#and why would i throw put perfectly good cardboard and have to buy more?

[linogram]

and all the advice assumes that i have clothes strewn abt my room and trash all over the place and that if i pick up just those things, my room will be like 90% cleaner, when i have those things under control and the next advice is just "everything needs a place" which is good in theory, but doesnt help me when to me "on top of the clutter of my desk" = "a place"

every time i get the motivation to clean my room im immediately reminded of how i just dont have enough storage space for all my stuff and then i lose the motivation

[delicrieux]

☆ﾐ 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚢 “𝚘𝚑”

PART 10: BIG DICK IS BACK IN TOWN

y/n is back in brooklyn for the holidays. thinking that a stream will make her feel less homesick for cali, she starts working on her famously titled hentai.free.srv. what was supposed to be a relaxing stream turns into a special delivery about two hours in.

─── corpse husband x reader ─── soc. media + written fiction! ─── word count: 2.2k ─── ❥ req: Here's one... You know those apps for delivery like Domino's or whatnot... What if reader is streaming Among Us with Corpse, and reader mentions they're hungry and Corpse offers to order them food, and readers like no no it's fine... Then there's delivery at the door (Corpse ordered beforehand) 

author’s note: fucky format is also back in town baby!!! also if you find any mistakes - no u didnt <3 thank u everyone for enjoying this story sm i literally cant believe how feral yall going strawberry cow was a nuclear explosion im still recovering tbh. got an ask a while ago and decided to incorporate it into myso. happy holidays everyone! myso will continue on monday!

ultimate masterlist.  ҉  myso masterlist   ҉   previous.  ҉   next.

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Indeed, being soft on any social media platform was the biggest disgrace and needed to be eliminated post haste. Moreover, it was a slippery slope - once you start flooding your timeline with cute imagery and heart emojis, what will stop you from posting inspirational Facebook quotes? Disgusting. If Rae were here, she would chide you (not you thinking about her as if she’s dead or something). For once in your life, you feel like you deserve it. 

Alas, you hope this little chaos you’ve caused is enough to throw everyone off. The stans, especially. You know the hashtags, you’ve seen ARMY scourging for info online with the same fervor and ruthlessness 1 Direction fans hacked airport security cameras just to spy on the boys. If you had any dirty secrets online, they are out to the public now - thankfully, besides the Harry Styles stan account (with edits and all), you have nothing. Though, now that you think about it, exposed nudes would have been better than your Punk!Harry edit receiving almost a million views. God, your life’s a fucking mess.

Your fans aren’t the only ones out for info - you, too, are trying to decipher Rae’s message. Code: Barbecue Sauce. The two of you had come up with it roughly two years ago, around the same time when you promised that if you didn’t find significant others by the time you’re 40, you’ll just marry each other. It was one of the many rules found in your friendship codex. Barbecue Sauce signifies information - an exchange of information. And depending on how it ends or begins (”So I’m sitting there” alludes to Rae, “On my titties” alludes to you), secret data on that person is given away, usually free of charge. 

But why? And to whom did Rae give away what? You had pestered her mercilessly and even sent some voice messages where you were crying. You were only crying because of a video of a grandpa smiling you saw on TikTok, but you are a snake, and so you put those tears to good use. If streaming doesn’t work out, you’ll just become an actress. Hollywood would love you. Your PR firm sure as fuck wouldn’t, though.

Rae was having none of it. She said you’ll figure it out eventually. Told you to channel your superior puzzle skills. You were quick to remind her that you can barely count to ten without having an aneurysm. Oddly serious, she admitted that she worries for you sometimes. Why only sometimes?! you demanded. She merely sighed. uttering under her breath something that sounded closely to “Boke.”

You leave her for barely a week and she’s already neck deep in the gay volleyball anime, hoodie and cardboard cutout and everything. Your life is falling apart.

But Brooklyn is nice. It had snowed when you stepped off of the plane. Thousands of snowflakes sprinkling into your hair, dotting your cheeks and nose. You missed this sight back in Cali. You missed your parents, too. 

Home cooked meals, old sweaters, your old room and about 40GB worth of old high school pictures on your computer. You went through them all one night. Some were stomach churning, cringe inducing nightmares. You were especially fond of those. Texted some of your friends that were still in Brooklyn, met up, decided to bake. Bad idea, Rae was the resident chef back in Cali. Besides laughing till your stomach hurt, and almost burning down your kitchen, nothing all that significant happened. Somewhere down the line, at about 3 am, half-way through a cheesy rom-com you had the overwhelming urge to text Corpse.

That’s where the problems really started. God, you missed California, missed being in the same timezone with a guy you hadn’t even met yet, how embarrassing is that?! You missed skating around and taking pictures of the beach in the setting sun, sending it to him, silently wishing he was with you to admire the view. 

You really want to call him. And to hang out with him. But for some reason, the thought of that springs up immediate anxiety and you shy away from asking. Him sending you cute good morning texts doesn’t help, either. Maybe it’s better he doesn’t know that you’re a blushing, stuttering mess each time you read “baby”. 

Late evening. Your stream is already set up, people are slowly trickling in and you greet them with a grin and a soft “Hello! Hi hi!”. You did your best to make your room a perfectly chaotic backdrop - led lights, an embarrassing amount of anime merch and plushies. You always try to balance out your weeb side by dressing hot as fuck for your streams - today’s inspiration just so happens to be egirls. Mostly because you watched one too many egirl make-up tutorials on TikTok, and also because you’ve been listening to Corpse’s song all day.

Yeah, no, who are you kidding, you dressed up this way because you were hoping Corpse was watching your stream. You didn’t forget your cat headphones, either. You know he likes them. You want to make him suffer. Perhaps then, finally, he will ask you out, so you wouldn’t have to.

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“I feel like,” You start when you put away your phone, staring idly at the chat, “I feel like I need a new name for you guys. Calling you guys after two years of streaming is just... weird, no? I also don’t respect men so I don’t want to call you guys. Like, so many creator’s have, like, a name for their fans. Uhm, Cody Ko has the chodesters, Kurtis Conner has, uh, folks? Kurtis Town? Citizens! Markiplier has mommy issues--” You can’t help snorting, “So, I’ve been, like, thinking - I know, shocking! - so I was thinking I’m gonna name you cockroaches. Because you’re grimy little shits impossible to kill. And also then I can use the legendary Minaj meme ROACHES!”

Your stream enthusiastically echoes ROACHES, making the chat swim. Yes, if anyone would enjoy such a name, it would be your audience. You’re as equally proud as you are disturbed.

“Well, anyway.” Leaning back into your chair, you throw your arms out with a bright grin, “Big dick is back in town, baby! If you noticed the backdrops different, it’s cuz I’m in Brooklyn now. Don’t ask me when I will return to Always Sunny, I don’t plan that far ahead.”

While Minecraft boots up, you decide to answer a few questions.

r u dating sykkuno?

You want to smack your head into the keyboard, but as it is, you can’t exactly afford a new one, so you refrain, “No, Sykkuno and I are not dating, we are just good friends. Uhm, I’m not sure how much I’ll have to repeat this, but, we really aren’t, so if the roaches could chill - Oh my God, that sounds so stupid, I love it - uh, yeah, if the roaches could chill that’d be great.”

the roaches lmao sounds like we’re a sports team

“Oh shit, yeah it does, uh-- maybe I can make like, jerseys or something. That’d be cool, I think.”

how disappointed are your parents with the way your life turned out?

“My parents are actually not disappointed at all!” You say with a cute little smile, “Uhm, they’re both really proud, actually. They’re glad I found something I love doing and made a job outta it. Dad finds my Youtube videos endearing. Yes, they watch pretty much all of my videos, unless I explicitly tell them not to. And yeah, with all the fucks and thirsting for anime characters. Uhm, it was very embarrassing at first, but I mean, after a while, shame just...doesn’t exist anymore, I guess? Funny thing about my parents, actually, when they watch my videos-” You eye catches a comment, “Oh! No, they only watch my Youtube videos. They don’t know how to use Twitter, thank God. Uhm, anyway-- when they hear a name they don’t know, like, I dunno, Dabi, or something, they google--” You’re grinning by now, eyes crinkling, giggling softly, “--who that is, and buy me like, merch and stuff. It’s really cute. 

can i be adopted by ur parents plz

will you and corpse ever collab?!

You were about to answer, though the man of the hour himself decides to do it for you.

Corpse_Husband: yes.

Okay, not to say your heart skipped a beat, but it totally did. With a pleased smile, you nod, like one of those bobble head toys sold at the dollar store. The motion is oddly reminiscent of Sykkuno’s own nod. Perhaps you had picked it up from him. The chat seems to notice.

pack it up, sykkuno

More questions pile about this mysterious collab you and Corpse are planning. Yeah, you’d like to hear more about it, too, since he single highhandedly decided one was happening right now. Corpse remains silent. Fine, keep your secrets. 

“Okay, guys, oh, I mean, roaches, Oh my God--” You’re covering your mouth, giggling, “-calling all roaches, calling all roaches, calm down. Everyone grab a snack and a blanket I’m turning up the music volume so we can all chill. Entering chill zone. Entering chill zone. Roaches, prepare.”

we are prepared

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An hour or so passes and you grow hungry. It shows with the amount of cakes you had baked in your server. Currently, you find yourself throwing eggs at the wall of one of the renovated houses, your face scrunched in concentration and slight frustration. 24 of the 50 eggs have been wasted. “What’s a girl gotta do to get some chicks around here?” you had uttered under your breath, until, finally, a screech - the egg finally spawns a mob. Your mouth falls open, “Aww, look!” You approach it, so small, walking in zigzags beside you, “It’s a baby chicken! Die, bitch.” The baby chicken is no more as you swing your bedazzled (you have mods) diamond sword. You’re cackling by the time the dust settles.

y/n is a child murderer

“Roaches,” You address your fan-base, spurring another fit of laughter - you can’t get over the name, “I think I’m like, forgetting that eating in Minecraft won’t actually make less hungry in real life.”

take a break and go eat queen <3

“Fuck no, we starve and die like men. Now I actually really need another chicken.”

Another twenty minutes trickle by and you’re trying to lure back a panda from the jungle when there’s a knock on your bedroom’s door. Whipping your head to the side, you slide down your headphones. At the same time, your mom pokes her head through the ajar door, “MOM!” You scream, “Get OUT of my room I’m playing Minecraft!” But your yell has no actual bite to it, as you don’t manage to hide your smile. Your mom laughs, doing some sort of sign language and motioning for you to follow her with her head. That or it’s some sort of performative dance. 

“I’m live right now,” You tell her, pointing at your screen. She knows this already, though, “do you want to say hi?” 

The roaches spam the chat with friendly hellos. You mom, quite impatient now, waves you over. 

“Sorry, roaches, mom needs something. Be back in a bit!”

Stopping the stream, you rush out of your seat and pleased she slinks into the hallway. “What’s this about?”

“Your pizza came.”

“My what now?” You echo, confused.

“Domino’s. You ordered pizza?”

“What? No? I was busy with the stream, I never--”

Thankfully, you had managed to grab your phone from your room before you exited. You almost choke on spit once you read the messages.

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You decide that it’ll be impossible to stream after experiencing what you had just experienced. You tweet out a quick apology to the roaches (God, that fucking name) and say that you had a breakdown but you’re okay. That is as a close to the truth as you managed to muster. It’s a sad sight, chewing and crying; your mom winced when she saw your state - disheveled hair and rundown eyeliner and everything. “D’aww,” She had muttered, caressing the top of your head, “don’t cry my little raccoon.”

If anyone was ever to ask you where did your chaotic nature come from, you’d answer with my mom. To make yourself feel better, you took a selfie - duck face and peace sign and the horrible 2000′s angle. Sent it to Rae. 

looking hot, her message read. 

thanks, was all you replied with.

You couldn’t just leave things as they were. Once you calmed down, you wanted to text Corpse, but how would you follow up the ungodly caps lock and screeching? Impossible. An idea sprung to mind, one that was brave. Taking the first step.

Instead of sending a text, you sent a voice memo.

“Thank you for the pizza, it was delicious.”

You voice still sounded a bit raspy. His reply was instant. Your heart skipped a beat. He sent a voice memo back.

“Glad you liked it, baby.”

He was going to be the death of you.

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tags (in italics is those i couldn’t tag! make sure all’s ok w your settings!) : @littlebabysandboxburritos - @fairywriter-oracle - @tsukishimawh0re - @ofstarsanddreams - @bbecc-a - @annshit - @leahh19 - @letsloveimagines - @bellomi-clarke - @wineandionysus - @guiltydols - @onephootinfrontoftheother - @liamakorn - @thirstyfangirl - @lilysdaydreams - @pan-ini - @mxqicshxp - @tanchosanke - @yoshinorecommends - @flightsandfantasy - @liljennyx3 - @slashersdream - @unknown-and-invisible - @sinister-sleep - @fivedicksinatrenchcoat - @mercury–moon - @peterparkerspjsuit - @unstableye - @simonsbluee - @shinyshimaagain - @ppopty - @siriuslystupid - @crapimahuman - @ofthedewthesunlight - @mythicalamphitrite - @artsyally - @corpsesimpp - @corpsewhitetee - @corpse-husbandsimp - @hyp-oh-critical - @roses-and-grasses - @rhyrhy462 - @sparklylandflaplawyer - @charbkgo - @airwaveee - @creativedogs - @kaitlyn2907 - @loxbbg - @afuckingunicornn - @fleurmoon - @yeolliedokai - @truly-dionysus - @multi-fandom-central707

more tags are in the comments bcs tumblr only allows me to tag 50 people max 💙

[dcforts]

[day 1: advent calendar]

Dean couldn’t believe that he was going to be late.

Of all the times it could happen, it had to be on that day, on that snowy February night of his first date with Cas.

The universe or whoever wrote it really had it in for him.

It had taken him twenty seven hours, since Cas had invited him to dinner at his place, to choose what to wear, and only when he’d allowed himself to relax and think that he had no reason to be nervous - he was Dean Winchester after all, he could handle anything – it was with that renewed spirit and ten minutes to spare on his schedule, that he’d shot Cas a casual:

want me to bring something?

Except Cas had replied:

why, aren’t you already bringing flowers and chocolate? ;)

And Dean should have known. They’d been joking all day that this was going to be their first date date, after a series of - totally accidental, slightly awkward, definitely too short for Dean’s taste - encounters.

But maybe, it hadn’t been a joke? Of course Cas would want the whole traditional movie-like scenario. With his perfectly tussled hair, his Puss in Boots blue eyes, his incredible humor and endearing smile.

And Dean was screwing it up before it could even begin. He couldn’t even be trusted with the basics of dating.

Truth to be told, that wasn’t his fault. Dates were never really his thing, he was more the type you meet in a bar, have a great night with and don’t see ever again. But with Cas – he wanted things to be different.

When he read his text, he didn’t even reply, he just started panicking in the middle of his apartment and kept on panicking as he descended the stairs as fast as he could (he had to ran up them again cause he’d fogotten his car keys). Still panicking he put his car into gear, and still panicking made his way across town looking for anyone that could be open at this hour.

