#and usually that area just has the couch rather than where bro puts his normal delgiet833

[miss-floral-thief]

At least it doesn’t seem to be swelling/brusijg

[thepopatochispfren]

UT/UF/HT/MT Sans proposing to their s/o

UT SANS

Youalways stopped by to visit Sans at his hot dog stand during yourlunch break.  It was sort of like having a half-hour date every day,and you told him this at some point, making him giggle.  Giggle,and turn the prettiest shade of blue.  That was why it became anormal part of your routine.  And today was no different, though Sanswas fidgeting as you took your first bite into the hot dog heprepared for you.  You were a little concerned, but when you asked,Sans dismissed your concerns with a smile, so you dropped it.  Youtook another bite of the hot dog and nearly spit it out when yourteeth came in contact with something hard.  You reached into yourmouth, Sans’ eye lights locked onto you the entire time, and pulledout a ring.  You wiped it off with your sleeve, watching as itchanged from blue to yellow.

“Isthis a mood ring?”  you asked, cracking a grin.

Sanschuckled, though it sounded off – nervous.  He clicked hisfingertips together.  “sorta?  um, alphys helped me make it.  ithas my magic in it.”

Thatmade you look at it in an entirely different light.  You knew Sans’magic took on a blue hue, but the only time you’d seen the othercolor involving his magic was when he woke from night terrors, withhis left eye light flickering between blue and yellow.  Sans roundedthe hot dog cart so he was standing in front of you, taking the ringand holding your hand.

“uh,human customs are weird, but monster customs might confuse you,so…”  He dropped to a knee, sweat beading his skull and hischeeks flushing.  “i love you a bun-ch.” His eyes darted to the hot dog sitting in your other hand and yougave a surprised laugh, face burning.  “and i didn’t think i’d everget to this point with anyone.  but i have, with you, a-and…”

Hetrailed off as you set the hot dog aside, raising your hand to wipeyour wet eyes.  His eye lights turned to stars when he saw the grinstretching across your face.

“i’dreally like to share my life – and soul–with you.  wh-what do you say?”

Heslid the ring onto your finger and it was a little big, but as youwatched, it shrank that little bit it needed to to fit your fingersnugly.  He looked up at your hopefully and you beamed back.

“Howcould I say no?”

UFSANS

Sanshad been acting nervous all day.  Now that in itself wasn’t somethingunusual – with the life he lived Underground, paranoia was anoccasional symptom of the day, and you’d learned to work around it. But the kind of anxious behaviour he was exuding was just…different.  You found out why that evening, when Sans appeared beforeyou while you were reading a book on his couch.  When you glanced up,he was sweating heavily – again, nothing new, but something aboutit was making you worried.

“hey,sweetheart,” he started.  “d-do you wanna go stargazing with me?”

Youagreed, of course, and took Sans’ hand when he offered it.  You twotook a shortcut to the park – it was spacious, dotted with trees,and had a decent-sized lake that was usually pretty crowded in thesummers.  In fact, the lake was where Sans had taken you, and layingin front of it was a quilt you were pretty sure belonged to Toriel,and a picnic basket.

“Aw,Sans,” you cooed, “you could’ve told me it was a date.  Iwould’ve dressed for the occasion.”  You were clad in loosesweatpants, a simple t-shirt, and a pair of Sans’ slippers.

“it’sfine,” he said quickly.  “y-you look great in anythin’.”

Yourskelebae could be such a charmer.  Still hand-in-hand, you twosettled onto the blanket and enjoyed a simple meal of sandwiches. You even dared to take a swig out of his bottle of mustard, thoughyou had to wash it down with a cup of Sea Tea afterwards, Sanslaughing as you gagged.  You didn’t mind making a fool of yourself,though, because he looked so much more relaxed now.  Once you’dfinished with the food, you two laid back and watched the starstwinkle far above, occasionally passed over by wispy clouds.  It wasa nice night.

“Thisis nice,” you whispered.

“yeah,”Sans said just as softly, and when you glanced over, he was watchingyou, his eye lights forming hearts.  He sat up abruptly, and gentlypulled you upright as well.  “listen.  i, uh…”  He cleared histhroat, beginning to sweat again.  You squeezed his handsencouragingly and that seemed to bolster his confidence.  “i’vewanted to ask you for a while now…”  He released one of yourhands, digging into his jacket pocket.  He found whatever he waslooking for and pulled it out; when he uncurled his fingers, in thecenter of his palm sat a ring.  It was a simple silver band with aninscription in WingDings on it.  “sweetheart, will you marry me?”

Youwere speechless, and Sans was beginning to look like he might passout from nerves, but with the effort Sans put into the date, thestars shining down on you and reflecting on the still lake, and thelove you felt for him, what else could you say except, “Yes.” You laughed, tugging Sans close enough to bump your forehead againsthis.  “Yes!  Of course I’ll marry you!”

Sanslaughed, too, sounding very much relieved as he slumped against you,fumbling as he put the ring on you.  You spent the rest of the datehuddled close and swapping kisses.

HTSANS

Youpicked at your cuticles nervously as you stood in front of theskeleton brothers’ apartment.  You’d never had a problem before withjust walking in like you lived there too – you practically did, butyou kept your own home because you had three cats and the brothers’apartment building didn’t allow pets –, but your nerves weregetting the better of you.  You wiped your sweaty palms onto yourhoodie, taking a deep breath, and finally raised a hand to… knock? turn the doorknob? when it flew open suddenly, making you jump with ayelp.  Papyrus stood there, looking down at you with a confusedexpression.

“HUMAN. YOU’VE BEEN STANDING OUT THERE FOR ALMOST TWENTY MINUTES.  ARE YOUOKAY?”

Youblushed heavily – you hadn’t realized you’d been procrastinatingfor so long.  “Sorry, Paps.  Um, I was actually planning oninitiating, um… Code Love?”

Hiseyes widened, and you weren’t sure if you seeing things or not, butit looked like anime-esque sparkles were twinkling around him. “REALLY?  EXCELLENT!  TODAY HASN’T BEEN ONE OF SANS’ BEST DAYS. THIS IS JUST THE THING TO CHEER HIM UP!”

Youreyes widened when you heard your skelebae was having a ba d  d a y. “Um…  Maybe I should wait a bit longer…”

“NONSENSE! COME IN, I’LL GO GET THE LAZY BONES!”

