Right

Love the taste of smoky grilled meat, but need to watch your cholesterol this summer? Here’s how you can enjoya healthy smoked brisket in your own backyard!

Whether it’s a rowdy family gathering for the July 4th weekend or just some well-needed R&R after a long work week, the smell of juicy brisket grilling low and slow on an electric smoker, marinated in tangy BBQ sauce – that’s good livin’!

If you’ve tried your hand at brisket before and been disappointed by your results, these simple pointers will turn your next smoked brisket into a triumph instead of a five-alarm fire!

Start with a Clean Electric Smoker

Be sure to clean your electric smoker before you slap down an expensive cut of brisket on that dirty grill. Otherwise, your brisket’s flavor will be tainted by leftover grime, soot, burnt food, and other debris. Yuck!

If this is your first time grilling brisket, you might find our electric smoker cleaning and maintenance guide helpful.               

Choose the Right Cut of Brisket

Knowing exactly what to ask for and what to look for really is the first step to a delicious, healthy grilled brisket.  Here are just some helpful pointers on picking the right cut.

Point, Flat, or Packer…

No, it’s not a list of NFL teams; the names refer to different cuts of brisket meat.

LOL.

But seriously…

A point cut, also referred to as the ‘point muscle’ of a steer’s breast, is the tougher, meatier portion of a brisket cut.

The flatter end, or ‘flat cut’, however, contains less fat and is a thinner portion of the breast muscle.

The packer cut is a whole cut, both point and flat together.

So which brisket cut is best for grilling?

The packer cut makes for a juicier serving of meat with an even distribution of fat. Those on a diet might prefer a flat cut because it’s got way less fat than the point cut, but much of the flavor is actually in the fat so…you know…just sayin’.

Brisket Size

10 – 12 lbs. Your electric smoker should also be able to accommodate the brisket easily when the doors are closed. At an average ½ lb serving per person, you’ll have enough for at least 8 – 10 briskets and some choice leftovers.

Not sure what a healthy serving of brisket looks like? You mind find it useful to review the American Heart Association’s guidelines for healthy eating portions and servings.

Meat Preparation

For the best results, prepare and rub down the brisket at least one day before you grill it. Massage the salt and pepper liberally over the entire brisket, including the fatty parts, evenly. Wrap it in foil and leave it in the fridge overnight. Your mouths will thank you later!

Woodchips Impact the Flavor of Your Brisket

Cherry wood or apple gives your brisket a mildly sweet flavor

Mesquite wood is strong and gives your brisket that smoky wood flavoring. Use sparingly or mix with another sweet wood for a more balanced flavor.

Hickory will give your brisket a crispy bacon flavor

Add cherry or apple wood to any wood for an added hint of flavor

Smoke Your Brisket Slowly

Brisket needs to burn low and slow. It can take 8 – 12 hours to properly develop a juicy, caramelized bark on your smoked brisket. At 250F degrees,a quality electric smoker can get the job done in about 4-5 hours.

Keeping a constant internal temperature of 250F, try to avoid excessive smoking. When the internal temperature of your brisket reaches between 150F – 165F, your brisket is almost ready!

Wrap Your Brisket in Foil to Soak in the Juices, Cool the Meat&Stabilize Flavors

For the final step, let your brisket sit on the grill in FOIL for about 1- 2hrs at a reduced temperature of 175 – 200F. Then, remove and wrap in foil to cool for another hour or so and – voila! Brisket fit for a king!

Is Brisket Healthy?

There are actually 8 kinds of primal cuts for beef. The brisket is the breast, where the meat is fattier and thicker. Despite having more fat than other cuts, you’ll be relieved to know health experts consider it the good kind of fat.

Brisket cuts are high in oleic acid, a kind of cholesterol which actually lowers LDL’s (bad cholesterol and reduces the risk of heart disease. Grilled low and slow over a blue fire, the oleic acid-rich fat breaks down, releasing the marinated meat’s savory juices and rich flavor.

Of course, if you are on a low-cholesterol diet you’ll want to watch your portions.  Check out our tips for enjoying a healthy brisket meal this summer!

Healthy Brisket Serving Tips:

Do you really need that third helping just because it’s the July 4th weekend? Reward your hard work at weight loss by staying on track even when you’re having fun. Eat moderate portion sizes and drink lots of water instead of extra portions.