He’d already started listing excuses in his head when he finally spotted the lights of a Gas n’ Sip. The tires of the Impala squeaked as he pulled over. A quick stop, just a quick stop. He could do this.

He jumped out of his car and grabbed his phone.

Five minutes late.

As he ran through the glass doors of the store, he shot Cas a text with one hand that said: o  M wa y

“I’m looking for chocolate boxes?” he shouted in the empty place as he roamed around the aisles under the neon lights.

The cashier barely paied attention to him. They said: “Take a look in the basket here – there’s some stuff left over from Christmas.”

*

So, that’s how that had happened.

Okay, he was a little embarassed. Maybe, showing up empty handed would have been the better choice.

Cas had accepted the box and stared at it for a long moment. They were in the hallway and Dean had his heart in his throat. He was still wearing his jacket and he was aware that melted snow was running from the tip of his boots right on Cas’ soft carpet. Cas must have had the heater on full blast cause his cheeks were bright pink and Dean was starting to sweat. Or maybe he was just starting panicking again as he waited for his reaction.

“I don’t understand,” Cas said at the end, looking up at him and then tilting his head slightly on one side.

“It’s – it’s got chocolate inside.”

“I know. It’s an advent calendar.”

Dean let out a nervous laugh and brought one hand up to rub the back of his neck.

“Yeah – sorry,” he said, “That’s all they had at the store. And no flowers. But hey,” he took a step forward to point at something printed on the box, “see? Not expired. I checked,” he pointed out.

Cas’ face melted into an amused smile that had him relax a bit, because at least he seemed that he wasn’t gonna throw him out right away or just think of him as The Worst. “And also, the little angels on it are kinda cute, aren’t they?”

Cas nodded. Actually, Cas held the box against his chest with one arm as if it wasn’t made out of cheap cardboard and even cheaper chocolate and Dean hadn’t paied 2$ for it and said: “Thank you, Dean. I like it very much,” he smiled. “Even if I was only joking earlier. You know that, right?”

Dean didn’t have an answer to that, but the hundreds of expressions that surely crossed his face must have been enough for Cas, who huffed a laugh and added, “Having you here it’s more than enough,” brushing his arm with one hand and pushing Dean’s brain to a forced reboot. “Do you want to take off your jacket? I can get you a drink,” he said, before walking down the hallway and disappearing in the room at the end.

Only then Dean realized that his mouth was hanging open.

*

Now, Dean would have happily liked to forget all about that, except Cas put the calendar on display right next to the tv and really actually opened one little window every day for the following twenty five days, and Dean knew that for a fact because after that night, he kind of became a regular visitor.

Until only one window remained.

That night they were watching a movie, huddled together under a pile of blankets, when Cas stood up during commercials, grabbed the calendar and made his way back to the couch. “It’s the last one,” he said, caressing reverently the unopened little square.

Dean groaned. “Thank God. I don’t wanna see that thing ever again.”

“I happen to like it.”

“You should have thrown it away."

Cas frowned at him. “It was a gift. You keep those.”

“I bought it when i was in full panic mode, Cas. I would never have bought you something like that if I’d been in my right mind.”

Cas let him talk as he pried open the paper that trapped the chocolate. He took out the little square and held it towards Dean’s mouth. “Bite?” he offered, like Dean could ever resist a request from him. He took a bite and then watched Cas popping the other half into his mouth.

“I thought it was a good omen.” Cas argued then, “That we would have lasted at least twenty five days. And we did.”

He shrugged, smiling and settled once again against Dean’s chest with an arm thrown across his middle. Dean sighed and kissed the top of his head.

“Well, if that’s the case, then get me my phone right now cause I’m buying them in bulk.”

Cas huffed a laugh and tightened his grip.

joining @bend-me-shape-me in this! 

[jimlingss]

Sugar and Coffee [9]

Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 9.5 OR Chapter 10

➜ Words: 3.9k

➜ Genres: 99.5% Fluff, 0.5% Angst, Pâtisserie school!AU

➜ Summary: It isn't hard to be a pâtisserie chef, but it's not a piece of cake either. It seems like for you in particular, life keeps throwing in one wrench after another. It always finds ways to make your sweets bitter. The cherry on top is Jeon Jungkook — a rival with a sensitive sweet tooth who always finds ways to complain about you.

➜ Warnings: Heavy mentions of sexual themes.

cr.

Fuck romance.   That shit is overrated anyway. Everywhere you look, there’s love here and there — in television shows, movies, advertisements, short stories, novels. But it hits you like a train, like a light switch that finally turned on in your head, you don’t need love to be happy. You don’t need someone else. You’re perfectly content with being by yourself for the rest of your life. You’ll never have to shackle yourself down or compromise again. It’s the ultimate freedom.    “I approve this message.” Aeri nods several times.   “Right?!” You wipe away the cheeto dust that’s accidentally sprinkled on the pouch you call your stomach. Your sweater’s ridden up as you’re slumped over her bed. “Like do people even realize that almost half of marriages end in divorce?”   “Exactly.”   “Love? It’s all trash feelings. It’s a distraction. Why should I have to work hard for years and then throw away my career and ambition to stay at home and have kids and then eventually be divorced and have to fight over custody?” There’s a bitter taste in your mouth and you shake your head.    “Men ain’t shit.”   “Hallelujah.” You don’t believe in love anymore, not when you’ve come to realize that you’ve been brainwashed for so long. Now, you were enlightened. But you just can’t believe you were so blinded and stupid in the first place. You were crying over a guy who wasn’t worth shit. “But where are you going?”   Aeri is dressed up in a summer outfit despite it being the end of February and still frigid outside. She looks at herself in the mirror, fixes her lipstick and then whirls around. “Oh, I’m just...meeting up with Hoseok.”   “You’re going on a date?”   A blush creeps up on her cheeks. “N-No. W-Well...he didn’t really call it that.”   “Oh my god, all my friends are leaving to the dark side.”   “Just for a little, love.” She winks at you and you can’t hate her when she’s so evidently excited. Aeri grabs her bag and smiles. “Well I shouldn’t make him wait. How do I look?”   “If Jung doesn’t cream himself, he doesn’t deserve you.”   The tips of her ears turn scarlet and she throws a pillow at you, making you laugh. You watch Aeri leave and then the silence settles. You sigh and get up to go to your only friend left.   Your fist pounds on his door for a good second until it opens.   “Jesus, try not to break it down, will you?”   “Hey, Yoongi,” you greet the person on the worn sofa, brushing past Jungkook. “Where’s the other guys?”   “Well, unlike you two, people actually have their own lives,” Jungkook mutters, flopping down to where his butt’s been imprinted into the couch seat and he resumes his game.   “Taehyung and Jimin are in class like good students,” Yoongi says, “and I’m only here cause Hope’s ditched me for a lame date apparently.”   “Same.”   “Is my room a refugee camp?” Jungkook glances over with his brow cocked. “Am I everyone’s second choice?”   “Get used to it,” Yoongi mutters, watching Jungkook play.   In the meanwhile, you walk over to Jungkook’s bed that’s sloppily made with the covers wrinkled, but at least the effort shows. You’re about to flop down and maybe roll over to take a nap, but then you pause, gawking at his collection of IU merchandise.   You’ve seen it before, but you realize you’ve never gotten a good look. There are posters of her from when she debuted in 2008 until the most recent comeback lining the corner of his wall like a small shrine. And over his bed is a shelf of albums and her lightstick. “Wow, you have a lot of her stuff. Must’ve costed a fortune.”   It occurs to you that he even had a substantial amount of IU things in his room at his parent’s home — little things that you didn’t pay mind to at the time — a sweater that was on a hook, more albums, some DVD sets, posters of her in her dramas.   Your comment seems to trigger a reaction from him. Jungkook pauses the game and those bambi eyes of his are rounded. He’s defensive. “What?”   “He’s got a massive hard on for her,” Yoongi snickers.   “Don’t talk about Jieun like that.”   You steal a glimpse of Jungkook, rather puzzled over his hobby. You just never expected Jeon Jungkook to have an idol, or rather, celebrity crush. “Why do you like her so much?”    He looks like he doesn’t even know where to start. “She’s just so...talented.”   “Oh, here we go again.” Yoongi rolls his eyes.   “Shut up,” Jungkook spits and then turns to answer your question seriously. “Her voice is beautiful, she’s good at singing, she can play guitar, and she’s really cute. She produces a lot of her music too. And her personality is great. She’s kind and funny. She donates a lot and stuff like that.” Jungkook shrugs. “I just like her.”   “Yeah I get it.” You nod while staring into IU’s eyes. “She’s pretty hot and cute. I’d do her if given the chance.”   His big nose wrinkles. “You act like you don’t have any celebrity crushes either.”   “True. If Song Joongki walked through the door right now, I would throw myself at his feet and he could do whatever he wants with me. He’s so handsome and such a sweet guy.” You sigh wistfully, wishing you had someone like that. “Do you have any celebrity crushes, Yoongi?”   “What’s her face from the Notebook.”   “Rachel McAdams?”   “Yeah, her.”   “Okay, I can see that. Jungkook!”   “What?”   “Would you smash or pass Rachel McAdams?”   He wrinkles his nose again. “Smash, I guess.”   “You guess.” A scoff comes from your throat. “What? You think you’re too good for her?”   “No. She’s just okay.”   “You’re wrong,” Yoongi deadpans, making you laugh.   You ask— “Okay, how about Sana from Twice? Smash or pass.”   “Smash.” — “Pass.”   Both you and Yoongi look at him with brows raised and you audibly gasp. “Dude, even I would smash her. Why would you pass? She’s cute and hot. Isn’t that your type?”   “No.” Jungkook snorts. “You don’t know my type.”   “Okay, so who would you smash then?”   “I don’t know. Maybe Gong Hyo Jin. That main girl from Master’s Sun.”   “Seriously?”   Jungkook glances over. “Why?”   “No, she’s pretty and really girl-next-door-ish. She’s just older, like twenty one years older than us.”   “Yeah, well, she’s good at what she does. She’s a good actress.”   Apparently being good at what they do is enough for Jungkook to want to bang them.   It’s a juvenile game, but a fun one. And it’s particularly interesting to hear both Yoongi and Jungkook’s responses. They’re unpredictable, unlike Taehyung who you’re sure would say yes to anything as long as it breathed, and Jimin who would be too shy to answer.   “How about people we know? Byun Baekhyun.”   “No.” Yoongi answers right away. “He’s so loud, he gives me a headache.”   “If you find him annoying, it makes for good hate sex.”   “Sure. But that’s still a no.”   “Okay then, who would you say yes to?”   “I don’t really swing that way but if I were to give it a shot, maybe Kim Jongin, just so he can teach me how he gets the ladies.”   “Word,” Jungkook mutters, concentrating on his game.   “Or maybe Lee Ken,” Yoongi points out. “His face looks good enough for me to spit on.”   “That’s disgusting.” Jungkook wears a distressed expression, looking at you as if to ask if you’re hearing the same things he is, but you merely laugh.   “Trust me, Ken’s a screamer. Jin told me about it when they shared a room during their first year.” You don’t notice how Jungkook pauses his game at the mention of your ex. He stares at you from across the room, on the edge of his seat, but you don’t have a trace of sadness on your features. “He’ll burst your eardrums. He’s a loud dude.”   “No thanks then.” Yoongi hums and bluntly considers, “Maybe Seokjin then. He’s pretty good looking. Looks spitable.”   You smile softly. “He’s too nice for you, Yoongi.”   You recall the faded memories with Seokjin, but they don’t make you feel so sad anymore. Your heart doesn’t ache as much. It makes you wonder if this is what it means to move on.   //   The cardboard box is in your lap as you study the small trinket in your hand before tossing it in. Everything that Jin ever gave to you, anything that’s associated with him, sweaters and tokens, key chains from amusement parks and stuffed animals he gave is thrown in the box or stuffed in a trash bag.   “I wonder if I’ll ever regret giving this stuff away.”   “Maybe, but you’ll always have new stuff and new memories and all that.”   “Yeah.” You remind yourself that you’re just making space for the new memories you’ll make — maybe with Aeri, maybe with Taehyung and Yoongi, Hoseok or Jimin, or Jungkook, or just by yourself.   Jungkook helps you put away the stuff, asking every once in a while if you wish to discard a certain object. You had asked for his help, afraid you would chicken out, and you promised him that in return, you would buy him a meal.   It seems like you owe a lot to Jungkook these days.   You donate it all before deleting all of Seokjin’s contact information on your phone. The pressed rose he once gave you on your first date and the first note he ever passed you in class is thrown away too.   Finally, you’ve severed your ties with Seokjin once and for all. It’s a bittersweet moment, like sugar mixed with coffee. Not quite sweet but not quite bitter.   The room seems emptier, but it’s welcoming.   “So where are you going to treat me?”   Suddenly, a light bulb flicks on inside your brain. Your entire face lights up and Jungkook notices, shifting on his spot in discomfort. It’s never good when you have ideas. “I think I know something better we can do.”   “Better than eating?”   “When was the last time you ate some pussy, Jeon?”   Jungkook chokes on his spit. He wheezes. And pounds his chest. Jungkook’s doe eyes look at you in horror like he’s been personally violated. “What?”   You repeat the question and he makes a strangled noise like he’s absolutely disgusted talking about this with you.    “Are you ten? Answer the question.”   “I don’t know! Maybe like over a year ago,” he rambles in a breath, “I dated a girl named Olivia for a few months but then it didn’t end up working out, so we broke up.”   You put your hand on your friend’s shoulder, squeezing securely while nodding once. “I think we're both deprived of some good pussy and cock.”   “So what do you propose?” He doesn’t know where you’re going with this.   “We go to a club and get ourselves some one-night stands.”   “That’s a terrible idea,” Jungkook spits without even needing to think. It’s instinctive. Impulsive. Like he knows not to squeeze a lemon into his eye, to not touch his crotch area after handling chili peppers, to not take toast out with a metal fork.   “Why not?” You shrug. “Some low-level commitment, no love or strings attached sex. We don’t need relationships to keep us satisfied and we don’t need to keep...you know handling it ourselves…” Your hand makes a rounded circle and you thrust back and forth obscenely, wiggling your brows, and it makes Jungkook groan.   “Oh my god. Please stop.”   “Listen, I’ll be the best wingwoman you’ve ever seen. I owe you, right? So I’ll find you the best fuck of life and then I’ll find my own. I see this as an absolute win-win.”   “It’ll be fun,” you insist and then pout when he continues to glare. “If you’re not coming, I’ll go by myself.”   “You’re not going by yourself,” Jungkook says.   “Why? You can’t tell me what to do. What are you, my dad?”   “Why? Because you’re an idiot. If I see you on the news, I’ll never be able to forgive myself….” You scoff and he continues. “—for being best friends with such an idiot…”   “Are you coming or not, jackass?”   Jungkook sighs.   //   It’s spontaneous. One moment he’s in your dorm room and the next blink, there are strobe lights flashing around, sweaty bodies, and deafening music. The alcohol on his tongue is certainly not enough to make him feel remotely sane. Jungkook didn’t even have enough time to drag Taehyung, Jimin, Hoseok or Yoongi over. You told him that it was a two man mission and any more people would only serve as a distraction to the main goal.   He’s not sure what you think that goal is. Jungkook isn’t really a one-night stand kind of guy.   “Hey!” You scream in his ear above the booming beat, making him wince. Your breath is stained with that tequila. “What do you think of her?!” You point to a girl dancing on the floor. “She’s got a great ass!”   He internally sighs. “Why don’t you go fuck her then?!”   “What?” Your voice strains above the music.   “Go fuck her!” He points.   You frown, lips lopsided. “You want to suck her?!”    Jungkook’s last two brain cells are about to die. “Never mind!”   “What?!”   He shakes his head and then you giggle.    Jungkook wonders if you’re just fucking with him, but before he can even react and perhaps punch you, you’re leaning over the bar, waving your arm towards the bartender. “Excuse me! Can we get two shots again?!”   Of all the shit you make him go through, he’s hoping you don’t get drunk. He can’t carry your ass back to the dorm. His back is too precious for your idiocy.   The two of you down the alcohol given to you and he shudders after. The taste is sharp and beginning to dull his senses. You can feel it too, how the world is spinning faster and that’s when you begin, clasping your hands together. “Alright!” You lean in close to talk into his ear, breath skimming against his neck. “Let’s get down to business, Jeon. Anyone caught your attention yet? How about her?”   You signal to a busty girl sitting alone at the bar. She’s in a tight, red dress with her lips matching the same crimson shade. Her black hair contrasts the boldness, cascading down her back in waves.    Jungkook looks and then glances at you. “Not re—Hey! Where are you going?!”   You strut with drunken confidence, sliding up to the girl with plans to be the best wingwoman on this planet. “Is it always this noisy?”   The girl turns her head and visibly relaxes to see another female and not a greasy dude. “Well, it’s a club. So yeah, it usually is.”   “I’m just not used to it.” You sigh and take a seat on the stool. “Know any good drinks?”   “Chardonnay’s pretty good,” she tells you with a friendly, open expression. “Usually wine sucks at bars, but it’s pretty good here.”   “I’ll order it then,” you muse and extend your arm with a grin. “I’m Y/N.”   “Hyuna.” She shakes your hand, red lips curling.   “Can you do me a favour, Hyuna?” You point across the bar to Jungkook. He’s frozen. Watching you in horror like you’re trying to seduce his mom or something.    You wish he’d wipe that stupid fucking expression off his face. It’s not helping. Frankly, it ruins his looks and for once he’s not in gym shorts or sweatpants. Jungkook’s dark hair is gelled back, black dress shirt and black trousers fitted to his muscular frame. It took so much nagging to get him dressed up, but it was worth it. If he didn’t look so dumb, you would be proud of your best friend.   “My poor friend here really likes you, but he’s pretty shy. If you said hi, I’m pretty sure it would make his entire night.”   Hyuna gazes at him and her smile only widens. “I’d be happy to help.”   “Great!” You slide off the stool, strutting back. Inside your head, you are screaming for joy that you actually pulled that shit off on the first try without getting a drink thrown in your face.    Maybe you should consider switching career paths.   Jungkook leans in close to you when you’re in earshot distance. “What the hell are y—”   “Jungkook, this is Hyuna. Hyuna, this is Jeon Jungkook.”   Her hips sway as she approaches him and she extends her hand. “Hi, nice to meet you.”   Jungkook shakes it with a polite smile, trying to diminish the awkwardness and attempting to be civil. In the meanwhile, Hyuna’s cat-eyes sweep him up and down, focusing on how his pants are tight around the meat of his thighs.   Her perfume fills your senses. “Nice to meet you.”   You stick your nose between them. “Jungkook goes to baking school, so he knows how to knead dough! He’s really good at it!” You grab his wrist, pulling it up in front of her eyes. “Look at his hands!”   “Oh god, shut up.” If there was enough light in the room, you’re sure his face would be beet red. But unbeknownst to you, Jungkook’s embarrassment is second-hand. He takes his own hand back and looks at the stranger. “I’m so sorry for her behaviour. She’s obviously drunk.”   “I’m not!” You’re just….happier. A little giddy. On an energy high.   Hyuna giggles and looks between you both. “Are you two togethe—”   “No.” Jungkook cuts her off and is truly thankful his relationship with you isn’t like that. He can barely handle you as a friend. Anything more would frankly be overwhelming. “We aren’t.”   “Oh, okay, cool. I thought this was going to be a threesome situation.”   Jungkook starts wheezing as you giggle. You put your hand on Jungkook’s shoulder and squeeze. “Oh no, he can’t keep up with me. Not for miles. Anyway, I’ll leave you two at it. I should probably go to the bathroom, gotta take a leak.”   “Y/N.” Jungkook calls after you. “Y/N! L/N Y/N!”   He shouts after you, tightening his fist and wondering if you actually have the outrageous audacity to leave him behind like this with some chick you picked up like you just went grocery shopping. But much to his dismay, you don’t even glance behind you. You dive into the sweaty bodies, disappearing from sight.   He groans internally and turns back to Hyuna.   She smiles at him. “So you bake?”   “Yeah, well, I’m in this pastry program.”   “Wow.” Her thick lashes bat. “That’s so impressive! So you can make whatever dessert you want?”   “Working towards it.” He smiles meekly. “Are you, uh, here by yourself?”   Jungkook has never done this before, never talked to a girl like this — but so far it’s not bad. Probably because it was her who was salvaging the conversation and lessening the stiffness.   “It’s actually one of my friends’ birthday today, so we’re just out celebrating, but I lost them in the crowd.” She flashes a million watt smile. “I assume you’re just with your friend, Y/N?”   “Yeah, she dragged me out here. She’s a headache. I swear she’s shaving years off of my life.”   Hyuna laughs and bats his arm. She leans close and he swallows hard at the way her eyes sparkle, her lashes thick, and her cleavage is practically shoved in his face. “Want to dance?”   “I don’t really…”   “It’ll be fun. Trust me.” She takes his hand and drags him out on the floor.   In the meanwhile, half across the club, you’re dancing to the music. It’s not until a second later that you feel someone's hands on your waist and you turn around in their arms.    In dark lights, you make out a half-decent looking guy. “Shake that ass, babe.”   You smile at him, looping your arms around his neck. Maybe this is how it was always supposed to be. Giving into temptation and the heat of another person’s body, not having to commit to someone else and put yourself out there. Maybe you were doing it all wrong to begin with.   You don’t even know his name, but you dance with the stranger, your sweaty bodies moving against one another. You’re not sure how long it lasts, but eventually he presses his crotch to your front and offers to buy you a drink through a whisper in your ear.   When you get to the bar, you don’t see Jungkook and Hyuna anymore and you wonder if he’s getting lucky in the washroom or if he’s gone completely.    But you try not to dwell on what your best friend might be doing. You focus on the present moment and order a Strawberry Daiquiri. You’re sipping your drink as you talk to the guy. You don’t exactly catch his name, but it doesn’t matter. The fewer connections, the better. After all, you’re just looking for a rebound.   But you’ve never done this before and in your nervousness and intoxication, you end up on a tangent. “Like it’s so easy to make better cheesecake! And there’s so many kinds of cheesecake.”   “Cheesecake?” The tall blonde frowns as if he doesn’t understand what you’re talking about.   “Yeah! Cheesecake! All you need is the crust, cream cheese, sugar, eggs, sour cream, vanilla extract, and all-purpose flour! My favourite is actually chocolate cheesecake in a restaurant back at home and they had chocolate wafer crumbs in the crust and it was so delicious, must have had ganache between the layers or something. I can’t remember anymore.”   “Oh, cool.” The guy glances around, looking at the other people on the dance floor and the bar. When he realizes you’ve stopped talking, he directs his attention to you again. “Uh, what’s a ganache?”   “Ganache? It’s just chocolate and heavy cream and you can use it as a glaze, icing, sauce, or filling for pastries. You’ve probably had it before if you’ve had chocolate cake!”   “I see.” His eyes flicker down to the swell of your chest exposed by your small black number, and they linger there. “You ever tried pouring chocolate over your body?”   “What?”   You realize he doesn’t care about baking — he doesn’t care for what you have to say.   The guy excuses himself to the bathroom and never comes back. After ten minutes of waiting, you sigh and check your phone. You stand up, ready to leave as it occurs to you one-night stands aren’t really your thing.   You’re about to text Jungkook, but you catch his mop of hair on the dance floor. He’s dancing with Hyuna, her back pressed to his front. His hands are placed on the dips of her waist, grinding his front against her ass that’s pushed out. You make a face of disgust before snapping a blurry picture and sending to the group chat.   But Jungkook seems to be having fun, out of breath, but still enjoying himself. You’re happy for him, glad that at least one of you is getting lucky tonight. Or rather, it was Hyuna getting lucky.   Jungkook’s a great catch. You wonder why you didn’t realize it sooner. Whoever ends up with him will be fortunate.