Papyruswas practically dancing in place as he waited for you to step inside,and once the door was shut behind you, he took off for Sans’ room. You scraped at your cuticles again as you hovered by the door,wondering if you should just sneak away before Papyrus can get Sansout of bed.

“heykitten,” Sans drawled from behind you before you could decide toleave, hand landing on your shoulder and making you jump again.

Youwheezed, clutching your chest, and turned to him.  He looked tired,his eye light a bit smaller than normal, but otherwise he didn’t seemtoo under the weather.  “Hey, babe.  I heard you weren’t feelingwell today.  Are you alright?”

“fine,now that you’re here,” he said, grinning as you scoffed for lack ofa coherent answer, ears burning.  “paps said you wanted to talk tome about something?”

“Uh,y-yeah.  I wanted to take you out to lunch, if you’re hungry…?”

Hechuckled.  “i’m always hungry.”  Though his tone was light, youknew it was… partially true.  The hunger was psychological, ratherthan physical, but he never turned down food, and he never wasted it. “let me just tell paps-”

“NONEED, BROTHER!”  Now Papyrus was standing behind you, hands on hiships.  “GO ENJOY YOUR DATE!”

“'kay. see ya later, bro.”

Papyrusflashed you a thumbs up as you followed Sans out the door.  You andSans ended up at Grillby’s, because not only was it Sans’ favoritefood place, but you’d also had your first date there, and that madeit the perfect place for what you had planned.  You had a feelingthat Papyrus had called Grillby ahead of time, though, because whileSans wasn’t paying attention – telling jokes to the other patronsof the bar –, Grillby whispered a crackling, “good luck,” as hedelivered your food.

Afteryou and Sans had your fill, and he was beginning to work on hisketchup, you shifted in your seat so you had one knee under you –because you were too short to kneel on the floor for this and notlook ridiculous because of the bar stool heights.

“Sans.”

Hehummed, glancing over, then turning in his chair to face you. “what’s wrong?”  he asked, squeezing more ketchup into his mouth.

“Ilove you so, somuch.��� He coughed, blue magic making his cheekbones glow.  “And I don’tknow how monsters would do this, but…”  You pulled the ring boxout of the hoodie pocket, opening it and holding it up to Sans withshaking hands.  His eye light had disappeared and ketchup wasdripping down his chin as he stared blankly.  Only Grillby’s discreetgesture out of Sans’ sight forced you to keep talking.  “I wouldn’twant to spend the rest of my life with anyone else, s-so, will youmarry me?”

“g-geez,”Sans stammered, skull beading with sweat.  “how long have you beenplanning this?”

Thatthrew you off a little, but you replied anyway, “Maybe a month?”

“iwanted to beat you to it, but i guess i hesitated too long,” hesighed, scratching the back of his skull, then reaching into hispocket to pull out a ring dotted with small jewels.  They were eachsoftly glowing the same color as your soul, pulsing in a rhythmsimilar to that of a heart beat, and when your breath caught, thelight flickered.

Youtwo made eye contact, then burst out laughing, the other patrons ofGrillby’s – who’d been watching with baited breath – cheered asyou exchanged rings.

MTSans (forthose who don’t know, Sans and Papyrus live in an abandonedwarehouse; the front half is a fake storage area, the back half istheir home; also, sorry this one is so rough.  I don’t know Mobtale too well)

“…andthen he pasta-way!”

Grillbysighed heavily as your audience – consisting of the other barpatrons – joined in your cackling.  You were enjoying your day offfrom work while your favorite skeleton brothers were busy, even ifyou could already hear the betrayed “Nyeeeh!”you’d receive from Papyrus when (not if, when)he discovered you’d taken to following in Sans’ steps in the masteryof pun-making.

“Thanksfor humoring me, guys!”  You slid off of your stool, dropping goldonto the counter, not because you ever drank in Grillby’s, butbecause you were “secretly” chipping away at Sans’seemingly-infinite tab for him.  “I better head out; got somegroceries to collect.”  As the crowd dispersed away from the barand back to their normal tables, you patted Grillby’s hand as he idlyscrubbed at a spot on the counter.  “If Sans stops by here, let himknow I went home?”  After the bartender nodded, you gave one lastwave to the other customers and left.

Yourshopping trip was pretty short – you bought more spaghetti to fuelPapyrus’ attempts of running a stand, some bread and hot dogs, asmall variety of fruits, and a few new flowers to replace the wiltingones in the kitchen.  The trip home was longer, as you double andtriple-checked to make sure you weren’t being followed.  You didn’thave to take the precaution when your boys were around, but it wasalways better to be too-cautious than not careful enough when youwere on your own.

Thewarehouse the boys called home seemed quiet as usual without Papyrus’energy, but when you entered the actual “house” portion of thebuilding, you immediately felt a presence when you should’ve beenalone.  Entering the kitchen, you nearly dropped your bags at thesight of blood smeared around the area where the hidden trapdoor was,and fainter streaks of red leading across the living room, behind thecouch.  You set your groceries onto the counter to worry about later,digging out a knife before slowly following the trail.  It endedbefore the bathroom door, which was only cracked open enough toreveal the lights on inside.  You could hear someone digging throughthe cabinet under the sink, and you held your breath as you preparedto shove the door open to catch the intruder by surprise.

“…babe?”

Sans’voice both made you nearly jump out of your skin and slump to thefloor in relief.  You could hold your own just fine, most of thetime, but you definitely felt better knowing you wouldn’t be dealingwith a foe who’d somehow found your home.  You tossed the knifetowards the couch, not wanting to startle Sans by having a weapon onyou, and nudged the door open enough to inch inside the smallbathroom.  Sans stood from the cabinet, setting the first aid kit inthe sink, and when he met your eyes in the mirror, you felt some ofyour concern melt away.

Sansdidn’t look like he was on the verge of death, despite what the messof blood had implied, but he’d definitely seen better days.  Bruisesdecorated his face, swelling (you weren’t quitesurehow that worked on bone except… magic?) already under way beneathhis eye socket, and some smears of marrow beneath his nose and grin. His clothes were rumpled and would have to be repaired in someplaces, though with all the blood stains, you weren’t sure if hisshirt would be salvageable; you’d have to ask Papyrus, it couldn’t betoo different from tomato sauce stains, right?  All you knew was thatSans was hurt, but the blood wasn’t his, for the most part, and thatwas a load off of your mind.