Switch it up with whole wheat rather than calorie-laden white bread typically used in brisket sandwiches.

Are you eating the meat or the condiments? Resist the urge to lather your meat in BBQ sauce and salt, particularly if you’re watching your weight or salt intake.

Round out your brisket with lighter sides: try fresh vegetables and salads instead potato salad

Alcoholadds calories

It’s always a good idea to review the USDA’s Dietary Guidelines, which establishes healthy food and nutrition standards for all Americans.

Happy barbequing everyone!

Source: http://www.dietoflife.com/grilling-tips-for-a-healthy-smoked-brisket-on-your-electric-smoker-done-right/

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Partners in Grime (baon)

Summary:   Stretch has survived a lot over the years. Surviving Edge's vacation week should be a piece of cake.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Mentions of Depression

part of the ‘by any other name’

Read on AO3

-or-

Read More Here

~~*~~

Stretch wasn’t used to babysitting and that was a fact. Oh, he played games with the neighborhood kiddos, showed them experiments and occasionally planned events but he was pretty sure none of their parents had fooled themselves into thinking that anything he did could be called supervision.

He hoped so, anyway, or there was going to be some inevitable disappointment somewhere along the line.

Anyway, so yeah, babysitting. Not so much. He was used to having the house to himself for most of the day where he could sleep in or watch television or go to the lab—

(don’t think about that)

—or post on twitter while hanging out with the chickens. His days weren’t planned so much as they were loosely connected reoccurring events, and Stretch was fine with that.

Having Edge here every day was ruining his carefully disarrayed schedule and he loved Edge, he loved him so much, and he’d love him even more if he’d sit down for five fucking minutes.

Stress, yeah, sure, Stretch was going to gather up his own stress and shove the whole messy wad of it up Ass-gore’s namesake. But Red had warned him if his bro didn’t chill the fuck out, Asgore was considering sending him on a longer vacation and Stretch was pretty sure that was a sanity massacre waiting to happen.

In the interest of saving them all, Stretch would do his duty to Monsterkind and help.

So far, that had consisted of letting Edge do whatever the fuck he wanted around the house. Just because Stretch didn’t see the purpose of attacking the grout with an old toothbrush didn’t mean it wasn’t an important task, (or so he guessed because he’d spent a lifetime not cleaning grout and he hadn’t dusted yet.)

And just because their neighbor’s smiles when he brought them yet another plate of cookies or muffins were getting a little tight didn’t mean there weren’t other people who would appreciate a treat and so what if Stretch was shortcutting two streets away to find them?

Problem was, cleaning and baking looked like they were losing their luster.

He’d give a half-hearted thought to taking Edge into town to go shopping or maybe a movie but subjecting innocent Humans to him didn’t seem like the best way to build good relations between Humans and Monsterkind.

That left sex as Stretch’s main form of entertainment, hey, may as well enjoy the forced confinement, right?

But after a few days even his libido was starting to make flimsy excuses to call it a night, and while Stretch was usually ready for any reason to desecrate the couch again, if they ever wanted anyone else to sit on it again, they were going to need to let it air out for a couple days. At least washing the sheets gave Edge something to do.

That afternoon he was sitting on the poor, abused sofa, still aching pleasantly in a few key areas from earlier when he realized Edge hadn’t followed him back downstairs. The shower had been turned off for a suspiciously long time and he’d believe Red and Sans were swapping condiment preferences along with spit before he’d believe Edge was laying back down for a nap.

It set off more than a few alarm bells. Time to investigate. For the safety of the City and everyone in it.

Who knew that Edge taking a vacation would give him Superman tendencies?

Shortcutting could be silent if he put enough effort into it. Last time he’d bothered was when he was grabbing all the kids during the ‘human invasion’, if that’s what they called a handful of dipshits, but he did it now. Otherwise Edge would hear him on the stairs.

When the void cleared, Stretch could see Edge was sitting on the bed facing away from the door, almost hunched over, a far cry from his usual perfect posture. Checking his phone from the looks of it, naughty naughty.

“what are you dooooooing?” Stretch asked, pleasantly.

Edge jumped and nearly dropped his phone, fumbling to catch it before it fell on the floor. The look on his face was like a damned neon sign, flashing his guilt for all to see.

“Nothing,” he said brusquely.