[blu-joons]

Celebrating Your Daughter’s First Birthday ~ Min Yoongi

The noise in your house grew instantly as the boys all piled in, Yoongi sighed, stepping aside as they barged into the living room, all carrying several bags of presents that were chucked onto the sofa, all eyes quickly scanning the room to be able to see your daughter.

“She’s over there, playing with her toys.,” you told them, pointing to the youngster as she climbed into her toy box, throwing things everywhere as she enjoyed all the new things she’d been bought.

The past year had flown by, you couldn’t believe how big she’d grown, and how far she’d come. To think it had been a whole year since she was born was crazy, it felt like only yesterday she was placed into your arms for the very first time.

Jimin was the first one to hold onto her, lifting her up with one of her building blocks still in her hand, cooing across at her, bringing a wide smile to her face as she realised who was holding her and who was stood all around her too.

Jungkook ran his hand over the top of her head, “happy birthday princess,” he smiled, pressing a kiss to the side of her cheek. The boys all reiterated his sentiments, hearing her giggle. She had no idea what was going on, but she was enjoying the attention.

“We’ve bought you loads of presents,” Hobi squealed, pointing to them.

“She’s been spoilt already today by Yoongi’s family, the house is going to turn into a mess.”

The boys didn’t care, they wanted to spoil your little girl like they always did, every time they visited they had gifts for her, but now, as she celebrated her birthday, they’d gone above all expectation you had of what they’d buy her.

Jimin sat her down in his lap, “why don’t you open Uncle Jimin’s presents first, seeing as I am the favourite uncle after all,” he teased, grabbing his huge present bag he’d bought.

Yoongi frowned when he walked back into the room with drinks for the boys, spotting all the things that had been bought. He looked across at you, as you shrugged your shoulders, knowing exactly what was going through his head, feeling the same way.

He passed the drinks around, sitting down beside you on the sofa, “where are we going to put all of this now, it’s crazy.”

“I’ve got no idea.”

“At least she’ll enjoy all of it.” You nodded, resting your hand on his leg, “I think it’ll make the boys happier than it does her, they’re so excited to give her their presents.”

The two of you sat back and watched as the boys doted on her with all their presents your living room soon filled up with cuddly toys, games, clothes, anything that could have been bought, the boys had got it, once you had it, it wasn’t their problem.

“We did buy a present for the three of you to enjoy as well,” Jin told you, walking out the front of your house, with Namjoon by his side.

“Is it our birthday too?” Yoongi teased, earning a glare from the boys.

They walked back in with a huge canvas, wrapped in bubble wrap for the two of you. You ripped the wrap off, turning it around to see a make up of several photos of the three of you across the first year of your daughter’s life.

“This is beautiful,” you whispered, studying it closely, reminiscing about all the memories that had been captured. “I can’t believe you guys made this, it’s so lovely, you didn’t have to do this,” you told them all, trying to take it all in.

“You’ve done such an incredible job as parents, we wanted to remind the two of you how amazing your family is, and now you can remember the times,” Namjoon told you.

Straight away, Yoongi knew where he wanted to put them, one of the walls in her nursery had been empty since she was born, the canvas would fill it perfectly, for her to be able to look at all the photos too. “Thank you for doing this, it was so kind of all six of you.”

Your daughter was quick to walk over and see what all the fuss was about, you held it out to her, pointing out al the images that had her in it. Her eyes however only recognised you and Yoongi, slapping her hand whenever your face occurred, looking between the two of you, as she struggled to understand why she could see more than one of you.

Yoongi chuckled behind you, “one day she’ll realise how much of a treasured gift this is, and how photographs work.”

“Well, that’s not the end of our gifts,” Jimin smiled, grabbing a cardboard box that you’d spotted a few minutes prior. “We didn’t know how organised the two of you would be, so we took matters into our own hands.”

The box was placed in front of the two of you, Jungkook lifted the lid off to reveal a cake that the boys had made themselves yesterday. “It’s not the best-looking cake in the world, but we promise that it tastes amazing,” he assured you.

“We never actually bought a cake,” you whispered, watching the boys all look across at you in horror. “She’s one, a cake wasn’t exactly our priority, she probably doesn’t even know what a cake is,” you challenged, but they couldn’t hide their disappointment in the two of you.

Luckily for the two of you, in his bag, Hobi had one candle that he placed in the cake as it was lifted out, using the lighter he’d bought to, to create a flame, capturing your daughter’s interest straight away, as you held her back to stop any accidents from happening.

Hobi brought it slowly towards her, mimicking a blowing action for her to copy, watching the flame flicker out. “That’s it, you’re such a clever girl!”

“We didn’t even sing!” Taehyung then cried out from behind him.

Everyone groaned, looking between each other to place the blame on someone’s shoulders, your daughter’s birthday was slowly turning into carnage around you, not that you could expect anything less with the boys around you causing havoc as they always did.

You turned to face Yoongi, shrugging your shoulders, “is it too late to sing now? You asked, but Namjoon had already started, with everyone else quickly joining in, tickling your daughter, bringing a wide smile to her face.

“It’s a good job she’s young enough to probably not remember any of this,” Yoongi frowned, holding her in his lap for a bit, “when you ask us in years to come how your first birthday was, your uncles were the ones to ruin it all.”

“That’s not fair! We did a great job!”

You chuckled at how quick Jin was to shout, throwing his arms up in the air, shaking his head at the two of you.

He frowned across at you, “I think her birthday sums us all up perfectly, it was a bit of a mess, but eventually we manged to pull everything together to create something fun, and I’m sure she’ll love all these presents for a long time.”

“Presents aren’t the most important thing about a birthday,” Namjoon reminded him, “she’ll just be glad that we were all here to spend a bit of time with her, but also that we bought her things.”

“It’s alright for the two of you, we’ve got to find a place to store all of these when you all go, goodness knows where all of these are going to go.”

Jin shrugged his shoulders, “that’s not our problem, we just bought presents to spoil our favourite little girl, you only turn one once.”

“I know, we’ll find a way somehow.”

“You’ve managed so far.”

---

Masterlist

[lloydskywalkers]

There’s Insurance for That

In which Skylor buys lunch, stops a criminal, and learns the best way to blow up the kitchen electronics section, which is a pretty normal week for her, she guesses. Or, five places the ninja are no longer allowed into, featuring Skylor.