“mindpatching me up, doll?”

“OhSans,” you muttered in a playfully-scolding manner, guiding him tosit on the edge of the tub.  “What happened?”

“doesn’tmatter,” he replied, and though you pouted, you’d expected thatanswer; he and Papyrus never let you in on the details of theiroutings unless it was important or you took part in them.

Youlet Sans distract you with a story of a bar brawl he’d accidentallystarted when he first discovered Grillby’s as your cleaned up hisminor injuries, tsking and humming under your breath.  He had a fewmore bruises hidden under his shirt, which were quickly discoveredwhen you had him take it off so you could soak it in cold water untilPapyrus got home, and you ended your doctoring task by wrapping acouple of his fingers, which held spiderwebs cracks that would healin a few days as long as he didn’t aggravate them.  When youfinished, you kept hold of his hands in yours as you looked up athim, registering his sudden silence.  He squeezed your hands,permagrin wavering, and for just a moment, you swore you could see awisp of blue magic around his left eye light.

“…marry me.”

Thestatement came out of nowhere and you were struck soundless, staringat Sans with large eyes.  His grip on you tightened, as if he wasafraid that you would flee if he let go.

“sorry.” He sounded as uncharacteristically nervous as he looked.  “i mean,willyou marry me?  i know that there’s already some potential danger justbeing with me as we are, and i hadn’t planned this, so i don’t evenhave a ring, but… well, what do you say?”

Youchuckled breathlessly, pulling your hands from his.  His eye lightsflickered for a moment, before you wrapped your arms around him in ahug, careful of his wounds, resting your forehead against his bonyshoulder; his arms dropped to your waist in return.

“Idon’t care about the ‘dangers,’ Sans.  Of course I’ll marry you.”

Aloud, excited squeal suddenly erupted from the living room.  “OH MYGOODNESS!  BROTHER, YOU FINALLY DID IT!  AND THEY SAID YES!”

Sanschuckled, the sound traveling straight to your bones, and you laughedwith him as the other skeleton burst into the bathroom and scoopedyou both into a crushing hug.

[badacts]

safeguard

THIS IS A WINTERHAWK BLOG NOW. also on ao3

There’s a new guy at the bus stop Clint’s first day back.

Clint is going to affectionately refer to him as ‘Stubble’ from now on, because he’s rocking the I’ve been awake for 72 hours and what is a razor anyway look. And Clint really does mean rocking it, honestly. Angels clearly carved this guy’s jawline themselves, and the rough-around-the-edges-chic thing does absolutely nothing to disguise it.

It’s possible that Clint is fixated on Stubble and his attractiveness in order to distract himself from his imminent death, but whatever.

Stubble shows up three minutes after Clint, shoots him a quick glance with a pair of very cool grey eyes, and then settles under the sign to presumably wait for his bus. He looks kind of murdery, but also bored enough that Clint probably isn’t his target.

Clint’s phone vibrates in his pocket and he nearly leaps out of his skin, and then almost tosses it into the slushy gutter while trying to get it out of his jacket. His hands are shaking, half from nerves and half from the fact that he’s freezing his ass off.

Natasha had offered to drive him today, but he’d waved her off with a grin, and then when she’d refused to be waved off he’d gotten serious and told her that he needed to get back on the horse. Her parting shot had included the words ‘ridiculous’ and ‘asshole’, but Clint’s deaf so he can’t be relied upon to hear that kind of slander.

He’s fine. It’s a whole thing. Like, yeah, he definitely had PTSD when he got back from that last godforsaken desert posting and it took him a while to get over that (mostly) and, yes, maybe getting into it with the local mob to the point where they were willing to find him on the street and beat the crap out of him had been a bit of a setback, but he’s definitely fine.

By someone’s definition, Clint is absolutely fine. And his black eyes are fading! He’s doing great.

(A little voice in the back of his head which sounds suspiciously like Sam from down at the VA mutters about how he spends too much time reassuring himself he’s fine rather than trying to actually become fine. He ignores it.)

Anyway, it’s not paranoia if Russian mobsters are really out to get you.

He finally manages to get his phone out and unlocked. The text is from Kate, and it’s a picture of Lucky on her couch, legs in the air and mouth open in a goofy grin. Clint blows out a half-annoyed chuckle and replies a series of pink hearts. He’s going to have to resort to something serious to get his own dog back tonight. He could try the truth - that he sleeps a hell of a lot better with Lucky’s weight on the bed with him - but hopefully it won’t get to that point.

His bus sweeps in then, rolling to a stop at the curb. Clint climbs on and breathes a small sigh of relief.

Clint nearly got blown up by an IED once, so it’s kind of ironic that he’s currently having nightmares about a little roadside brawl.

The subconscious is a fucking asshole. Also, there’s a bit of a sense of the inevitability of death, or maybe just the understanding that you could die any day, that you get when you’re active military on tour that you just really don’t get when you’re waiting for a bus back stateside.

He hadn’t expected it. He hadn’t heard them coming. He’d been standing there minding his own business, and the next thing he’d been on his back on the pavement with a boot in his ribs and his hearing aids fizzling out on someone yelling, Hey!

He startles awake to a wet nose in his face. Lucky isn’t smart enough to know that Clint was dreaming, but he’s definitely smart enough to know that Clint moving around means breakfast is on the way.

“Mutt,” Clint mutters affectionately, pushing him away and rolling him up in the quilt. He’s up before his alarm, but it’s not early enough to be worth trying to sleep again. He stumbles upright in search of coffee, shoving his aids into his ears, nearly eating carpet when the tangle of Lucky-and-blankets follows him off the mattress.

Kate appears in his apartment like she’s following the smell of coffee, her eyes still mostly shut even though she’s dressed for work. Clint even pours her a mug because he’s generous and because he loves her a whole lot.

“Morning,” she says, once she’s three-quarters of the way through it. “Can I borrow the puppy today?”

Clint clutches his chest. He was in the circus, he can do ‘theatrical’ with the best of them. “You’re asking permission now?”

“Well, some asshole gave me a sob story about how he can’t sleep without his dog…”

Clint ignores that. “Aren’t you working?”

“Only for a few hours this morning.” She looks too tired for a kid, and Clint knows the fatigue that comes with knowing there’s not quite enough money coming in but not being able to do much about it.

“You know I can swing you some hours with Nat, right?”