Oh, yeah, smooth, that’d fool a lie detector, for sure.

“uh huh,” Stretch leaned against the door jamb and crossed his arms over his chest. “nothing. so, my guess is either you’ve taken up watching porn on the sly or you were checking in on your work email. and we both know you’d show me the porn, i always like a good laugh.”

His silence spoke volumes. Edge didn’t like to lie and since he couldn’t Obi-Wan his way out with any ‘some other point of view’ bullshit, he was going with keeping his mouth shut.

Stretch shook his head sadly. His baby was letting him down on the sneak factor; he should’ve checked while he was still in the bathroom. “you know, i promised that i’d keep an eye on you this week. you wanna be responsible for making me break a promise?”

“I didn’t promise,” Edge muttered but he sighed and let Stretch take his hand, followed him back downstairs like the world’s saddest, boniest puppy, “This is ridiculous.”

“uh huh.”

“I’m perfectly fine.”

“you’re definitely fine, babe, always loved those jeans.”

“I’ve taken a couple of days, I’ve relaxed—“

“uh…yeah…about that. you might need a refresher on the whole ‘relaxing’ thing. i could google it for you.”

“And I’m ready to be back at work.”

“you and me both.”

“What was that?” Edge asked distractedly.

“sit.” And when he didn’t, Stretch pushed on his shoulders until Edge gave in and finally sat down heavily on the sofa. Sternly, Stretch told him, “stay there.”

When it looked like Edge was probably going to obey even if it was with all the grudging he could muster, Stretch went to the kitchen. Time to bring out the secret weapons.

He came back out with a heavily laden tray, covered in plates that held the sort of things that required toothpicks and stupid green garnishy things, and announced, “i have snacks. i have drinks. we are watching netflix.”

“Where did you get this?” Edge eyed everything suspiciously, like Stretch had taken up poisoning as a part-time job. “I know you didn’t make it.”

Well, if he had, then he would probably be well on his way to his first paycheck as an amateur poisoner. “i did not, my brother did, so it’s probably safe. you know you love his spinach puffs. now, eat and watch tv.”

“Must we?” Edge groaned. He flopped back against the cushions and honestly, this was fascinating from a scientific point of view. Edge on the verge of a tantrum was a state of being that Stretch hadn’t even known existed, much less that he’d be the one to discover it. He should write a paper. “I’ve seen enough television to last the rest of the year.”

“i hope not, i’m looking forward to the new season of ‘masterchef’. anyway, i think you’ll like this one.”

He picked up the controller and started the episode. Bright music began along with a man explaining, “It’s a never-ending battle to fight the clutter—"

Edge sat up and grabbed a spinach puff, stuffing it into his mouth and chewing with an impressive amount of grudgingness before slumping back to glare at the tv.

If Stretch survived this he was asking for a raise.

An hour later and Stretch was ready to mark this one as a win. Edge was riveted in a way even Gordon Ramsey rarely managed. Probably a good thing Stretch had already married him, or he might be on a plane with flowers in hand, ready to spark a little joy.

Stretch wasn’t quite as enamored; he was okay with the show, sure, the host was a sweetheart. It was just a hell of a lot more fun watching Edge. The way he quivered as the families tried to excuse their messiness, like he was resisting the urge to reach through the screen and shake them. His visible satisfaction when they showed they were on the right path and the episode ended with triumph and order.

It was fucking adorable.

He didn’t get to watch Edge like this very often. Usually if they were watching television, Stretch liked to live up to his namesake and stretch out, laying half on Edge and half off the sofa, soaking up the warmth from his blanket and his baby both.

It was moments like these that he was jarringly reminded that Edge really was younger than him, the same age as his little brother. With his crimson eye lights wide and focused on the screen, enchantingly absorbed, he looked his age in a way he rarely did.

He’d gone through so much in his life; some of it was visible on his bones, the crack in his socket was the most obvious but there were others, scars that had healed roughly without a gentle hand to press soothing magic into them. The other scars were buried a hell of a lot deeper and whether they were why he needed a break from work or they were the reason he drove himself so hard to begin with was anyone’s guess.

Stretch had his own theories.

But that combined with his unrelenting attitude made Edge seem older than he was. Didn’t help that it was hard to gauge ages with skeletons. Plenty of Monsters guessed that Stretch was the younger one.