(been hitting a bit of a writer’s block with everything else lately, so here’s this...disaster, i guess?? because these ninja are definitely a disaster in this, but i was having fun so. this is the bed bath & beyond fic btw, in case anyone was wondering gdfkgdh)

1. My. Kazami’s Ramen Place

At this point, sadly, Skylor’s used to it.

It’s around a quarter to noon on a Monday, just as she's leaving the noodle shop for her well-deserved lunch break, when a familiar scream splits the relatively-quiet afternoon air on this side of Ninjago City.

The only reason Skylor does not immediately dissolve into panic at said scream is because she is — also sadly — familiar with the variations of it, and this one sounds less like it’s Lloyd’s “I’m-in-terrible-danger-and/or-pain-again” scream, and more like his “I’m-free-falling-on-purpose-from-the-sky-again” scream. Which is, in and of itself, not entirely concerning. In fact, it’d probably be more unusual not to see Lloyd go falling from the sky at some point during any of the ninjas’ higher-than-eight-feet battles, because somehow that’s become a habitual thing. The sky is blue, fire is hot, Kai uses hair gel — Lloyd is going to drop screaming from the sky at some point this month.

So instead of panicking, Skylor figures she’ll just stand in the vicinity until Lloyd either climbs out of another dumpster, or lands on top of her. Kai doesn’t seem to be around to catch him, so Skylor’s prepared to step up, even though it looks like Lloyd’s got a pretty good handle on landing, at the angle she’s watching him from.

Still though, she muses. You’d think he’d have started actively wearing a parachute at this point.

“Kai suggested that,” Lloyd says, after he’s finally able to stand straight, and he’s not quite as cross-eyed. He frowns at his reflection in a store window as they pass by, scuffing at his windblown hair again. “But it gets in the way, you know? It throws off my backflips.”

“That’s a nail in the coffin right there,” Skylor agrees, leading them across another sidewalk. Lloyd’s attracting a lot of looks, with his bright green battle gi and razor-sharp sword strapped across his back, but fortunately no one’s started crowding them yet. Probably because the razor-sharp sword strapped to his back. “Can’t have your fighting style completely crippled,” she adds.

“I don’t backflip that much,” Lloyd huffs. Yes, you do, is on the tip of Skylor’s tongue, because she’s seen him fight, but she decides not to pick that battle…this time.

“Besides,” Lloyd continues. “I don’t really need a parachute, anyways. I always make sure to aim for like, somewhere safe to land. Relatively safe. Safe-ish.”

Skylor eyes him. “You landed in a dumpster.”

Lloyd bristles in offense. “I did not! It was a perfectly respectable recycling bin.”

“Same thing, if you ask me.”

“Not even close. Dumpsters are gross. Recycling bins you just crash through a whole bunch of cardboard and old newspapers. It’s luxury trash diving.”

Skylor just sighs, shaking her head, and edits the text she’s been tapping out for Kai.

Skylor > found your kid in a recycling bin

Skylor > taking him to lunch bc you’re clearly starving him again

Skylor > he’s alive btw

Kai > oh thank fsm

Kai > tell him he’s grounded

Kai > u never take me for lunch :(

Skylor > maybe if u dropped on me from the sky sometime i would

“Hey, are the others busy?” she asks Lloyd in afterthought. “Like…fighting anyone?”

“Huh?” Lloyd blinks. He then flushes, rubbing the back of his head. “Ah, no. We’d pretty much finished up the fight when I, uh…there was a break-in, on the Bounty? We had the guys all taken care of, but they blew part of the mast up, and it left debris all over the deck, so I kind of…maybe….tripped…”

Lloyd is bright red by the time he finishes the sentence. Skylor wouldn’t feel so bad about it, if she wasn’t doubled over laughing at him in the middle of rush hour traffic.

“You are a trained ninja,” she breathes out, between snickers.

“I know,” Lloyd moans.

“You’re like, part god.”

“I know,” Lloyd moans again, into his hands this time. Skylor has to grab his shoulders and forcibly drag him along down the crowded street, trying not to cringe inside at all the looks they’re getting.

“Kai says you’re grounded, by the way,” she says, as the last of her laughter fades.

That snaps Lloyd out of it. “He can’t ground me,” he scowls. “I’m leader.”

“Stop falling from the sky, and maybe he’ll give it a rest,” Skylor replies, glancing down as her phone buzzes again.

Kai > I’d join u but I’m stuck on prison delivery

Kai > nya’s coming to pick up the demon spawn tho

Skylor > nice I’ve been wanting to buy her lunch

Kai > cruel

“—don’t know what you mean, I don’t fall that often, and most of the time it’s on purpose, anyways—”

Skylor chooses to ignore Lloyd’s slightly-concerning, sulking rambling, and pats his shoulder instead. “Nya’s coming for lunch, too,” she says. “Does ramen sound good?”

“Oh, yeah.” Lloyd brightens, seemingly cheered by the reminder he’s getting food out of this. “It’s been a while since I’ve eaten out.”

“I can tell,” Skylor says, eyeing him. “Cole hasn’t been cooking for you, has he?"

“No, but we put Zane on mandatory break so he could relax a bit, and we’re all suffering for it.”

Lloyd and Skylor both jump at Nya’s voice, not having heard her coming up behind them.

“Nya!” Lloyd beams. “Skylor is — ouch, hey, let go!”

“That’s what you get for giving me gray hairs again,” Nya scolds, digging her knuckles into Lloyd’s hair. She looks up from the hold she’s pulled him into, and smiles brightly at Skylor. “Hi, Skylor. Nice to see you.”

“Hi, Nya.” Skylor gives a little wave, watching Lloyd squirm out of Nya’s grasp in amusement.

“So, ramen?” Nya says, giving Lloyd one last elbow in the side before joining Skylor.

“Yeah,” she says. “I was thinking the place down on seventh, the Sobahouse, I think?”

Lloyd and Nya both stiffen, their steps slowing. Skylor pauses, turning to stare at them in confusion. “That’s not the one owned by someone named Mr. Kazami, is it?” Nya finally asks, hesitantly.

“Uh, yeah, it is, actually,” Skylor blinks. “He’s pretty nice, we go to the same grocer on weekends.”

“Ah,” Lloyd says, carefully.

“Hm,” Nya hesitates.

Skylor looks between the two of them, now completely stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.  She really hopes no one is getting pictures of her like this. There are enough flash articles about the rumored orange ninja cryptid on the internet as it is. “Is that…a problem?”

Nya pointedly stares at the sky as if it’s the most interesting thing she’s seen all day. Baffled, Skylor tries the weaker link. Lloyd swallows, avoiding her eyes as he bounces from leg to leg, as if the mere thought of trying to enter the restaurant is terrifying. Which is mildly alarming, because this is the same kid who power-walked straight into a prison full of escaped violent criminals, his psychotic ex, and his undead murderous dad without hesitation.

“We can’t,” Lloyd finally mutters, staring at the sidewalk. Nya elbows him in the side, hissing “weak link” as she does. Lloyd just glares at her.

“O-okay,” Skylor says, unsure. “I mean, that’s fine if you guys want to go somewhere else. I just didn’t know you…didn’t like this place…”

“No, we do,” Lloyd grinds out, and he looks more embarrassed than terrified now, so Skylor aborts her half-formed plans of speed-dialing Karloff. “We just can’t. Go in, that is. We’re not allowed to.”

Skylor stares at him. “You’re not allowed in? Why not?”

“Because,” Nya forces through gritted teeth. “They banned us.”

“They what?” Skylor gapes.

Nya presses her lips together tightly. Lloyd stares very hard at the ground, as if desperately trying to convince himself to keep quiet. Skylor can pinpoint the moment he breaks, his expression contorting as he throws his hands up wildly. “You blow their electrical system up one time—”

“Oh guys, no,” Skylor groans, before bursting into laughter at him for the second time that day. Lloyd looks incredibly unappreciative, his expression scrunching up in annoyance like she hasn’t seen since that one stupid skating match with Chamille, and that just makes her laugh harder.

“We were trying to save them!” Nya defends indignantly. “It’s not our fault they had weak wiring—”

“I just got a little too into it, it’s — it’s Nya’s fault, she’s the one that said it’d be cool if I tried to do shockwave thing like in—”

“That was a mutual thing and you know it!”

“Oh guys, no,” Skylor wheezes into her hands.

“It worked!”

“Poor Mr. Kazami,” Skylor manages, through snickers. Lloyd’s shoulders slump, his upper lip pouting, and Nya crosses her arms, as if refusing to look ashamed.

“It’s not like the other guys aren’t banned from anywhere, either—”

“Alright, alright,” Skylor waves her hands, taking pity on them. “We’ll go somewhere else.”

“Good,” Nya mutters, as Lloyd exhales in relief. Skylor just snickers again, leading them down the sidewalk in the opposite direction. She bites her lip, shaking her head, before a thought occurs to her.

“Wait, what do you mean, ��it’s not like they aren’t banned from anywhere’?” she frowns. “You guys are banned from more than one place?”

“No,” Nya says firmly, before Lloyd can even speak up. “Forget I said anything.”

Skylor will do no such thing, but she decides it’s in her best interest not to pursue it. Nya is not the sort of person to trifle with, and she does want that ramen.

She gets her answer soon enough, anyways.

2. Ninjago City Aquarium

While Skylor has the early shift on Tuesdays, she does get the afternoons off, which is pretty nice for the most part, if it didn’t mean she’d be bored for the rest of the day. So she hits the grocery store and decides to take the long way home, partially because walking is supposed to be good for you, and partially in hopes that one of the ninja will drop in on her again.

She’s not disappointed.

Granted, a minor explosion going off from inside the Ninjago City Aquarium wasn’t exactly what she was expecting today, but the figures in bright red and white arguing furiously outside the security perimeter are par for the course.

It’s a little odd that they haven’t already rushed in yet, Skylor notes, but with the way they’re loudly yelling at each other in the middle of the street, she figures she’ll find out soon enough.

“No, Kai, it is our civic duty to follow the laws put in place for the safety of civilians—”

“Oh come on, you get brainwashed into a slightly-murderous emperor one time and now you’re a stickler for everything?!”

"One time was enough, Kai!”

“Uh, hi guys,” Skylor approaches the two, hesitantly. “Is everything alright?”

“Skylor!” Kai whirls on her, his eyes wild. “Thank FSM, you’ve gotta help us out — they won’t let us in!” He shakes his fist at the aquarium doors, before springing for the security gate. “Let us in, let us in—”

“Shaking the gate like an animal is not going to convince them, Kai!” Zane pleads, prying Kai away. He shoots Skylor an apologetic glance as he wrangles Kai into a gentle chokehold. “We would greatly appreciate your help, if possible. There’s a low-threat criminal with an unfortunate assortment of weaponry who ran into the aquarium, and we’re legally unable to pursue. If you could try to drive him out, perhaps?”

“I — you — you’re what?” Skylor has the weirdest sense of déjà vu, before it’s lost in confusion. Her head swivels from the frustrated expression on Kai’s face to the pleading one on Zane’s, then to the grocery bags in her hands. She looks back up at Kai, who’s now giving her the puppy eyes. Something from inside the aquarium explodes loudly.

“Sure,” she sighs, handing Kai her grocery bags. “Just one guy?”

“Just one guy,” Kai exhales in relief. “You’re a lifesaver, Skylor, I — hey, are these those snack cakes they made to look like us?”

“Yes, eat them and you die,” Skylor hisses. She turns to Zane, holding her hand out half-hesitantly. “Lend a girl some ice powers?”

“Of course,” Zane nods, letting her take his hand. There’s a brief moment as Skylor melds her power with Zane’s, absorbing the icy force and mimicking it to her own — a part of her notes vaguely that it’s stronger than the last time she borrowed it, but she shakes it off, pulling her hand back and tugging the hood of her jacket up, mentally hoping no one writes another article about the possible existence of a cryptid orange ninja after this.

“Alright,” she says. “Be back in five.”

“Thank you,” Zane says fervently, as Kai sputters, “Hey, why didn’t you borrow my power?”

“Because fire is explosive, and you’ve gotta be banned from here for a reason!” Skylor calls back, ice already misting over her fingertips as she sprints inside the aquarium.

“You’d be surprised,” Kai mutters, after her retreating back.

***********************

“So,” Skylor says, flexing her right hand and wincing briefly. That last right hook she’d thrown at the guy might have been a little too hard, in hindsight. But he was being a jerk, and threatening to set off a bomb near the little seahorses — and it did do the trick, so now the aquarium can have the host of cop cars off its back. Skylor feels pretty accomplished in her good deed for the day, actually. “Why, again, couldn’t you guys have taken care of that yourselves? Not that I minded,” she adds, quickly. Using the ice element had been fun. She’d forgotten what she could do with Zane’s powers.

Kai gives a nervous laugh that’s so fake it almost hurts, especially with the pained expression he makes at the end. Zane just rubs his temple with a hand, looking eternally weary.

“Like I said, we are legally not permitted to enter the aquarium, until…when was it again, Kai?”

“Five years from now,” Kai mutters. “Or whenever the director dies.”

“Yes, five years from now,” Zane repeats, with a dead sort of look in his eyes. “So your assistance was very much appreciated. Thank you.”

“It was no problem, but — wait, hold on, how are you banned from the aquarium for five years?” she stutters. “I mean, I can get Lloyd and Nya with the ramen place—”

“Ha! They told you about that? It was great—”

“Kai, please.”

“—and I can understand Kai, but you, Zane?”

She feels a little guilty for calling him out so bluntly, but it’s Zane. Zane doesn’t just get banned from places, she has to know. And he doesn’t look too upset at the question. Kai looks mildly betrayed, but not that much. They both know Skylor’s point is too valid for him to argue with effectively.

Zane gives another bone-weary sigh. “There is a small chance, that there was a time we were pursuing another villain here, and during that battle, I might have…underestimated the amount of ice I was putting out.” Zane shifts, looking pained. “Which in turn accidentally spread to any bodies of liquid that happened to be nearby at the time, which perhaps were filled with rather expensive aquatic life.”

“You froze a fish exhibit,” Skylor deadpans.

“They were merely in extreme hibernation,” Zane grits out. “They would have been fine, had Kai not tried to fix the ice.”

“Hey, it made sense! I could melt it quickest!”

“Except you didn’t just melt it, did you? No, you had an entire fish fry—”

“The poor fish,” Skylor says, staring at them blankly. “What were they?”

“Like, these rainbow fish, from way up north, I think?” Kai says. “I swear I didn’t make it that hot.”

“The water was boiling, Kai!”

“You fish murderer,” Skylor says, the corners of her mouth trembling with the laugh she’s holding back. Kai glares at Zane, then her, then Zane again.

“I didn’t freeze them solid.”

“Whatever the cause of their death, they died, and we’re banned now,” Zane says, hastily. “End of story. Would you like to take this back to the Bounty, Skylor? I know the others have been wanting to see you, and we can at least offer you tea in thanks.” He eyes the grocery bags Kai’s still holding. “Unless, of course, you wish to return home…”

“Nah, tea sounds good,” she smiles. “Besides, I bought the snack cakes for you guys to try anyways. They’ve got little squashed ninja faces in icing on ‘em.”