The look that earns is killer. “Yeah, I know you can give me some of yours. And I’m not the one who has to pay to look after a whole building.”

Clint doesn’t have much of an argument, so he just shrugs. “Offer stands. And Lucky’s all yours, I’ll pick him up when I get home.”

“Cool. Don’t get killed at the bus stop,” Kate says and he collects his stuff to leave.

“I won’t. Besides, there’s a new guy, he might help me out. Two on one,” he muses, searching for his wallet. “He does only have one arm though.”

“And you’re deaf,” Kate points out, like she thinks he’s picking on the guy for being disabled or something.

“That doesn’t stop me punchin’ people though.” Clint illustrates this with a corny one-two air-jab. “Nat says it’s all been quiet since, anyhow.”

“You must have scared them off with your ability to get a broken nose really easily,” Kate says, though her mouth quirks with amusement. “By the way, it’s in your back pocket.”

Clint gropes his ass, and finds she’s right - his wallet has been there this whole time. “Aw, man. You couldn’t have said that earlier? I’m gonna be late.”

“I don’t spend enough time staring at your old-man ass to notice earlier!” Kate calls out even as he’s halfway into his coat and out of the door. Clint does not dignify that with a response.

Stubble’s at the bus stop, beanie pulled down to his eyebrows and his hand shoved deep in his pocket. He looks kind of fucked off with the world, but Clint can understand that. It’s too cold to be in a good mood.

Clint continues saying as much out loud, but decides not to. He’s also a little curious about whether Stubble has moved into the area recently, but he doesn’t ask either. He’s happy with silent comradery! And also he doesn’t want to make things incurably awkward.

That’s pretty much how things continue. Clint walks to the bus stop, isn’t concussed, takes the bus to work, works all day, takes the bus back, and then goes home to his apartment with his one-eyed disaster dog and sometimes Kate when she wants to share his food. Sometimes he sees other people, like Nat showing up just to point out he could take the subway instead of the bus even though he hates the subway, or some of the guys from the VA for their monthly alcohol-free meet-up. Normal stuff.

That’s up until Stubble is missing one Wednesday morning, anyway.

In his usual place is the most ridiculously proportioned dude Clint has ever seen, with shoulders so broad he must have to go through doorways side-on. Clint feels a moment of suspicion and then shoves it aside. Anyone wearing a collared shirt probably doesn’t have it out for him.

He catches Clint looking at him, and smiles. It transforms his face from attractive-but-stern to mind-bogglingly hot.

Seriously, where were all these hot muscular guys when Clint was getting his ass handed to him at this bus stop? Not that he’s not got muscles, he definitely does, but it was five on one and the odds would have been so much more even with McBeefy here.

Whatever. This guy, all blonde and shiny and good, looks much too put together to be anywhere near Clint, who is wearing sneakers with a hole in one of the toes and a bright purple beanie. Clint misses Stubble - he makes Clint look a) not old-school emo and b) outright friendly by comparison.

The next day Blondie is gone and Stubble is back, and all is right in the world. For some reason, when he relays this to Kate, she just looks amused instead of understanding.

No matter what Natasha says, Clint isn’t nosy.

He’s curious. That’s all it is, and that’s natural - he watched a nature documentary once that was all about how humans work, and curiosity was a big deal. That might have been orangutans, on second thought, but the point basically still stands.

Anyway, now it’s Stubble who has captured his attention, and he would really like to know more. There are lots of reasons for someone to be down a limb, but there’s something in the way he moves and the expressions on his face that reads ‘veteran’ to Clint. So that’s something they have in common, besides the disability.

He could ask. He doesn’t. He catches himself opening his mouth a dozen times to say something, but every time he stops before the words get out. He’s not even entirely sure why.

It’s a perfectly normal Tuesday when Clint is interrupted from absent thoughts of his meals for the day and what he has in the fridge besides beer and some leftover Chinese by pounding footsteps coming towards him.

Clint turns a bit, his right hand reaching for either his phone or the knife in his boot - he hasn’t decided yet - and then realises it’s Stubble, approaching at a flat run. He abruptly slows as he comes up on the bus stop, and then halts in his usual place before bending in half, hand on his knee, to catch his breath.

“...are you alright, bro?” Clint asks, aware that he’s potentially breaking the unspoken ‘we don’t talk to strangers on public transport’ rule even though they’re not actually on the transport yet.

“Fine,” Stubble replies after a moment, straightening up. Flushed from exertion is a good look on him. “Thought I’d miss you.”

“Huh?” says Clint. Maybe he means his bus. Maybe it was a Freudian slip. Maybe Clint should be worried about that instead of abruptly hopeful.

Stubble waves him off, staring off into the distance. Clint really, really wants to pursue that - or maybe just...talk to him in general - but that expression is not inviting so he shuts up instead.

Clint’s job is ostensibly working for Natasha’s private security firm, but a large part of what he actually does is take the free self-defense classes the firm runs after-hours.

He gets a mix of people - mostly women, some young and some older, most not white. The whole thing was Nat’s brainchild, but somehow Clint is the one who runs it even though he’s a well-trained ex-military white dude and should be all rights be the worst fear of some of his students. They get along despite this. Nat says it’s because he looks both sweeter and dumber than he is.

Every second thursday Nat does join them to show everyone first-hand the myriad ways a smaller person can hold their own against someone bigger and stronger than them. This, of course, involves Clint being thrown all around the gym by a tiny redhead looking to blow off the steam built up by working in corporate New York City.

This means the evening ends with Clint lying spreadeagled in the centre of the mats, groaning gently while a bunch of women laugh at him. Story of his life, really.

He’s considering crawling to the locker room when Nat sits down next to him. She says, “Your bruises are looking better.”

“They were,” Clint replies.

“Don’t be a baby,” she says. “I don’t leave bruises.”

“Tell that to my internal organs.”

She rolls her eyes, but she does pat him faux-sympathetically on the shoulder. Clint will take it.

“Tell me about the bus stop guy,” she says. Clint spittakes, which means he nearly chokes on his own saliva. He jerks upright, coughing it out of his lungs.

“Kate,” he rasps eventually. Nat’s silence is confirmation he didn’t need.

She’s examining her nails, unbothered. “He appeared straight after you were attacked.”

“I wasn’t attacked,” Clint protests, even though it’s not true, he just doesn’t like that word. It wasn’t that serious. “It’s a coincidence.”