He liked to think it was because he was young at heart, fuck you very much.

And then after everything he’d gone through, Edge went ahead and hitched his life to Stretch’s broke-ass wagon. Looking at Edge and thinking about the years he had yet to come sometimes made that bitter little voice that lived in the back of Stretch’s thoughts come to life, syrupy-thick, persuasive, and as foul as swamp water, asking him what the fuck he thought he was doing here, telling him he didn’t deserve this. Edge had earned better than having to spend his life dealing with Stretch’s brand of generic bullshittery.

Today more than usual it was easy to stuff that voice back. What kind of asshole would it make Stretch to try to make his choices for him? Stretch had a little too much experience with that and once you allowed it to start happening, it was fucking difficult to flick the switch back. Besides, if his taste in partners was questionable, at least his baby had a good soul.

He was selfish, knew it, but still. He wanted to be the one to spark joy in Edge

When the episode ended, Stretch didn’t even ask. He reached out automatically to push the button that skipped the intro on the next one. The spinach puffs were a distant memory but there were still the tapenade toast points to contend with.

A glance back at Edge made Stretch duck his head to hide a smile. Edge looked like his inner neat freak was getting a deep tissue massage. Now that, friends and neighbors, was relaxed.

“can i ask something?” Stretch said, idly, “how is it a clean bee like you can stand to be with me?”

Edge managed to tear his gaze away from the television long enough to look at him with genuine surprise and a little fond scorn, probably for the pun. It tore away the last bit of the illusion of youth and that left nothing but his own husband, who told him archly, “Marie says it herself. I love a mess.”

Okay, damn, affection and insult in one, and by the Angel, Stretch loved him so, so much. “i asked for that.”

“You did,” Edge agreed. But he caught hold of Stretch and pulled him in anyway, tucking him in comfortably against his side. He was soothingly warm and Stretch snuggled in happily, sighing as Edge pressed a kiss against his skull before whispering to him, “You bring me joy.”

Well, hey, mission accomplished. Now Stretch only had to keep it up for a few decades, no biggie.

But first, he needed to survive the week.

-finis-

Notes:

I can't help but feel that Edge would love 'Tidying Up With Marie Kondo'. His platonic soul mate. ^_^

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #377

“you’re such an inspiration for the way that i will never, ever choose to be.”