“You’re the best,” Kai says, looking somewhat relieved, and oh, he definitely ate one while Skylor was in there. She’s going to have to pay him back for that one…

“Tell me something I don’t know,” she says airily, figuring she’ll take her revenge later. “You can tell me more about the fish massacre on our way back. By the way, Pixal wouldn’t happen to have heard this story, would she?”

Zane gives her a look, and she almost feels bad about it. “I’m going to regret inviting you, aren’t I.”

“Maybe,” she grins. “Jury’s still out.”

3. An Entire Drugstore Chain

Wednesdays are always busy at the noodle shop, for reasons Skylor has yet to figure out. Fridays she understands, but the middle of the week? Nothing kills your drive like knowing you’re going to do this all over again in a day.

It’s good money for the shop though, she reminds herself as she locks up that evening. Any money is good money for the shop, because her stupid dad made sure she’d have a real hole to dig herself out of there, but Wednesday money is always especially good. Even if she ends up leaving the shop late and can’t get the noodle smell from her hair for the next three days.

Normally, she’d trudge home and crash into bed after these kind of shifts. But tonight is different, because she stayed long enough at the Bounty yesterday to get invited to game night, and once you’ve promised the ninja you’re going to bring snacks for Monopoly, you can’t just say no. Not unless you want Lloyd to shoot betrayed glares at you the rest of the month.

Besides, she’s promised Kai she’ll sneak out to the movies with him afterwards, and she can’t just go breaking that promise. Plus, she’s not heartless enough to deny Cole cake when he’s got the most spectacular black eye she’s seen all year bruising up around the left side of his face.

“Lucky hit,” Cole grumbles, after she’s been caught staring too long. She hasn’t wanted to ask him about it, since it seems a sensitive subject and he’s already taking the time to help her pick up (carry) all the snacks. But it’s impossible to miss, even in the dim streetlights they’re walking under, and Skylor cares about her friends, thank you very much. “We busted some drug dealers today, and I got too relaxed.”

“They normally really aren’t any match for you, to be fair,” Skylor offers.

“They weren’t this time either, that’s the sad thing,” Cole says, scrubbing a hand through his thick hair as they wait at the stoplight. “This was all on me. I kinda deserved it.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad,” Skylor tries to console him, even though the ugly red at the edge of his eye says otherwise.

Cole gives her a bleak look. “Jay made a joke, and I laughed at it. And then I got hit across the face with a baseball bat, mid-laugh.”

“Ouch,” Skylor hisses through her teeth. “Never mind, that’s bad. Was it a good joke, at least?”

“No, that’s the thing,” Cole groans, as the light finally turns red, allowing them to cross the street. “It was terrible. And I still laughed hard enough not to notice a bat coming for my face.”

Skylor grimaces. “You were just being a good friend, I guess,” she says, and Cole snorts. “Like you are to me, right now,” she continues, glancing ruefully at the shopping list she’s been sent. “I was going to say I had it handled, then I actually looked at everything you guys asked for.”

Cole laughs sheepishly. “Yeah, that’s…that’s us, I guess. Sorry about that. We’re paying for it all, don’t worry.”

“What?” Skylor blinks. Oh no, no way. The ninja have done enough for her, the least she can do is cover a couple bags of popcorn and like ten things of M&M’s. “No, I got it. I owe you guys, anyways.”

Cole bristles. “No way. We owe you, if anything. The amount of times you’ve covered our tab at the noodle shop?”

“How about the amount of times you’ve saved my noodle shop?” Skylor shoots back. “That outweighs a few measly tabs.”

“The only reason we had to save it was because we were there in the first place,” Cole points out. “We’re danger magnets.”

“I’m sorry, I’m the daughter of Chen, remember?” Skylor huffs. “I can attract enemies all by myself.”

“Not as many as we do,” Cole says. “Also! You helped us beat Chen, and get Zane back. We’re eternally indebted to you.”

Skylor narrows her eyes. “Only after I stabbed you all in the back. So I eternally owe you.”

“Bold of you to assume we haven’t all stabbed each other in the back at some point,” Cole scoffs. “Trust me, you’re nowhere as bad as Lloyd — he like, single-handedly ruined our whole month by letting a bunch of snakes out.”

Skylor pauses at that, torn between refuting his argument and asking how in the world Lloyd, of all people, could possibly manage to wreak enough havoc to—

Actually, she doesn’t have any trouble believing that at all. But to be sure— “Lloyd let the Serpentine out? All by himself?”

Cole looses a bit of his fire, and scuffs his shoe awkwardly across the sidewalk. “I mean, we did give him a pretty hard time when he was like, eight years old and homeless and starving, so uh, it might’ve been a little...provoked.”

“FSM’s sake,” Skylor mutters, staring at the sky and trying not to be surprised, because she really shouldn’t by now. “I can’t believe you guys are all still alive.”

“Neither can we, if it helps,” Cole shrugs, grinning. “But you know, technically—”

“If you make another ghost joke, we’re skipping the cake section,” Skylor says, firmly.

Cole sulks. “Jay would’ve made a ghost joke,” he mutters.

“Jay also got you hit in the face by a bat, so his judgement is questionable as it is,” Skylor shakes her head. “Oh! There’s a drugstore right here, wanna hit that instead?”

“Sure,” Cole says. “As long as it’s not…oh.”

Skylor makes it another three steps before she realizes that Cole’s fallen behind. Confused, she turns to stare at him where he’s frozen on the sidewalk, looking up at the bright red drugstore sign and biting his lip.

“Everything okay back there?” Skylor says, wondering if he didn’t get hit in the head harder than he’s let on. Cole nods, but he also takes several steps back out of the streetlight, hiding himself from view of the store.

“Here’s an idea,” he says, suddenly. “How about we go anywhere else.”

Skylor stares at him, a sinking feeling in her chest coupled with the slowly-growing-familiar sense of déjà-vu. “Cole.” He doesn’t meet her eyes, and Skylor sighs. “Please tell me you haven’t been banned from somewhere, too.”

“It’s not just me, Lloyd and Jay also got banned,” Cole snaps, before realizing his mistake and ducking his head.

“You’re kidding me,” Skylor says flatly, looking back at the drugstore, then to Cole. “This is like, the shadiest drugstore on this side on Ninjago. How?”

Cole mumbles something under his breath, and Skylor strains to make it out. “Sorry, what was that?”

“I kind of, um, threw Lloyd through their wall,” Cole mutters again, looking as if he’d like very much to disappear entirely into the street side. Which is funny, because—

His sentence finally registers, and Skylor blinks rapidly. “Wait, you what?”

Cole’s eyes widen, and waves his arms quickly. “Not like — not like Garmadon-throwing him through a wall! He was fine after.”

Skylor has a brief, bizarre kind of moment to digest the fact that there is a distinction for throwing the youngest of their team through a wall, before Cole continues.

“I was aiming for the window — that one right there, see? The robbers were already on the move, so Lloyd was like ‘launch me, Cole’ and I said ‘great idea’, but we were also maybe high on adrenaline at the time and I forgot how much of my lava punch I had going, so I overshot and ended up smashing him through their wall, a little bit.”

“You smashed him through their wall. Just a little bit.”

“Hey, it worked. He took out all five guys in one go and only had a tiny concussion after—”

“How do you even have a tiny concussion—”

“I still don’t get why they were so mad, I mean we stopped the robbery! Sure, half their storefront wall sort of collapsed afterwards, but like, we got their money back.”

“So that’s why they were closed six months for renovations,” Skylor groans into her hands.

Cole crosses his arms, glaring stubbornly at the store’s sign. “It wasn’t six months,” he protests. “It was only like, four. I don’t see how that gives them the right to ban us for life.”

“For life—” Skylor can’t decide if she wants to laugh at him, or cry because her list of places she can hang out with the ninja is shrinking faster than she’d thought possible. She finally blows her breath out, rubs a hand across her face, and glances back down at the shopping list.

“You aren’t banned from the one on eighth street, are you?”

Cole bites his lips. “We’re uh, banned from all of them. It’s a chain store, so…”

“Of course,” Skylor sighs. “Walmart it is, then.”

And if anyone pesters them about being late, she’s going to ask how many times, exactly, somebody’s smashed Lloyd through a wall. Because really. This is getting ridiculous.

4. Bed Bath & Beyond

Thursday is normally her day off, but whatever she had for dinner last night gave her freaky dreams, so Skylor ends up puttering around the shop early that morning just to take her mind off it. It’s a bit overcast outside, and the forecast predicts rain, so Skylor’s already making plans to curl up in her bed and watch movies all day, and maybe get a bit of laundry done.

She should know better.

It’s a commonly known fact that the ninja, Kai especially, would do pretty much anything for their pseudo-little brother. Skylor’s actually heard Kai, on multiple occasion, threaten to die for Lloyd, then immediately try and make it reality. No one ever really appreciates that, Lloyd especially, but Skylor can give him credit for trying.

However, it’s a commonly overlooked fact that Lloyd would do anything for his pseudo-older siblings. It’s an even more commonly overlooked fact that Lloyd is the spawn of satan, and was raised at a boarding school for future villains and terrible children. Combined, these two facts mean that while you should definitely fear Lloyd trying to die for you, you should probably fear him trying to look out for you more, because it’s likely going to end with somebody dead. Or at least the total disruption of your plans for the day, as Skylor opens the shop windows to come face with an absolutely terrifying expression on Lloyd’s face, followed up by a deadly calm “Kai came home sad last night.”

Skylor scrubs at her eyes, and thinks, it’s too early for this.

A while back, when she was still stuck with her jerk of a father, Skylor might have found Lloyd’s part-Oni expression of doom intimidating. Now, however, she just rolls her eyes, and sticks one of the little ‘50% Off!’ stickers she’s been putting on rice cakes across his forehead.

“The dog died in the last movie we saw last night,” she explains, as Lloyd sputters at her.

He pauses, nose wrinkling. “Oh,” he says. “Boo.”

“Yeah,” she says, stepping back and allowing him to neatly front-flip through her window. Darned show-off kid, she thinks despairingly, watching him land perfectly on her freshly-waxed floors.

“Well, you’re good then, I guess,” he says, expression lightening. “That makes sense. How many movies did you make it into this time, by the way?”

“Only four this time,” Skylor sighs, turning to plaster the rest of her stickers on the nearly-expired rice cake packages. “We caught the beginning of that new superhero movie, then the opening fight of some spy movie, and the middle of that one horror movie with the dolls.” Lloyd shudders. “Yeah, Kai wasn’t a fan either. Anyways, we made it into this new romance one, but we ran into a theater employee on the way in and Kai had a guilt attack, so we stayed until the end of that one.”

Lloyd tsks. “Oh, Kai. And he’s so sold on his bad boy image.”

“One day he’ll embrace the fact that he’s just a big softie,” Skylor nods. “One of these days.”

“Yeah, when hell freezes over,” Lloyd snorts. He glances around at the empty shop, then back at her. “Hey, today’s your day off, right?”

Skylor gets a sinking kind of feeling in her stomach at that, alarm bells going off in the back of her head. “It might be,” she says, warily.

“Good,” Lloyd grins. “You should come to Bed Bath and Beyond with us, then.”

Well, she wasn’t expecting that. “Why…would you be going there?” she asks, blankly. Do they have a secret ninja weapon bargain bin she’s been missing out on? Is Bed Bath & Beyond secretly hosting an illegal crime ring she’s been unaware of? Does she need to return the shower curtain rings she bought there last week on basis of being a good citizen?

“Zane froze the blender solid before practice this morning,” Lloyd explains, his mouth twisting a bit. “We were making smoothies and someone accidentally brought up the Never Realm.”

“Ouch,” Skylor winces sympathetically. She’s still not heard the entire story of what went down during the ninja’s jaunt out of realm, besides a whole lot of panicked texts from Pixal and half-explanations from Kai, but she knows it wasn’t fun, especially for poor Zane.

“Yeah,” Lloyd sighs. “So now our blender is dead and we can’t make smoothies anymore, so we’re buying a new one before Nya can start strangling people. Wanna come?”

Skylor eyes him shrewdly. At face, it’s an innocent enough request. She’s certainly been invited to worse places than a household furnishings store, and picking up a blender is quite possibly the simplest thing the ninja have ever asked her to do. Which probably just means it’s going to go horribly and the store’s going to blow up ten minutes in, but hey, Skylor’s day was looking pretty boring anyway.

“Sure, why not,” she shrugs. “Lemme stick the last of these on, and I’m in. Just — hey, no, I’m selling those!”

Lloyd freezes in place, the rice cake package dangling from his fingers. He gives her the most pathetically sad-eyed look she’s ever seen, and not for the first time, Skylor finds herself wondering how this is the same kid who runs a highly-skilled ninja team of unimaginable power.

“Just the one,” she finally relents, because Skylor is a spineless weakling when it comes to puppy eyes, apparently. Lloyd beams, snatching the cakes up happily. “And just because you look like a starving vagrant again.”

“I do not,” Lloyd protests, through a muffled mouthful of rice cake. “I’m just super in shape. I’m jacked as heck.”

Skylor rolls her eyes. “Sure you are, you — hey, I said just one!”

***********************

So Skylor ends up at Bed Bath & Beyond on her day off, five minutes after the store’s opened for the day, and already wishing she’d slept in later.

Nya brings her coffee, though, and their bright-eyed enthusiasm at reclaiming their means of smoothie-making is infectious, so Skylor finds herself in high spirits as they walk through the store doors, almost to the point where she lets Lloyd go for stealing all her rice cakes.

However, she’s already let him get away with too much as it is, so Skylor decides to take her revenge by ruffling Lloyd’s hair, before informing the sales lady that it’s her “darling little brother’s thirteenth birthday, and he’s finally outgrown his kiddie bed, could you point us to the big kid ones, please?”

Lloyd’s attempts at strangling her are thwarted by Nya as the lady smiles airily, before pointing them to the back, and Zane has to drag Kai along with them before he suffocates on the laughter he’s choking back.

“Family shopping trips are always so much fun,” Jay remarks, as they browse the bedding section, having been successfully distracted by the animal-shaped pillows. They’ve already had to flee the lamp section, after Lloyd and Jay started having a little too much fun, despite Kai’s despair over being robbed yet again of a new lava lamp.

“One day,” he mourns. “One day, I will own another.”

Skylor pats his back consolingly. “I’m sure that’s what everyone else whose lava lamps got smashed by a giant stone colossi say.”

“I still don’t see why we can’t invest in a cappuccino maker,” Nya pouts, as they pass the coffee appliances section. “Look, there’s one on sale, too!”

“Because you can and will abuse the use of it, and then someone will end up going to the hospital for extreme heart rate elevation,” Zane glares pointedly at her. Skylor smothers a laugh as Nya scowls.

“I’m not that bad,” she grumbles under her breath, only for the others to all chime “ice cube incident” in unison. Nya goes a dark shade of red and glares at the floor as if she’s capable of lighting it on on fire with her eyes, but she doesn’t argue back.

Skylor doesn’t even want to know.

“Alright, here are our options,” Cole announces, when they’ve finally fought their way to the blender shelves. “We can get the same one we had, just a little smaller, or we can get this other one that’s half-off.” He squints at both tags. “Having looked at our bank account recently, I vote the half-off one.”