“I don’t believe in coincidences,” Nat replies.

“Nat, he has one arm. I don’t think he’s been standing at the same stop as me every day for the last couple of weeks as part of some kind of convoluted assassination plot.”

“He’s hot, isn’t he,” Nat says. It isn’t actually a question.

“What do you-”

“He’s attractive enough that he’s overcome your paranoia and you’re actually not terrified of him.”

Clint opens his mouth to deny that and then stops, sighing. “You are literally the only human who would make that seem like a bad thing, you know that?”

Nat gives him a level look. “I’m coming tomorrow.”

“You’re - no you are not!”

“I want to meet him.” Her tone says I want to check him out and kill him if I find him wanting.

“I haven’t met him! He’s a hot guy at the same bus stop as me, not my future husband.”

“Not with that attitude, he won’t be,” Nat says. She pats him on the shoulder again. “It’ll be fine. Also, you can’t stop me.”

Well, she’s not wrong. “You’re going to regret this. No, I’m going to regret this. I’m going to be so full of regret, and it’ll be all your fault.”

“I’m sure I’ll learn to live with that somehow,” she says.

Clint tries to avoid the inevitable by sneaking out of his apartment. This just means that Nat shows up at the bus stop directly. She’s wearing a coat so thick she’s twice her usual width, but Clint knows that doesn’t mean much in terms of her ability to kill a man.

She looks Stubble up and down, and then says, “James Barnes, isn’t it?”

Stubble freezes and gives her such a hard-eyed glare that Clint is momentarily concerned that this is going to turn into a vicious brawl in the middle of the street. “Who’s asking?”

She says something else - Clint takes a moment to recognise it as Russian, which he only knows three words of, all of which are mean names Nat calls him. Stubble clearly knows more, because the suspicion on his face clears, if not the fierceness. He replies in the same language. They go back and forth a few times, and then Nat abruptly turns to Clint.

“It’s fine,” she says. “I’ll see you at work.”

Then she walks off. She’s halfway down the street when Clint yells, “You could drive me!” after her, not that she acknowledges that in any way.

When he turns back, Stubble - well, James Barnes, apparently - is already heading down the street in the opposite direction. “Hey! Barnes!”

He does at least stop. He doesn’t look pleased by the interruption, but that could just be his face.

“I’m sorry about her,” Clint says, hurrying after him. “She’s just protective.”

“It’s fine,” Barnes replies abruptly, and then, “You need it.”

“...excuse me?” Clint splutters.

He gets a hard look for that. “You nearly got broken into pieces by some two-bit Russian punks with a grudge.”

“Well...I didn’t!” He shouldn’t sound so defensive, considering Barnes is dead right.

“Yeah, pal, you didn’t - because of me.” Speaking of defensive - Barnes is looking a bit that way himself. “I don’t even catch a bus, you know that? I live right there,” he points at the apartment building a bit further down the street, “and I had to run out here to stop your dumb ass from getting killed by the most pathetic cousins of the Bratva I’ve ever met, and even then I was nearly too fucking late! So now I stand out here freezing my nuts off most days in case they come back, even though I know I put the fear of Christ and me into them and that they almost certainly won’t come back!”

“...you’re more verbose than you look,” Clint observes, and then jumps forwards with Barnes turns to leave. “Wait!”

Barnes turns back to him slowly, a bit wary and a bit pink-cheeked like he really hadn’t meant to say all that. He’s still gorgeous, and apparently he saved Clint’s life, or maybe just the rest of his bones besides his nose and that one broken rib.

“Thank you,” Clint says, in his most sincere voice. “I’m Clint, by the way.”

“Bucky,” Barnes says after a moment. “And you’re welcome.”

“Seriously,” Clint continues. “That’s, um, I can’t believe you would do that. You really don’t catch a bus?”

“I really don’t want to be trapped in my apartment by a police cordon while they investigate your untimely death,” Bucky replies, though he’s looking a touch more relaxed now.

“That’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me,” Clint says. He adds a little smirk to it, because he may be a disaster of a human but he’s still cute.

“Now I do feel sorry for you,” Bucky says, but he’s smirking too.

Then there’s a rush of noise, and Clint looks up just in time to be able to note, “That’s my bus,” before the bus in question roars off down the street. “Damn.”

There’s a moment of semi-awkward silence, and then Bucky says, “My roommate has a car.”

It turns out that Blondie McMuscles is Bucky's roommate, though his actual name is Steve. Steve is clearly very much in on this whole watching-Clint’s-back thing, because when Bucky lets them into the apartment they share, he grins brilliantly.

He’s opening his mouth to speak when Bucky interrupts, “Steve, this is Clint. Clint, Steve. Steve, Clint just missed his bus, can you give him a ride to work?”

“Oh, that’s,” Clint says, “I can...get an Uber?” Yeah, in his mind’s eye, spending time with Bucky in his roommate’s car had not included said roommate along for the ride.

“Don’t worry about it, I don’t have class until this afternoon,” Steve replies. He’s still smiling, big and broad. “It’s nice to finally meet you, by the way.”

Bucky punches him in the ribs. He tries to make it subtle, but fails miserably.

Bucky makes Clint take the front passenger seat and he takes the back. On the drive, Clint learns that both Steve and Bucky are vets who’ve been back less than a year, and that Steve is enrolled in a college fine arts program while Bucky hasn’t decided what he wants to do yet. They commiserate over their past postings for a bit while carefully not trying to reveal anything they’re not supposed to say - and Clint is sure they’re both ex-spec-ops, though he’s not dumb enough to ask - and then Clint and Bucky commiserate over being stuck in Landstuhl too.

The trip isn’t long enough, because Clint is disappointed when they pull up in front of the building. He’s late, but that’s Natasha’s fault and as his boss she’s required to excuse him.

Steve and Bucky look at the sign on the building, but Steve’s the one who asks, “You work in private security?”

“...yes?” Clint says.

There’s a long silence. Clint is the one who breaks it. “I was a sniper, you know. A good one.”

“I’m sure,” Steve says, very earnestly.

“So not a hand-to-hand specialist, then,” Bucky says at the same time.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that,” Clint tells him, though not without humour. “Thanks for the ride, Steve. I really appreciate it.”

He pushes himself out of the car, and then looks up when Bucky does the same, his door hanging open between them.

“Sorry. That was kinda offensive,” Bucky says.