Have you ever dreamt in another language? No. How long will you try out something you don’t enjoy before giving up on it? It really depends, but in most cases, admittedly very quickly. What’s something you recently realized or discovered about yourself? *shrug* What’s the most interesting news you read or received recently? What about the most depressing? Not in a good way really, but it was certainly interesting to learn I have such severe sleep apnea. Like, I was certain I didn't. The most depressing would be uhhhh... I guess Jason's mother's death, but I don't know how "recent" you'd consider that by now. Would you let politics get in the way of a relationship? It depends. Some beliefs I absolutely would not tolerate (like anti-LGBT), others I would just agree to disagree with. What is one way in which you need to learn to control yourself? I need to get better at controlling my mouth when I'm extremely upset. Do you use a photo editor? I use Lightroom and Photoshop for photography. Is your dad overweight? No, I think he's actually underweight. Ever been honked at? Yes. What’s the name of the most recent baby a friend has had? Easton, I think? An old middle school friend had him. Have you ever taken medication to help you fall asleep faster? Yes, but they never work for me. How did your parents pick your name? I dunno. If you had to move to another country, where would you move? Canada. Do you have a balcony? No. Who is a singer that has given you chills? Man, I get chills easily with music. David Draiman from Disturbed, his cover of "Sound of Silence" is BREATHTAKING. That's number one. There are many others, they're just not coming to me at the moment. Do you have a drone? No. What was the spiciest thing you’ve ever eaten? Some wings at Buffalo Wild Wings. I got some crazy hot sauce. Have you ever discovered something gross in your food at McDonalds? No. What was the last thing you used sliced bread to make? A sandwich. How long did your shortest relationship last? Like a day lmao. Would you rather have a trampoline or swimming pool? A POOL!!!! I've talked before about how I want one so, SO very badly to exercise my legs without having to worry about sweat, and I can take a break the very moment I need to. Do you own a Snuggie? Yeah, somewhere. Do you listen to any unsigned bands/singers? Who? Yeah, quite a few on YouTube, but my favorite in Jonathan Young. He is SO damn talented. Who is your favorite video game character? Pyramid Head from the Silent Hill franchise. What kind of pictures do you post on Facebook/Instagram/Snapchat most frequently? Mostly of my pets lmao. Have you ever been on vacation with a significant other? No. Have you ever considered “unplugging”/taking a significant period of time away from technology? No. I know I'd never stick to it. Do you prefer to watch a documentary that is about a situation/event or a documentary that is more of a personal character study/biography? The latter. Meerkat Manor comes to mind with that, and everyone knows how much I adore that show. There was also one about rhesus macaques I fell in love with. Basically, I love animal docs, haha. Can you think of a recent time in which you might have been better off resisting, but you did something because you “just couldn’t help yourself”? Probably eating something. When you are getting to know someone, do you tend to worry that the other person will lose interest in you once they get to know the “real” you? Yyyyep. What is something that you would like to do, but really aren’t able to because of your location? (e.g., see art or get a certain job) Man, a lot of things. Photograph meerkats is a biggie. What sort of job do you think is best suited for your skills? Is this an in-demand position or something you’re unlikely to actually get? If I could actually handle the heat and was in good shape to traverse the outdoors, I think I'd be a great wildlife biologist. Even more though, if I could beat my social anxiety, I would ADORE being an animal educator with kids. Do you believe it is the responsibility of businesses, or prominent business leaders (think Bill Gates) to take the lead on social issues whether by using their influence or their money? Saying it's their "responsibility" sounds unfair and puts a lot of weight on their shoulders, but I do feel they should by their own volition and kindness use their position for good, such as through monetary assistance and other things. Have you ever gone to a job interview and realized that you didn’t want the job? Yep. Have you ever asked that someone sacrifice something (a habit, relationship, job, etc.) for you? A habit, yes. Looking back it was stupid as shit. What would you call your body type? Ew. Has anyone ever hacked your accounts before? Yes. Do you enjoy big holiday dinners? Considering I spend them with my sister's bigoted, homophobic, and racist in-laws, not especially. I always feel very uncomfortable and disliked among everyone for being the "black sheep" among 'em. Is your vision good? God no. Even with my glasses, it's very poor. I need a new prescription badly. Do both of your parents have jobs? Mom has something of the sort, like she cleans a local church for a small pay, but it's not really a "job." She's still recovering from cancer, getting her strength back up and such before she can handle a consistent job. Dad's had a job for as long as I've lived. What is something you’ve always wanted a boy to do for you? How heteronormative. But whatever. It's so fucking cheesy, but singing a cute song to me while slowdancing sounds so super adorable to me. What food are you craving right now? I am craving something sweet like you wouldn't believe. It's annoying. Have you ever been in a car accident? Yes. Do you have a lot of scars? Yes, but most are very negligible. I just scar extremely easily. Last person you saw other than your family? My primary doctor. Last movie you’ve seen in theaters? The The Lion King remake. Who was the last person you played a video game with? Ummm I think Girt. Last game you played at an arcade? Zero clue. What was your favorite nursery rhyme as a child? I THINK I particularly liked "The Itsy-Bitsy