“No way,” Jay argues. “Do you see how small that one is? I can’t make my triple-espresso energy-drink smoothie with that!”

Lloyd stares at him in concern. “That’s…probably a good thing?”

Jay glares at him. “You’re one to talk, Mr. night owl.”

“I’m with Jay, that one’s way too small,” Nya says. “It won’t do.”

“What, and the other one’s better?” Kai shoots back. “Look how cheap it is, I could break this thing in my sleep.”

“The online reviews for both are perfectly fine,” Zane adds, half-heartedly, as if he already knows they’re all going to ignore that particular statement.

“What about this one?” Jay says, his eyes lighting up as he gestures to the extra-large, fancy blender. “Think of all the smoothies we could make, Cole. Think of the milkshakes.”

Cole pinches the bridge of his nose. “We are not investing in some fancy blender, just for you to complain it’s too complicated five seconds in.”

Skylor crosses over to the blenders, glancing at both. “I mean, you could always just return it…later…” She trails off, realizing that everyone’s suddenly gone deadly silent. She looks up, and starts as she comes face to face with the store manager, who is frozen in place, his mouth half-open as he stares at them with wide eyes. Behind her, Skylor is highly aware of six ninja going similarly still, all utterly quiet.

“You,” the manager finally squeaks out. “You are’t supposed to — you can’t be in here, not again—”

“On second thought, let’s get a blender next week,” Cole says, quickly.

“Yeah, I can live without smoothies a little longer,” Jay agrees, rapidly paling.

Skylor’s at a loss. “What’s going—”

Before she can finish that sentence, Kai and Nya both have hands on her arm and pull, hauling her along as they break into a dead sprint for the exit.

“Explain later!” Kai yelps, dodging employees as the manager shakes his fist at them, his yelling following them through the doors.

“I filed six restraining orders! Six!” he shrieks as they slip out. “Do you know how long that took?! Two of them don’t even exist in the legal system!”

Skylor doesn’t miss the incredibly unsubtle fist bump Lloyd and Zane share, nor the near-tears  sigh of despair from Cole.

She really, really doesn’t want to know.

***********************

Except that maybe she does, so there’s nothing stopping her from asking as they walk home, having bought smoothies from the corner store instead (that they are not banned from, which Skylor is starting to think might be miraculous).

“I don’t know why I’m surprised at this point, but how did you get banned this time?” she asks them, after a particularly long sip of smoothie. “Did you demolish half the store there, too?”

The ninja are silent for a moment, all refusing to meet her eyes. Then—

“It was Jay’s fault,” Cole declares.

Jay whirls on him, his expression wounded. “I trusted you,” he whines. “And you — you bed bath and betrayed me.”

“Because you bed bath and blew up the bedding aisle!”

“It was the kitchen electrics aisle, give me some credit.”

“Oh, because that’s so much better.”

“It is, do you know how hard I’d have to be trying to blow up the bedding aisle? It’s all weighted blankets and like, silk and stuff, no conduction at all—”

Skylor returns to her previous stance on not wanting to know, sips her smoothie in silence as they break into loud arguing in the middle of the street, and hopes once again that no one’s getting any pictures of this.

5. Jamanakai Village Candy Shop

Friday’s her busy day, so Skylor’s spared any chaos other than a jammed mixing machine for the day. It doesn’t come to a head until Saturday, when she cautiously accepts the ninjas' invitation to scout out potential terrorist activity in Jamanakai.

The terrorists turn out to be punk kids who got a little too obsessed with the idea of the Golden Master, which is an unfortunate choice of role model for them, when they have to face up to the ninja. Zane just looks mildly annoyed though, and Lloyd stares into the sun for a full minute before rolling his eyes, so the kids make it out alive.

“We weren’t going to kill them, geez,” Jay says. “Maybe just…lecture them, a bit.”

“Oh yeah, lecture them,” Kai scowls, cracking his knuckles. “The Golden Master, are they kidding?”

“To be fair, they don’t have the same experiences we do,” Cole points out, but he doesn’t look too opposed to the knuckle-cracking, either.

“No harm was done,” Zane says, a bit wearily. “We should simply let it go."

“I dunno, I say we should’ve hung them from a roof for a bit,” Lloyd says, evenly.

The other ninja all cringe in unison, except for Nya, who smothers a coughing sort of laugh. Skylor stares at them, bewildered. “Why would you hang them from a roof?”

“Not sure,” Lloyd says, his lips twitching. “Probably because crime doesn’t pay, muchacho, or something like that—”

“Alright, alright, we get it,” Kai says hastily, clapping a hand over Lloyd’s mouth.

“The guys would know,” Nya smirks, ignoring the looks of utter betrayal she’s getting. “That’s what they did to Lloyd, wasn’t it?”

“Nya, why,” Jay moans into his hands.

“You — hung Lloyd from a roof?” Skylor repeats, thrown for a loop. “Why on earth would you do that? What if he like, fell and died?”

“He was fine,” Cole assures her, hastily.

Lloyd is quick to protest, glaring at them. “No I wasn’t, it was literally scarring! Look, I got this scar from scraping my arm when I fell — oh, wait, oops, that one’s from the Never Realm, it’s this one here.” Lloyd winces as he finishes, suddenly looking contrite as he shoots Zane an apologetic look. “The Never Realm one was from Boreal though, don’t worry.”

Zane looks down, his face shadowed. “It was still my—”

“Nuh-uh,” Jay cuts over him, wagging his finger. “Remember the rule?”

Zane hesitates, looking as if he’d very much like to remember no such thing, but he finally slumps, relenting. “Scars dealt to each other while under the influence of malicious possession by person and/or ancient malevolent artifacts do not count, regardless of extenuating circumstances or deep inner psychological issues that may be brought to light during said influence,” he quotes dully, on a defeated sort of sigh.

Skylor doesn’t know whether to be impressed at that, or depressed that it needed existence in the first place.

“Exactly,” Jay nods. “Which means that any scars from you, Zane, or Lloyd — oh, and Kai, I guess — and Cole, technically, with the Hypnobrai that one time— wow, that’s, hm, that’s a lot of us.”

“If you count the dark matter, we’ve all been possessed,” Zane says, drily.

“Not me!” Kai says, mock-cheerfully.

Jay shakes his head. “Nobody got scars while we were on dark matter! I checked.”

“Why are you saying it like we were on drugs or something?”

“Speak for yourself,” Lloyd scowls. “I’ve still got that stupid ankle one.” He glares at the offending ankle, as if it’s personally disappointed him.

“That was the Overlord, not us,” Nya reminds him. “And uh, your dad, technically.”

Lloyd’s scowl just deepens, his eyebrows tilting downwards hotly. “If I had a dollar for every scar that’s from my dad…”

“I hear you,” Skylor sighs. “Dad scars are the worst. They really know where to hit.”

“Right? It’s always personal with them,” Lloyd shakes his head. “Dads are the worst.”

A beat passes before they both realize the others have fallen quiet. Her and Lloyd blink, and Skylor fights back the urge to cringe at the looks they’re now receiving.

“Well,” Jay says, bleakly. “This is a, um, miserable turn.”

“Hey, hey, no sad faces,” Lloyd scolds, reaching for Kai’s face, which is indeed sporting a pathetically teary-eyed kind of look. “Get that look off your face, off, off—”

“I’m not — stoppit — I’m just— hey, stop it— that’s my face, you brat—”

“Guys, c’mon, cut it out, you’re making a scene,” Cole scolds, pulling them both apart. “How about we stop and get ice cream before we go, okay? To like, cheer us up. Because that was completely depressing, no offense, guys.”

“None taken,” Skylor says, as Lloyd nods in agreement. Cole looks relieved, even if Kai’s still looking a little weepy, and he directs them down another street, heading toward a brightly labeled ice cream shop. Skylor can see tiny rows of candy inside, and there are a bunch of kids gathered around the little stand the owner’s set up at the door. It’s a cute place, all in all — the candy looks good, and it seems pretty cheap.

So it makes zero sense that Lloyd, of all people, would suddenly go painfully tense in the middle of the street, and refuse to take another step forward.

“I can’t go in there,” he whispers.

Skylor’s having that sense of déjà vu again. The rest of the ninja trade confused glances.

“Uh, Lloyd?” Kai says, hesitantly. “They sell candy in there, you know.”

“I know,” Lloyd grinds out, his teeth clenched painfully together. “I’ve been in there before.”

“You have?” Cole frowns. “You — oh.” Realization dawns in his eyes, and he’s suddenly biting his lip, holding back laughter. “Oh, I forgot.”

“Forgot wha—” Jay looks between the two of them, then back at the shop, before something sparks in his eyes as well, and he doubles over in laughter.

“Shut up,” Lloyd hisses.

“Why are we laughing at Lloyd,” Skylor finally sighs, as Kai and Zane break into barely-stifled giggles as well, and Nya rolls her eyes.

“So, um,” Lloyd swallows, shifting anxiously from side to side. “You know how I said they hung me from a roof? There might’ve, uh, been a reason for that.”

“Of course there was,” Skylor says.

“I kind of threatened them, a little bit, and uh, tried to steal half their shop, one time.”

“Of course you did.”

“Lloyd,” Nya sighs. “That was forever ago.”

“I stole from them,” Lloyd bites out. “If I show my face in there again, they’ll kill me."

“I highly doubt they will resort to murder, Lloyd,” Zane says, flatly. “Besides, you did not actually succeed in stealing anything, because we caught you and hung you from a roof. Remember?”

“Yeah, and then I came back with the Serpentine, and made it worse!” Lloyd exclaims. “Just go in without me, I’ll sit out here and cry.”

“We’re not just gonna leave you outside,” Kai rolls his eyes. “C’mon, let’s mend some old wounds. Just go inside and apologize.”

“I would literally rather die.”

“Lloyd, seriously.”

“I’ve done it before, don’t test me.”

“Lloyd.”

“You can’t make me, I’ll fight you—”

“Alright, alright, we’ll find a different shop!”

***********************

“Okay, I have to know,” Skylor finally asks, as they pass the outskirts of the village, heading back to the Bounty. “How many places are you all banned from, in total? Because this is ridiculous. I can’t take you anywhere.”

“I mean, you can’t take us anywhere even without the bans, anyways,” Cole says wearily. “To be fair.”

“We’re not that bad,” Lloyd protests, only to wilt immediately under Skylor’s stare. “There are just…a few places…”

“Zane, how many is it now,” Nya asks, rubbing her temples.

Zane is quiet for a moment, slowly ticking off his fingers as he stares upwards. “Did we ever decide if that one museum counted?”

“The vote was yes,” Jay mutters.

“And the Explorer’s Club, did we decide that one?”

“I’d say that’s a pretty hard ban,” Lloyd winces.

Nya huffs, crossing her arms. “I still say it doesn’t count, because like, everyone’s banned from there, with their stupid stuck-up membership requirements.”

Zane takes this into account, his eyebrows furrowing. “That leaves us with…seventeen places we cannot return to, I believe? Unless I missed one.”

Skylor’s left wordless, gaping at them. She knew there was a lot, but seventeen—?!

“I’m almost a hundred percent sure we’re also banned from the Never Realm,” Kai points out. Zane gives him the iciest look Skylor’s ever seen. Kai simply shrugs. “What? Just stating the facts.”

Lloyd frowns. “I don’t think we are? I mean, Akita wouldn’t—”

“Oh, Akita wouldn’t,” Jay cuts over him, a gleam in his eyes. “Would she, casanova?”

Lloyd goes scarlet, sputtering. “I told you, she kissed me! On the cheek! I just stood there, you can’t—” He buries his face in his hands, and despite her amusement (and rampant curiosity, because this is Lloyd and kissing), Skylor feels bad for him. “I can’t believe I ever told any of you about that,” he whines, sounding tragically upset with himself.

“You were the one having a mental breakdown over it,” Nya reminds him, almost gently. “You need to work on setting boundaries, bud.”

“It’s not like I didn’t tell her I had horrible issues with romance!” Lloyd throws his hands up, frustrated. “Because I did, in painfully honest detail—”

“And yet you refuse to open up to me about it,” Kai says plaintively.

“Turn into a dog for a bit, you might get lucky,” Lloyd grumbles.

Skylor doesn’t want to know. She really, really doesn’t want to know. “Well,” she finally says. “I do know one place you aren’t banned from.”

They all look up at her, and Skylor shakes her head. “You fly me back to the shop in time for dinner, and noodles are on the house tonight.”

Six faces brighten considerably. “Seriously?” Cole says. “Skylor, you’re an angel.”

“Seriously, the best person ever—”

“Our favorite cryptid orange ninja there ever was—”

“Yeah, yeah, keep flattering me,” Skylor sighs, trying not to smile, and failing woefully.

She doesn’t know why she still hangs out with these people, getting banned from everywhere in the city. What a bunch of nerds.

[notfunnydean]

Coming Out

Pairing: Dean Winchester / Castiel Tags: bisexual Dean, pansexual Cas, first kiss, first pride Word Count: 1.969 Challenge:  SPN Fam Pride Month Summary: While being on a hunt Dean discovers a pride parade. He sneaks out of the motel room to explore the parade but also to learn more about himself. There he meets someone familiar. Link (if posted on AO3): https://archiveofourown.org/works/24963385

Dean takes a deep breath and then finally gets out of his beloved Baby. He hastily looks around, to see if he knows someone, even though he is miles away from Kansas. Still his brother and Castiel are with him.

Not right now, but at the motel. 

“Okay, you can do this.” Dean mutters to himself and then throws his jacket back into the Impala. He feels a bit lighter already, but he is still wearing a flannel. For now he would stay like that. 

Dean feels ridiculous, but he almost sneaks down the alley into the city. He can hear loud music and people singing and gulps. Okay, he had waited a long long time for this and he wouldn’t freak out.

He wishes Charlie was still with him.

She would’ve liked this. Dean is sure Charlie did things like this all the time and he’s proud of her. He tries to be proud of himself too, but it’s difficult. 

“Hey. First pride?”

Dean looks up to see a young guy and nods shortly. Does he look like it’s his first time? God how embarrassing.

“No need to worry. Just have fun, maybe try a smile? I’m Max.” Dean nods again, but then he realizes that and smiles shyly. Max looks good, he wears a rainbow flag around his torso and has a lot of pins on his shirt.

“Sorry, I’m just really nervous. I haven’t really come out so far.” Dean mutters and Max looks almost compassionate at that, but he clasps Dean’s shoulder and nods.

“We’ve all been there. Just don’t pressure yourself. Some of us never come out in public or to their family and friends and they’re still valid.” Max continues and it helps Dean to feel a bit better.

He’d never been out to his father and he is kinda glad for that. He doesn’t know what John would’ve thought of him. Maybe… he would’ve come out to his mother, but he didn’t get the chance.

And yeah he could’ve always come out to his brother. Dean knows that. Sam is probably the most open human there is, but he’s still scared shitless. Hell, it took a lot to admit to himself that maybe he likes to look at guys as well.

“Thank you, that means a lot.” Dean says and this time it’s a real smile. 

“If you wanna buy anything. I got a lot to sell.” Max says and he points at all the colorful things he has in his booth. While Dean’s eyes stop at something particular, he excuses himself. Max nods towards him and then is already talking to another girl. 