“My ego isn’t that fragile,” Clint replies. “Otherwise I’d probably be pretty butthurt over you playing bodyguard for the last couple of weeks.”

“‘Butthurt’,” Bucky echoes. His expression is objectively pretty funny.

“Yeah. But I’m not, so it’s cool,” Clint shrugs. “Thanks again. And, you know, you don’t need to keep hanging out in the cold. Promise I won’t get killed.”

“I know I don’t need to,” Bucky replies. He hangs his arm over the door between them, leaning his body into it, and Clint tries not to notice that they’re of a height in a really nice way. “Doesn’t mean I’m gonna stop.”

“Okay,” Clint replies, like a dumbass. The whole ‘not noticing’ thing isn’t working out so well for him. Also, Bucky smells really good, and he’s looking Clint dead in the eye all serious and protective.

“I hate to interrupt, boys, but this is technically a no parking zone,” Steve says from inside the car. Clint had forgotten he was there.

“Shut up, Stevie,” Bucky replies, which is when Clint leans across to kiss him. It’s just a brief brush of lips, a bit off-centre, and Clint has a moment to experience some impressive pre-regret (the kind that will turn to actual regret when Bucky announces that he’s straight and possibly pushes Clint into traffic) before Bucky’s hand rises to his chin and manoeuvres him so they’re kissing properly.

It’s good. It’s pretty great, actually.

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” Bucky says, when they break apart. “You’re going to be late.”

“I’m so late,” Clint agrees a touch breathlessly, and kisses him once more before he bolts for the front door of the building.

He struggles to shake the grin for most of the day, but he figures he deserves it. He got beaten up by the Bratva for this.

[maybeishouldwritesomething]

Another Thor/Bruce fic! Thank you again for the support, you guys are amazing. I’m working on a Science Bros too, so hopefully it should be up in the next few days.

Pairing: Bruce Banner/Thor

Word Count: 1794

Warnings: Brief mentions of injury, but nothing detailed.

When two people shared a connection, there was said to be a spark between them. It was an old Earth expression, a quaint little saying and nothing more to it. Lately Bruce had noticed a spark between himself and Thor. Literally. Bruce had had more shocks than he’d have liked from the seemingly unwitting Asgardian. 

The first time it had happened, he had been passing Thor a mug of coffee. Their fingers had brushed and Bruce felt a sharp jolt of electricity. He pulled his hand back in surprise.

“Static,” he murmured, shaking his hand to get rid of the throbbing feeling surging in his fingers. Thor just looked at him over his coffee.

The next time it happened, Bruce had been in his lab working when Thor came in. He’d said he needed to speak to Tony, and Bruce had told him he was out, but he was welcome to wait until he came back. Before long, Thor had moved closer to see what Bruce was doing, and Bruce’s whole body suddenly felt as if it was humming. He caught a glimpse of himself in the side of a piece of equipment. His hair was standing on end, like he’d been attacked with a balloon. He chalked it up to the humidity in the room, making a mental note to fix the thermostat later.

Over the weeks, Bruce began to notice a pattern emerging. Anytime he was around Thor, he’d end up with another unexplained injury, always some kind of shock. He only started to become really concerned about it after one particularly nasty incident when they had been sitting together in the uppermost floor of the Avengers Tower one lazy afternoon. Thor was regaling the group with one of his many stories, and he’d even managed to make Bruce laugh with this one. Not his usual little breathy sound, but a real laugh. Bruce had no time to see what was coming before he was sent flying halfway across the room with what was definitely the biggest shock so far. He wasn’t hurt, thankfully, but it took a lot of deep breathing to stop the situation from getting much worse.

Bruce had let the whole thing slide as an unfortunate accident. There was no real harm done, these things happened. They didn’t to normal people, but Bruce wouldn’t have exactly considered himself normal. Or Thor, for that matter. It wasn’t until he got out of the shower that night that he noticed it. Streaks of pale lines across his shoulder, like lightning. Bruce wasn’t the most superstitious, but he did live in a world where gods of legend existed, and this…this felt like an omen. He quickly pulled a shirt on, trying not to think about it, but he couldn’t help the anxiety rising in him. Was this Thor’s not so subtle way of telling Bruce he didn’t like him? Because at this rate, he really would prefer that Thor would just talk, rather than trying to kill him. Occasionally he would perform little tricks with his lightning for the others if the mood suited him, but he usually saved his magic for battle. Bruce certainly wasn’t asking to be shocked senseless, so then what had he done to piss off the God of Thunder?

He ran it past Tony the next day, and Tony laughed in his face. Was almost doubled over, in fact.

Bruce pulled a face. “Look, if you’re just going to laugh at me, I’ll go elsewhere-“

“No, no, no. I’m sorry, I’ll stop. It’s just-” Tony tried to compose myself. He’d stopped laughing, but that shit-eating grin was still on his face. “You don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?”

“You two have a spark,” Tony told him, as if it was the funniest thing in the world.

“I know, that’s what I’ve been telling you, he’s been shocking me for weeks.”

Tony rolled his eyes. It was honestly scary to him how oblivious Bruce could be at times.

“And look-” Bruce pulled at the collar of his shirt to show the lines across his shoulder that showed no sign of disappearing. Tony let out a low whistle.

“What do I do about it?”

“I told you, it’s a spark. I don’t mean literally, although this is one of the rare occasions where that expression can be used literally. He likes you.”

Bruce looked at Tony as if he was insane, and proceeded to tell him so. “Thor doesn’t- That’s crazy, why would you-”

Tony shrugged. “Fine, don’t believe me. But you two need to figure this out before the next one puts you through a window. And I just got them replaced after the wormhole, thank you very much.”

This was insane. Thor didn’t like him. Tony was just messing with him. Although…Thor’s last relationship with a human had been Jane Foster. She was a scientist, so maybe it wasn’t all that weird- wait, relationship? How did he jump that far ahead? He and Thor were friends and that was it, nothing more. Although Bruce couldn’t help but feel a little pang at that. He really did like Thor, probably more than he should. Definitely more than he should. Bruce sighed. No more speculation, it was only serving to drive his anxiety further up the walls. He needed to speak to Thor. He found him alone in the living area of the Tower, stretched out on a couch, enjoying a rare moment of quiet. Bruce cleared his throat to announce himself, not wanting to startle him for fear of being flung through a wall.