Spider?" None stand out strongly, though. What is your favorite cousin’s first name? I don’t have a favorite cousin. Would you prefer to travel around the world by yourself or with a friend? I think with a friend to prevent loneliness, but at the very same time, I see a great beauty in traveling on your own. Just taking new things in, seeing so many different cultures, beautiful scenery... I feel it'd be a great chance for exploration of insight. Remind yourself how small you are, that there's a much, much bigger picture than your own problems, that people are so unique but hopefully share common morals... I see a lot of poetry in it. Do you like the smell of coffee? It's one of my favorite smells. If you have a favorite photographer, can you describe their work? I can't possibly pick. I watch literally hundreds on deviantART, and many of them absolutely blow my mind. What’s one aspect of your life that did not turn out as you expected? My lack of a career. Outside of school, have you ever used a thesaurus? Well, online ones for writing. When you see a good-looking girl in skimpy clothing, what is your initial thought? I envy her confidence, like gotdamn girl. Have you ever been in a lighthouse? No. Are you on a laptop or desktop? A laptop. What color is your shower? White. Where do you order your pizza from? Domino's or Little Caesar's. What was the name of the last dog you pet? We've been calling the dog we're holding right now Zoe. Have you ever had anything stolen from you? Yes. Have you ever seen the White House? I don't think so, but it's possible I have when we've driven up to New York, but from a distance. How about Niagara Falls? No. What do you like in your salads and what dressing do you prefer? I just like regular iceberg lettuce with some bacon bits and ranch. Man, that sounds good right about now. Any posters of a band on your bedroom wall? Yeah, Metallica and Marilyn Manson. Do you think it’d be cool to have your body mummified after you die? No. I couldn't rock the mummy look even if I tried, haha. Can you tell the difference between a Scottish & an Irish accent? Not really, no. Can you read music? I used to be able to. Do you work the night shift? I don’t have a job, but if I did, I absolutely do not want to work the night shift anywhere. Have you ever slept over at your best friend’s house? Yes. Is your mother diabetic? Are you? She is, but I'm not. Would you like to learn how to make ceramic pottery? It'd be cool, sure. Ever sang someone to sleep? No. Who did you last kiss? My cat. Why did you last lie? I don't recall. Probably to just avoid confrontation with Mom. What do you put on your hamburgers? Cheese, ketchup, and mustard, generally. Who do you think cares the most about you? My mom. Have you ever sent a dirty picture? No. What’s at the center of your dining table? Honestly, we sit in there so rarely that I don't even know. I think we might have nothing, actually. Have you ever started a rumor? No. Do you like being outside? If it's cool, yes. What’s your favourite condiment? Maybe ketchup. Or honey mustard. Who sang/played the last song you listened to? Chris Motionless is the singer of Motionless In White. I don't know if that's his real last name, though. Do you like yoga? I used to. Now all the bending and shit would make me dizzy as hell with my "how are you still alive" level of low blood pressure. Do you always carry breath mints? No, but I do carry Tictacs with me, but they're for my dry mouth. It forces you to salivate, so it helps. What do you think your reaction would be upon entering the White House? I don't really know. I honestly don't even know how it looks inside. Thinking about it, I'd probably be more scared than anything, waiting for a bomb to drop or some shit lmao. Have you ever grown your own sea monkeys or dinosaurs? OH MY GOD I LOVED those!!! I definitely did! Have you ever thrown a game controller (or the game) and broke it? No, I've never been the type to do that. If I'm SERIOUSLY getting mad, all I do is tighten my grip. Did you ever own an Etch-a-Sketch? Yes. Do/did you ever have glow-in-the-dark stars on your ceiling? I believe so. What movie were you really worked up for that ended up disappointing you? My answer is Warcraft, but only because the fucking orcs' voices were so baritone that I couldn't understand them almost ever lmaooo. Like I had a mild idea of what was going on because of the game, but still. What part of a paper is hardest for you to write? The intro, or the conclusion. Both are difficult to me. Like I want to compose a gripping beginning as well as an end that doesn't just repeat everything I've already said and ends on a strong note. Does it bother you that almost everything is done on computers now? No. KFC Chicken: original or extra crispy? I don't like fried chicken. Think about your first kiss. Did you have any idea what you were doing? I mean, I guess? Like I'd seen kisses enough to know how to give someone a peck. It just came naturally. Did you get Happy Meals just for the toys as a kid? Not just for the toy, but it's the main thing I wanted, sure. Have you ever seen your parents cry? If so, how did it make you feel? Seeing my mom cry absolutely destroys me. I don't want her to hurt EVER. Especially if it's seriously unfair bullshit that has her upset, I also get very angry (not at her, of course) and protective. I've seen Dad tear up once, back when he was telling us about his mother's funeral, and I felt immense surprise more than anything. He does NOT cry. How do you feel about animal testing? It's fucking disgusting and barbaric. Find a different goddamn way. Do you add condiments to your ice cream, or just eat it plain? If I'm having vanilla, I'll usually add chocolate syrup. Have you ever witnessed a crime? Yes. What’s the coolest personalized license plate you’ve ever seen? I'm forever gonna get a kick out of this one that just said "omw," haha.

[the-fourth-queen-fanarts]

Where is the lie???

When the most normal person in your friend group is a formerly homeschooled trust-fund baby model, who plays soccer with his hands, smells faintly of cheese, and moonlights as a catboy, you know you've goofed up