Dean continues his own way, the sun is shining brightly and there are so many people around him. Dean stops to get himself a beer and then finally opens his flannel. His shirt is nothing special.

But it has a huge bi-flag on it. 

Everyone around him is so happy, a lot of people are waving to him, even flirting shortly with Dean and he likes this. He finally feels accepted and free and so good in his own skin. He can’t remember the last time this happened. 

Dean even stops and gets himself some pins. He actually likes the rainbow flag as well but the bisexual merch means a lot to him. Almost his whole life he hadn’t even known that he wasn’t really alone with that.

Sue his hunting lifestyle. He never had time to discover his own sexuality in school or college. He had always accepted that he’d never look into  that side of himself too much. But then… then someone appeared in his life.

“We got every flag there is.” A woman says and Dean stops to look at all the flags. There are just small ones you can hold up, but also huge ones like Max had around his torso. Dean gasps at a cowboy hat in the bisexuality colors. 

Dean has his wallet out before he can think about it. It’s not even that expensive, so Dean takes that cowboy hat and even one of those huge flags, that he can wrap around his shoulders. 

He can’t believe this. He would’ve never thought that he’d wear merch like this. Sure a few pins, his shirt, but this felt kinda huge. Dean smiles even harder and puts on the hat, before using that flag as a cape.

Dean snickers to himself and just as he turns around he walks right into someone.

“Whoops sorry.” Dean says and he feels a bit tipsy so happy is he, even though he hadn’t had a lot to drink.

“Hello Dean.”

Dean’s heart stops.

“Cas?!” 

Fuck. Okay. Dean smiles awkwardly and then even tips his hat in greeting. Like the dumbass he is. Castiel smiles anyway and Dean’s eyes widen when he finally sees what the angel is wearing.

Not his trenchcoat for once. Instead a shirt with a flag, that Dean doesn’t know. (He’s new to all of this, dammit) and a fake halo in the same colors. 

“I thought you don’t have a halo.” Dean gets out and wants to smack himself. Castiel’s smile gets only wider at that and there is something else in his eyes.

“That’s why I bought this one.” Castiel answers and they continue to look at each other. Like always, Dean gets lost in those blue eyes. He can’t help it. Castiel takes a step closer and Dean wishes he could take his hand.

Then he does.

“Come with me, I got an idea.” Dean mutters, blushing badly that he is holding Castiel’s hand. Luckily, his best friend isn’t saying anything and Dean knows he walks a lot more upright now.

People will probably think Castiel is his boyfriend and he likes that a little too much.

“Where are we going?” Castiel asks, while they walk and he even squeezes Dean’s hand. Dean walks a bit slower, wanting to enjoy this. 

“I think I saw something you should get.” Dean answers truthfully. He remembers that he had seen the booth when he first came here, the one where he met Max. It takes them roughly 10 minutes to walk there.

“I didn’t know you were bisexual.” Castiel says, it doesn’t sound mad. He sounds actually pretty glad, Dean almost squirms.

“I… I… never mentioned it, but I wanted… I finally wanted to be me.” Dean stutters. He can’t remember the last time he was this nervous and he looks at Castiel. He can feel how the hand holding Castiel’s sweats.

“I like it.” Castiel answers and there are a lot more butterflies in Dean’s stomach than around them. Maybe that actually means that Castiel could like him back?

“What does yours mean?” Dean asks carefully and he hopes it doesn’t mean he’s out of the game. He feels like an idiot for knowing almost nothing about genders and sexualities. He should look more into it.

To be ready for the next prides, too. But this one was rather accidental and he was glad to have the shirt with him at all.

“After the human meaning, I’m pansexual. I don’t care about the gender of my love interest. I just need to have a profound bond to the person.” Castiel explains and Dean gasps quietly. He knows exactly that Castiel had said before that they shared a profound bond.

“Hey there stranger!”

Before Dean can answer something to Castiel, Max has already spotted him. Dean goes over to him, painfully aware that he is still holding Castiel’s hand. Max grins, but says nothing.

“Hey again. Uh, I thought I would come back to your offer. I’d like to purchase something.” Dean says and he follows Max at the booth. Before that he tells Castiel to wait for him there. The angel does so and looks at the parade that just started.

“Sure thing, my twin sister Alicia creates all of this. Supportive Sibling thing.” Max says grinning and the girl from earlier waves at them. Dean smiles. He should tell Sam, too. (He just hopes Sam wouldn’t start crafting things too, he’s not super good at it.)

“I’d like to get one of those. Do you have them in the pansexuality colors?” Dean asks and Max gets them out of a cardboard. Dean loves them already, the colors suit Castiel perfectly.

“For your boyfriend?” Max asks while Dean pays, he looks back to Castiel, who seems still fascinated by all the colorful vehicles. Dean shrugs.

“We’ve known each other for ages but I hope I can finally be his.” Dean explains and he is blushing again. Max smiles wider and wishes him good luck. Dean hopes they will meet again some time.

He walks back to Castiel and carefully puts his present on Castiel’s back. It even has a small holder that he can attach to Castiel’s shoulders. Castiel jerks in surprise and then raises his eyebrows at the fake wings.

“Really?”

“Yeah you look… you look really gorgeous. Always I mean.” Dean wants to smack his head against something hard and heavy, but Castiel chuckles.

“Thank you Dean. You look very beautiful yourself.” Castiel answers easily. There was a time where Dean would’ve been angry with being called ‘beautiful’, and maybe even yesterday he would’ve been offended.

But he wants to learn to be himself now.

“Thanks.” Dean mutters, still embarrassed, but Castiel takes his hand again. Dean even gets a bit closer to him, as they watch the parade around them together.

“So. How come you are here today?” Castiel asks and Dean shrugs a bit awkwardly. At first he doesn’t know what to say. Then he takes a deep breath.

“I guess some things take me a while to understand.” Dean says and he even goes for a wink like a dumbass. But Castiel is still close, still holding his hand. Even smirking a bit now.

“Like what?”

“Like huh... this.”

Dean had killed so many supernatural things in his life and never been afraid beforehand. But he is afraid right now, as he leans closer and hastily closes his eyes, so he doesn’t have to see the angels face.

Luckily, Castiel comes towards him as well and their lips meet in the middle. Dean gasps quietly in his shock, but then Castiel is putting his free hand on Dean’s neck and pulls him even closer.

Dean opens his mouth without a second thought and fuck he hadn’t known that Castiel was such a good kisser. He is already addicted. Castiel even hums, when people are whistling at them.

The kiss breaks way too soon, but Dean kinda needs to breath. He licks over his lips, when he opens his eyes, only to meet Castiel’s hungry gaze.

“I really like you.” Dean whispers.

He then closes his eyes in his own frustration and takes a deep breath. What the fuck, is he five years old and talking to his crush at the kindergarten? He was never so bad at flirting. Castiel grins.

“I’m in love with you for years.” Castiel says as if it’s nothing.

“Me… me too.” Dean says and Castiel hugs him as hard as he can. Like always they seem to forget about the world around him. Dean doesn’t think he had ever been this happy. This feels right.

This feels like something new and exciting and at the same time like something he had known for years and gives him security. 

“So how come you’re here?” Dean asks, still shy even after the kiss. At least he is still holding Castiel’s hand. The angel smiles and then shrugs.

“Sam told me to find you here.” Castiel winks at Dean this time and Dean gasps quitely.

He would strangle his brother. And maybe send him flowers

“Now kiss me again, Cowboy.”

“As you wish Angel.”

[msiopao]

The One with the Polaroids

pairing: jungkook x nobi

summary: whilst cleaning their closet, nobi stumbles upon a box that she thought she lost 5 years ago

to say the least, it was dirty.

ever since they moved in 2 years ago, the dorm hasn’t been properly cleaned because they were either too busy with touring or too lazy to do it. but it has gotten to the point where they actually were willing to clean everything. part of the reason might’ve been the boredom and the need to do something productive and the other reason could be that they would like to grab something without dusting it off first.

nobi and jungkook first started cleaning their room and around their beds. with having the biggest room in the dorm, they took a while to fully dust, vaccum, and throw away random garbage they found either under their beds or under their desks.

“ew, kook, why is there a banana milk box here?” she whined in disgust when she saw it under his bed.

jungkook merely shrugged and continued wiping the windows. “i don’t know. probably had a late snack.”

“dear god, jeon jungkook, we have a trash can for a reason!” she chided but he just turned to give her a grin.

“sorry.”

sighing, she got up from the floor and fluffed up the millions of pillows on her bed before grabbing the broom to sweep under her own bed. there was just paper balls and socks in the mix but she noticed a hoodie that she thought she really lost forever ago.

“oh my god!” nobi squealed and picked it up, examining it. it looked the same except it just had dust bunnies. “my stussy jacket!”

jungkook finished his job and looked over to what she was squealing for and gave her a look. “you mean my stussy jacket?”

laughing at his question, nobi walked over to him and patted his cheek. “sharing is caring, bub.”

a knock from their bedroom door made her go and answer it, finding jin at the other side.

“just saying that we have all the washers running so you might wait a while to run your guys’ stuff,” jin explained causing her to pout.

“this is why i keep saying that we should buy another. it’s a hassle with only 5 washers,” she pouted. jin smiled before ruffling her hair.

“once one of them is done, i’ll tell you.”

jungkook picked up a striped sock before tossing it to his laundry basket so that it could be washed. it baffled him of how many socks he has, considering he walks around the house barefoot.

once jin left, nobi went to their closet and opened the door, revealing the tons of clothing hanging on both top and bottom. it was split into 2 sections with jungkook’s and her clothing separate. but honestly, there was no use as she used his clothing most of the time. 

“hey, jungkook, should we wash all of our clothes? i mean, some of these haven’t been washed in several months. probably, since we moved,” she said.

he followed her inside and went to the very back of the closet, noticing that there was actually dust on the shoulder of one of his jackets. he took it off the long bar and examined it, forgetting he even owned it.

“do you remember this jacket, bub?” he asked making nobi look at him.

she looked at it and furrowed her eyebrows before shaking her head no. “i don’t think i’ve seen it before.”

“hm, maybe we should donate some of our clothes that we don’t own anymore. its good to give to those who need it rather than letting it sit here.”

nobi looked at him, shocked. “wah, jeon jungkook! you sounded so mature just now!”

he rolled his eyes and shoved her shoulder to hide the redness of his cheeks. “shut up. i’m always mature.”

she grabbed a big laundry basket for them to put their clothes in and they placed the hangers back on its place. nobi was amazed at how big their closet was and how small it felt when they it used to cramped with clothing. as they neared the end of the line, she saw a few boxes on the very back corner that looked like its never been touched.

she crouched in front of it and inspected it to see her handwriting, ‘2015′. lifting the boxes individually, she placed it by the foot of her bed and got out a pocket knife to cut through the packing tape that sealed it shut. jungkook noticed her with the boxes and sat on her bed as she wrenched the cardboard box open.

inside, there were many little trinkets from what looked to be tickets to a movie, a shonen jump magazine, a red jacket, and a smaller box at the bottom. carefully placing the stuff on top of her bed, she pulled out the black box and she felt a familiarity with it.

“ah! that box!” jungkook pointed. she looked at him in confusion.

“this?” she held up before lifting the lid open, finding an old polaroid camera with different pictures.

nobi held up the black and white object and blew the dust away, making jungkook cough as it was directed as his face. he made a sound of surprise but she paid him no mind, fingers reaching for the polaroids that were a mix of colored and black and white.

“did i... did i forget about these?” she whispered, hurt and angry at herself for not remembering about these precious memories.

“to be honest, i even forgot about it. maybe the members too,” he reassured.

there was one from her birthday. in the bottom, it was written, ‘nov 7 2014′ while the picture was of her with icing all over her face and carrying the birthday cake. she had a wide grin on her face and a party hat on her head.

“oh my god.. i remember these now,” she quietly stated. “this was one of the things that i took with me when i became a trainee. it was originally my mum’s.”

jungkook softly smiled at her and he gently grabbed her hand to sit on the bed where she was situated between his legs with her back against his chest. he rested his chin on her shoulder while she sifted through several more pictures.

one of her and tae in the restaurant they used to go to.

one of her and jimin in the dancing studio.

one of jin cooking.

one of hobi as he smiled widely.

one of namjoon in LA.

one of yoongi playing the piano.

one of her and jungkook as they clutched the music show trophy.

all of these were the memories of her youth yet they were sealed away in a box, only to be found years later.

as much as there were pictures of her members, jungkook was in most of them. from the simplest things like catching him staring at the camera to the happier things like their picnic in Han river that one night. he was present in almost all of the pictures and the camera lens was most familiar of his face.

nobi took a minute to fully look at this picture of her and kook where they were both lounging on her top bunk with their backs against the wall and her head on his shoulder while his rested on top of hers. the light hit them perfectly and the white walls shined the setting sun behind them. she remembered asking tae to take the picture and them fearing for their lives when their combined weight rattled the bed with the slightest movement. they both wore white and both of their hair was as messy as it could be.

it was labeled, ‘may 8 2014′, in black sharpie marker.

“god, my bare face was so bad back then.” her complaints made jungkook gently pinch her side.

“you were and have never been ugly.”

she turned her head to look at him, “yah, remember when i forgot to wash my face for 2 days and suddenly acne popped out of nowhere?”

he laughed and hugged her tighter. “you were forgetful. actually, still is. and you were too busy practicing in the studio to remember that you needed to take care of yourself too.”

a sad smile slowly replaced her grin, “but when i did remember, there was no cleanser left. i didn’t have money to buy more so i just endured it.”

“i think i used it all up. does my apology still count today?” he playfully asked to lighten her mood.

but the pain didn’t leave. “i remembered begging my parents for money. i wanted to have enough money to take care of all of us and put the company’s money to the music video.”

jungkook grew silent as she relived the time in their past where they struggled financially. it was a time where they almost disbanded because of their lack of money and not being financially stable enough to create their mv.

“i took the last bit of money i had to go to Jeju and i threw all my shame out of the window by asking them for more money. taehyung cried because he was hungry but we already spent our food money for the month. the imo from the restaurant has fed us so many times and never asked anything in return. that was when i knew i had to do something,” said nobi. “our manager was already doing so much for us and i didn’t want to ask for more.”

she never told him or the members this so he stared at her, sad and slightly upset that she burdened herself so early on. jungkook could faintly remember her disappearing for a few days and turning up a few days later with food from the convenience store. the angry outburst from yoongi being so worried for her still echoes in his memory to this day.

“i didn’t want all of our hard work to go to waste. i knew if we didn’t have any money, we would be forced to break up and i didn’t want to leave you guys. even if they didn’t help us, i wanted to think that i did everything i can to keep us together and i fought every battle with my all. we were just starting and the thought of it ending so quickly scared me.”

“we fought those battles and we won them all, nobi. we won them together,” he soothed. jungkook could feel her relax into his chest and he placed a kiss on her hair to remind her that he is there for her.

“god, i just brought the mood down, didn’t i?” she laughed. jungkook shook his head no.