Thor turned around, face lighting up when he saw who it was. “Ah, Banner, hello.”

“Hi, can we talk?”

Thor stood up, smile fading as he saw the look on Bruce’s face. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, it’s um.” Bruce trailed off when his eyes caught the scorched patches on the couch Thor had been sitting on. They definitely weren’t there a second ago. Great, as if this wasn’t already terrifying. He tried to remain calm. This was hard enough without the Other Guy making an entrance.

“Are we, uh, good?” he asked.

Thor frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“Alright, look. Lately, we’ve uh…being having…incidents.” Bruce was not exactly the greatest at being clear on what he meant most of the time, but even for him, this was ridiculous.

“Incidents?”

“Yeah, you…you haven’t noticed?”

Thor shook his head. “Can you describe these incidents?”

“Well, at first I thought they were accidents, you know, with you having your own personal electrical current. But then I noticed that it was just me they were happening to, so I talked to Tony about it and he said we have a spark.”

“A spark?”

“You really haven’t noticed? You’ve been shocking me left and right for weeks, I thought I’d made you mad and this was your way of telling me.”

“You thought I was angry with you?” Thor asked, and if Bruce didn’t know any better, he’d say he was getting a little pink around the ears.

“I didn’t really have anything to go on. I mean, you’ve been as pleasant as always with me, but the shocks got me thinking I’d done something and you weren’t telling me. Look at this.” Bruce tugged at his shirt. “Should I be worried about this? At least give me a chance to apologise for whatever I did before you melt me.”

Thor couldn’t help it. Bruce looked so genuinely concerned that he was trying to kill him that he burst out laughing. Bruce wasn’t impressed.

“Great, first Tony, now you. Is there something I’m missing here? Because if this some kind of joke you two have got going on behind my back, it’s really not funny-”

Thor held up his hands, trying to regain his composure.

“There is no joke, I promise,” he said sincerely.

“Well then, what is it?”

Thor sat down. “Sit,” he said simply, and Bruce did as he was told. “I was hoping that I could avoid this, but fate has been meddling I see. My powers are something that I control at will as you know, but sometimes…they have a life of their own, depending on strong my emotions are. Sort of like you and-”

“Uh-huh, go on.”

“Right, well, for example, when I’m angry, I can cause power outages just from touching something electrical.”

“Like a poltergeist,” Bruce mused, and Thor tilted his head with a frown.

“Poltergeist?”

“Never mind, I’ll explain later. Go on.”

“And if I’m particularly…” Thor was struggling. “…enamoured, shall we say, with a person, my lightning tends to hone in on them. The scars will fade on their own in time, don’t worry about that.”

Bruce was desperately trying to process the information being thrown at him. “Enamoured? Did you just say enamoured?”

Thor held up a hand. “Let me finish. The last person I had this happen with was Jane. It got so out of hand that I almost set her laboratory on fire before I finally confessed.”

He laughed, as if he were remembering a fond memory and not what sounded like almost manslaughter to Bruce. Maybe that was a fond memory for Thor, he thought. Asgardians were hard to understand.

“I though perhaps it would go away on its own, but well, it proved stubborn, and here we are.”

“So what are you saying?” Bruce dared to ask.

“I’m saying that I need to tell that I’m fond of you before I end up accidentally killing you.”

Bruce huffed a laugh. “That’s probably the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.” He fidgeted, unsure as to what to say. “What happens now?”

Thor leaned in and kissed Bruce. The humming feeling was back, but this time it felt comforting, and Bruce didn’t pull away. He dared to pull Thor closer, kissing him harder, as if he could make up for all the time lost in one little moment.

“Oh, for God’s sake, I give you people rooms out of the goodness of my heart,” came Tony’s voice from across the room. “The least you can do is use them and save me my eyesight.”

Bruce jumped, pulling away from Thor too quickly and almost knocking their heads together.

“This is the least you deserve after the stories of your drunken escapades you’ve made me sit through,” Bruce shot back, a little breathless.

Tony just smiled. “Fair point, I’ll let you off this one time. You kids have fun.”

Bruce didn’t dare turn back to Thor until he was certain the elevator door had slid shut with Tony safely behind it.

“Do me a favour?” he asked, resting his forehead against Thor’s. “No more trying to kill me with lightning.”

Thor just laughed. “No promises.”

(You can also find this fic on AO3 here. Thank you for reading!)

[stoffelees]

Deserving of Acceptance: Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Title: Going for a Ride

Rating: Teen and Up

Chapter Warnings: None

Word Count: 1868

Summary: Cars are not for the faint of soul and Sans gets a couch to crash on.

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Daya had spent the remainder of her shift just watching the skeleton hunched in the corner playing on his phone and thinking about how little she really knew. She had only just learned what his home life was like, what else had she been ignorant to? It never occurred to her how monsters were different, she just knew they were. People spoke of their violent nature and tended to steer clear of them rather than learn. Sans had been the only monster to open up to her. Sure, she had asked him all sorts of questions, but had she really learned anything about their culture?

Her co-worker, an older woman, arrived right on time to take over for the evening. It was only three in the afternoon and thankfully her six-hour shift was all she had planned to do today, she had a feeling giving Sans a place to stay was going to be a handful. The woman chuckled when she spotted the monster, having long since passed the point of being surprised to see him when Daya was on shift.

Signaling Sans to follow her, Daya kept her good-bye short this time and waved to her co-worker before setting out to her vehicle behind the shop. His silence was worrisome but nothing she hadn’t dealt with before. However, the shocked look on his face when she unlocked her car door was new. The skeleton had frozen in place and the lights in his eyes were gone, giving him quite the eerie look.

“Sans? Have you ever been in a car before?” concern laced her voice.

The white points in his sockets returned and drifted to her before focusing on the car again. “no...”

Making her way back over to him she placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, “Alright, well we can do this, don’t worry. We can take it one step at a time, and it’s a short trip back to my apartment.” Eye lights flicked back to her as she opened the passenger side door for him. The monster slid in without issue and she closed the door before settling into the driver’s side. Turning the key brought the engine to life and inadvertently also resulted in a flash of color from her friend. She could see the ring of red and yellow flaring in his left eye.

“It’s okay Sans, just roll down the window, maybe some fresh air will help you calm down?”

His skull slowly turned toward her and his white pupils returned before raising a brow bone. “i’m sorry, what?”

“The little button on the side of the door, if you push it the window goes down and if you pull it up the window goes back up.” Her hand gestured to the single button on his door as opposed to the several on her own.

“and the rolling part is involved where?” Already his phalanges were toying with the button, causing the window to repeatedly move up and down.

“Oh, that’s just an old saying. You used to have to hand crank the windows to open or close them.”

“so why wouldn’t you say ‘crank’ the window?” That familiar grin was returning.

“Come to think of it, I don’t really know.”

“alright, i guess i can roll with it.” That was it, that was why he was grinning. Daya put her face in her hands and groaned. At least he didn’t seem as worried as before.

Driving as slow as she could without attracting the ire of fellow drivers, she tried to focus on not having any kind of accident. The last thing she wanted was to have Sans swear off motor vehicles because of her.

About half way through the trip and all had been going well until Sans found the radio. Presently the CD player was mocking her, sticking out an old mix she had made in high school like some silly tongue and then sucking it back in before she could snatch it and stow it away. He had already scanned through all the local stations twice, not stopping more than a few seconds on each one. The level of output and direction of the air conditioner and defrost had been sufficiently altered. But as long as he was okay she wasn’t going to let it bother her. That is until she started feeling really warm.

“Oh my god Sans! Did you turn on the seat warmer?!”

“i don’t know, is that what the button over here is?” Bony hand directing near her seatbelt buckle.

“Yes!” She let a fit of giggles escape, “it’s the middle of summer! You use those in winter to stay warm.” The only response she got was a shrug. “Wait, can you feel cold and warmth? I mean, you’re always wearing that jacket even in the heat.”

He let out a guffaw, “yeah, I can feel temperature changes. don’t really bother me though.”

The car pulled into a parking lot shadowed by a plain brick building. “We’re here!” She was probably more excited than she should have been. Part of that was due to being done with Sans’ antics in the car, but additionally she hoped her positivity would keep Sans’ negativity at bay. Daya got out and locked her car as Sans followed closely behind.

“you sure you want your neighbors seeing a monster come to your place?” He was glancing over his shoulder, taking in their surroundings. Knowing him, he was probably keeping an eye out for danger.

“Everyone keeps to themselves here. I’ve never had a problem with any of my neighbors. Besides, I’m not ashamed. I invited a friend over and it shouldn’t matter if they’re monster or human.”

“heh, yea, you keep telling yourself that dollface.” His shoulders came up and his skull seemed to sink into his jacket.

Climbing the first flight of stairs, Sans was beginning to drag behind as they were halfway up the second flight. “geez, what floor do you live on? i’m not exactly an athlete.”

“I’m on the third floor. Come on, it’s not that bad, and maybe the exercise would be good for you.”

“you sound like my bro.” There was no malice in his words, but they caused her to pause. Just the thought of being compared to the violent skeleton made her queasy.

Finishing the trip up, she fidgeted with her keys while he caught up. He was audibly huffing and puffing, but to his credit he didn’t make any other comments about the climb. Unlocking the door, she pushed it open and entered. Keys and purse were set down on their end table home and she turned to check on Sans.

The monster was standing in the doorway staring at the living room. “Well, come on in. You’re letting the cold air out. I’m not going to pay to cool off the whole neighborhood, silly.” He startled slightly and stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

Daya’s apartment was small but adequate. It was a simple one bedroom, one bathroom, galley kitchen and sitting area. The tile extended out enough for a small table and pair of chairs to be placed next to the kitchen, and the living room was simple enough. A couch facing a television and some small knick-knacks and paintings decorated the area. The room radiated of warm reds and soft golds. But with an easy glance, one could tell her pride and joy was her book collection. A large bookshelf practically engulfed the wall behind the couch that divided the sitting area and the bedroom.

She smiled as he drifted in the direction of her books. “You’re more than welcome to read any of these. I have a pretty varied collection. All sorts of stories from fantasy to historical fiction.”

“i bet humans have gotten real good at that ‘historical fiction’ part.” She could sense a slight bite in what he said; it was a bit sobering.

Looking down at her shoes she felt her voice come out quieter than usual, “Were you there? When humans locked monsters underground?”

The skeleton turned back to face her before deciding the couch was a better option and flopped down. “naw. that was over 400 years ago, i’m only 28. my... pops was.”

Joining him on the couch, her curiosity was getting the better of her. “I’ve never heard you talk about your parents before. What were they like?”

Hunched in on himself, he always looked so small when he did that, and his hands were fidgeting as he spoke. “i don’t really like talking about him. let’s just say the boss was supposed to be his protégé and i was the mistake. he died when i was young so i took care of paps the best i could.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear about that.”

“don’t be. he was an asshole.”

The previously crestfallen look on her face was replaced with surprise, but she wasn’t going to push the subject. “So he was over 400 years old when he died? How long can monsters live?”

Sans laughed, “i just got here and you’re ready to grill me?”

“I’m sorry; I can go make an early dinner or something if you need time to yourself?” She always felt bad when she asked too many questions. Her father had taught her to ask everything that came to mind, but she had to tone it down a bit around others.

“naw, stay.” He sighed before continuing, “different kinds of monsters can live for different amounts. a moldsmal usually only lasts a few years. boss monsters, like king asgore, well they actually don’t age unless they have a child. so they theoretically could live forever i guess. me? i don’t actually know. sure my pops was a few centuries, but who knows if that was normal. i’ve never known any other skeleton monsters. my bro and i are the last i assume.”

“Wow, functionally extinct.” She started to lose herself in thought.

“what’d you call me? i’m still mostly functional, i just like to sleep a lot.” A puzzled look swept across his features.

She could only laugh, “No, it means when a species only has a few individuals left and they can’t viably breed. That makes them functionally extinct rather than just extinct.”

“right...”

“Okay, dinner. Do you have a particular taste for anything?” Steering away from the awkward pause as best as she could, she got up and headed for the kitchen.

“whatever you make is fine. shit, you don’t have to feed me. i’m fine for a few days.” Already he was sprawled across the couch and staring at the blank T.V.

“I am not going to let you starve!” How long could he go without food and still be okay? Why would he even consider it?

A grunt of acknowledgment was all she got.

By the time she was done preparing a simple meal of mac ‘n cheese she could hear soft snores coming from the couch. Perhaps it would be better to let him sleep through the night. Storing the meal for later she did her best to creep off to her own room and quietly shut the door. Tomorrow was a new day.

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