“hm, no. you’ve always kept these things to yourself and never speak out whenever you have troubles. so, hearing you talk about this makes me happy because i feel like you’re finally opening up to me, bub.”

nobi swung her legs so she was able to look at him and wrapped her arms around his neck, softly tugging at the hair at the nape of his neck. jungkook looked down at her with a curious smile while he rested his hand on her knee, caressing it gently.

“nah, i like keeping these things to myself. it gives me the mysterious vibes that i want. when people get curious about you, that’s when they instinctively stick around to try and figure you out. it’s like i’m running away and you’re after me to finally figure me out. i try to play hard to get,” she countered.

he chuckled before bumping her forehead with his. “is that why i’m still with you?”

“the chase is not over yet, jeon jungkook-ssi.”

“then i’ll chase you till it is.”

....

with their cleaning tools scattered around the floor and previous intention of laundry wiped from their minds, they spent the next few hours using up the leftover film in the camera. nobi tried to make it as aesthetically pleasing as possible with her posing on the bed with a fake rose or jungkook standing by the window. 

“wah, i feel bad for ARMY who can’t have these pictures. maybe we should post them?” she curiously asked while waiting for the picture to develop. he blanched at her question.

“yah, these are too intimate to be revealed to hundreds of millions of people in the internet!” he bursted causing her to laugh out loud. he sat up from the bed as he was previously laying, thinking of different picture ideas.

“i know. im just teasing. its cute to see you so jealous,” she smirked.

jungkook pouted and tutted. “i’m not jealous. i just try to help and look out for your innocent image.”

nobi walked towards him from the window and stood between his legs, jungkook loosely holding her hips. she pushed the hair that was covering his forehead and placed a soft kiss on it.

“i think we all know that concept has been out of the window since we turned legal.”

a/n: the moods in this one is just everywhere

additional: sorry for the total silence these past few days bc this girl has been binging on haikyuu

[peachiekoo]

Anthophile || JHS

anthophile: a lover of flower

⇢ Pairing: Hoseok x Reader

⇢ Genre: Romance; Fluff

⇢ Rating: PG-13

⇢ Warning(s): None

⇢ Word Count: 2.8K

⇢ Posted: May 10th,2020

⇢ A/n: Hi! I hope you enjoy this fic! I thought of it at like 4 am so I hope you enjoy it.

It was an early Thursday morning. Considering the fact that you were off of work today, you had nothing left to do. 

Normally, you would wake up pretty late on your off days but oddly enough, you woke up early. It was only eight in the morning and you couldn’t go back to sleep so you opted to go on a walk around the city you lived in for a good few years.

Throwing on warm sweater and leggings, you headed out to take a small tour.

You genuinely did enjoy living in the city, you loved how it was always busy. The shops bunched up together, made up of high-end brands and small boutiques. The apartments and fast food places make it more complete in your eye. You knew this city like the back of your hand. 

Assuming you knew every small and hidden shop. You felt like you were running out of new experiences to enjoy while you worked as a fashion design assistant. 

Going into the bakery that was across from were across from, you smelled the freshly baked treats seeping from the kitchen into the rest of the store. 

“Hey, Y/n! Your usual?” you heard Taehyung effused. Taehyung Kim, a bright and bubbly yet mysterious boy who you had become associates with due to the daily visits you would have. “Yes please!” you buzzed as you already got the cash out to pay for it. 

Soon, you were handed you a small cardboard box filled with cannoli. “What’s so good about these?” he coaxed. You leaned on the counter and smiled. “I honestly can’t answer that. Its just, addicting.” you disclosed. 

He then gave you back a warm smile and nodded, assuming he felt content with your answer. 

“See you tomorrow?” 

“You know it.” you quipped out as you walked out the building waving farewell.

Deciding you ventured enough for the morning, you made your way back home. Taking your time as you took in the nice city view yet again when you noticed a flower shop at the end of the street. It was very vintage-like, standing out compared to the more modern shops it was surrounded by.

Yet, you’ve never noticed this shop. Has it always been here? Was this shop just opened?

Curiosity taking over, you walked into the shop, viewing the beautiful flowers and decor of the shop. Smelling the freshness of the plants. You came to a sudden stop though when you noticed there was no one else in the shop.

You were about to walk out until you saw a brown-haired boy neatly putting a small bouquet together, not even noticing you had walked in. You observed as he cut the flowers and plants in a certain way. Neatly wrapping paper into a flattering shape as he wrapped them around the flowers and finishing it off with a ribbon.

He then made eye contact with you. “Hey, Welcome to the shop! Is there anything you’re looking for?” he intoned. Quickly shaking your head, “No, I was just looking around!” you replied instantly.

“Ah, new customer, right?” he guessed. “Yeah, am I that obvious?” you joked.

“I remember faces.” he simply added.

After it was quiet for a little, you saw him placing the small bouquet he had made prior to your small conversation on the counter.

“How long has this shop been here?” you question.

“About 50 years ago I believe.”

“Really? I’ve been here for a few years and I’ve never really noticed this place,” you admit.

“Understandable. We aren’t really as busy as we used to be,” he explained. “Are you sure you don’t want to buy anything? Like your first visit to our shop kind of souvenir?” he prattled.

Smiling dumbly, you declined. “I only brought enough cash for small treats sadly,” you told him.

You walked around the building for about 10 more minutes before you decided it was time to leave.

Walking up to the register, you caught the male’s attention quickly when you light waved at him with a small smile. “I didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye,” you divulged.

Smiling cutely at you he lightly chuckled. “Thank you for visiting. You should stop by more often.” he conversed.

“Of course I will. Maybe I’ll have money to buy something too.” you grinned.

You were about to make your leave when he had put the bouquet from earlier in your hand. “Here. Now you have something to remember here.” he smiled.

Feeling your face heating up, you became flustered at the sudden action. “I can’t just take this,” you told him.

“Yes, you can. I was only testing out a new combination of flowers.” he rebutted.

“It’s really pretty,” you said, looking at beautiful colors. “I really don’t know how I can repay you for this.”

“Don’t. I just wanted to give it to you.”

“You’re making me blush.”

“It’s adorable.”

Smiling goofily, you took in the nice smell of them. “I should really get going now.”

Bidding your last goodbye, you were finally at home, putting the flowers in a vase you had for your previous flowers. Admiring the beauty of it, you realized that you didn’t even know his name.

Having a rough shift, annoyed and tired, you wanted to go home and have a nice warm bubble bath with nice candles around and have some wine and then take a nice long nap.

There was one thing though, you needed to buy the wine and candles for the occasion meaning, you needed to make a few pit-stops before the comforting bath.

You after buying the candles, you saw the shop, but this time it had customers and you saw Hoseok there making the bouquets for work. Seeing as his co-workers were busy helping other customers find what flowers intrigued them.

You chose on going in, you needed to buy more flowers anyways. For the vase, you had yet to buy.

Walking in, the familiar scent of flowers come to fill your nose as you take a small whiff. Hearing the little bell ringing as you alarm the workers in the building. Your eyes immediately find the same boy’s from last time.

Seeing the smile slowly comes on his face once he realizes who you are. You saunter over to him as he finishes up one of the vast collection of flowers for the time being. “You’re back, I see. Can I help you with anything?” he queried.

“Yes, I do actually. Think you can help me?” you coaxed.

Smirking, he walks around from the counter and holds his hand out to present the other flowers neatly placed around. “Is there anything you want in particular?” he inquired you in a half-joking way

“Hm, maybe something simple,” you started before you looked at his nametag, “Hoseok.”

He looked at you almost intrigued as he gave you a smirk.

“And you must be?”

“Y/n.”

“Ah, you have a really pretty name.”

Trying your best to keep your smile off your face, you chuckle a bit. “Do you have any suggestions on what I should get?.”

Envisioning for a bit, you can tell he knew perfectly what to suggest from the way his face glowed. You would be lying if you say you didn’t feel yourself melt a bit from how adorable he was.

“How about pink roses and lavender? The colors clash together beautifully and the smell is amazing,” he explains with obvious glee.

“Well, I trust you,” you beamed. “I can tell you have an eye for flowers.” you point out.

“Flowers have always been special to me,” Hoseok explained and he picked out the flowers. “It gives me this unexplained comfort, you know?” he admits.

“Maybe I do get it. I tend to find comfort in the teddy bear I got from my Dad when I was a child. I keep it in my drawer. It calms me knowing that I still have a piece of him even though-”

You stopped once you realized you were in a public area and speaking to someone you hardly knew. He just felt so trusting though. Like you can talk to him about anything. It was strange. Almost as if he was reading you like an open book.

You noticed how he slowed down on bouquet and paid attention to you like he genuinely cared. He had a sad look on his face. Did you make him uncomfortable? You spoke too much.

“I’m so sorry.” you spluttered. “I’m just- You’re just- fuck, I honestly don’t know what to say,” you confessed.

Great, now you ruined a chance you had with an attractive guy. How much luckier could you be?

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” he said walking over the register and adding the price up. Quickly paying for it, you were about to rush off before he grabbed your wrist weakly. “Wait!” he called out.

Facing him but looking down, you listened to what he had to say.

“You don’t need to feel embarrassed. It actually kinda makes me happy that you’re already comfortable with me in a way. Maybe this can be the start of a new friendship?” he questioned.

Giving him an airy laugh as you moved the bouquet left to right. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Please, you should come back soon. I enjoy your company a lot,” he admitted.

Blushing a bit, you quickly nodded your head. “I’ll be back. I promise.

Since then you have been making casual trips there. You two bonded in a way that was unexplainable. It just felt right.

Yep, you were most definitely falling for him. He’s chunky shoes and bright style which most definitely weren’t your style somehow found a warm spot in your heart. Was it his personality? He’s looks? Maybe even his charm?

Things you kept asking yourself over and over again until you realize, it was all of the above. You were in so fucking deep this time. Even Taehyung noticed it. Way before you even did. Was it shocking that you were so clueless? Slightly. But did that make any difference on how whipped you are for him? No.

Now, you aren’t the type of person to believe in stereotypes saying that he must be the one to ask you out first. Honestly, you’re just too scared to make the first move. Also, what if you got rejected?

Rejection has always been a fear for you. Possibly the reason why you missed out on multiple opportunities but hey, you get over them right?

But, it’s different this time. The more time you spend with him, the more you feel like you will miss him and any opportunity you had with him. You tried to push this to the back of your head but it constantly comes back rutting with more power.

You were fed up with it. Feeling bold you decided to ask him to hank out at the local arcade with you. Being the absolute sweetheart he is, he obviously accepted.

Which is why you are here now, feeling slightly lightheaded, whilst playing a random zombie game with Hoseok. Or Hobi, as you like to refer to him.

“Y/n, I love you but you’re really losing your touch.”

Getting caught off guard a bit you end up shooting at absolutely nothing and zombie comes to attack your character.

He’s right. You’re dead at this point.

“I’m sorry, I just have something on my mind.” you sugarcoat as you hear your character screeching cries of pain as Hobi keeps on shooting.

“Which is?”

Looking over to him, you see his soft yet sharp side profile as keeps his focus on the undead trying to feast on him.

It’s now or never right?

“I was just thinking that maybe we can hang out again, but like, in a different way?” you say, being unsure if you even made sense.

“Sure, I saw this cool trampoline park right outside of the city. Looks pretty fun. Just let me know when you’re fre-“

“Actually Hobi,” you interrupt, “I meant more like, a date?” you correct.

Looking over, you see Hoseok’s attention is completely on you as he is completely astonished by what he just heard.

“I won’t be upset if you say no. You don’t owe me anything,” you add, mentally preparing yourself for heartbreak.

“No, no! Wait I do wanna go out with you,” he starts, “I just was gonna ask you the same thing.” he confesses with a warm smile on his face.

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”

“You’re lying.”

“Why would I lie to you?”

“I don’t know! You can’t put me on the spot like this.”

Grabbing your hands, he interlaces his hands with yours before moving his face closer to yours.

“So, when are we going out?” he cooed.

“Maybe this Friday?”

“Fancy or Casual.”

“I don’t know, surprise me.”

“Oh so now I’m in charge of the date?”

“I like surprises.”

“Fine, fancy.”

“You better not spent too much money.”

“Y/n it’s fine, now please get your skills back so we can kick some zombie butt.”

Laughing at how cheesy he is you grab the plastic gun and prepare to get back to work.

“Let’s do it!” you cheer.

Currently, you were on your way to a more fine dining type of restaurant.

You saw Hoseok looking at you from the corner of your eyes a few times before you lightly bagged him about keeping his eyes on the road.

“You’re just so pretty! It’s hard.” he complimented.

“You’re being so corny,�� you laugh off. “It’s cute.”

“Who would’ve known you were such a sucker for corny guys?”

“I mean if it’s you then I’ll make an exception.”

Smiling to himself, he took his free hand and interlaced it with your hand closest to him.

“Y/n, I really do like you. I’m glad you made the first move because I was so fucking close to asking you out with a cringe type of question,” he admits before he starts to laugh with you at his confession.

Arriving at a modern-looking restaurant, you can feel the butterflies in your stomach fluttering around more. You were nervous. Like extremely nervous.

You didn’t want to mess this up. Especially not with someone as sweet as him.

He was getting ready to leave out of the car before you suddenly tighten your grip. “Hoseok, I like you too. Like a lot.” you clarified.

“Good, I was ready to fight for you.” expressed Hoseok.

The date went more perfect then you could’ve even expected.

Hoseok did everything and more you would’ve thought he would do during a date.

He was so caring and sweet as you express numerous of times but you still aren’t convinced it’s enough.

He makes you happy. He makes you feel like you’re the only one. He happily gives you the attention you ask for which is way more than you would’ve expected.

“Do you mind if we stop at the shop? I left something there.” interrupting your train of thought.

“Yeah, of course.”

With a comfortable silence taking over the car, you look out the window and look at all the bright city lights and cars and people going by. It’s so beautiful here when it’s a late night. You wouldn’t trade it for anything.

“I’ll be back.” he tells you before rushing out of the car.

This moment is everything to you. The scenery you love to look at the most and the most perfect boy there to put the final cherry on top.

Hoseok knew how much you loved the view here. You told him this millions of times yet he still doesn’t get sick of the way your eyes sparkle once you talk about it.

He even remembers how you said when holidays come and the city is decorated, you feel euphoric.

To him it’s one of the many things that makes you so perfect to him.

Little did you know that he had a small gift waiting for you.

You didn’t even hear when he got back into car barring gifts and and large bouquet. “Y/n, look!”

Turning over, you went completely wide eye. Possibly the biggest bouquet you’ve ever gotten and a medium-sized box in his other hand.

It was made with your birthday flower and your favorite color. You felt yourself tearing up as he gave the flowers to you.

“Now open the box.” he provokes.

Grabbing the box, you gently unravel the ribbon keeping the box together before removing the lid off of the box.

You felt the hot tears finally falling from your eyes. It was a snowglobe. But it was a replica of this city and you could see all the pretty details inside.

Looking under it, you found your name engraved on the bottom.

“You’re too good to me.” you blubbered.

“Because I want to be with you.” he cooed.

It’s official. He and his flowers found a way in your heart.

But this time, you were fully willing to accept it.

© peachiekoo — all rights reserved. reposting or modifying of any medium is not allowed. translations not allowed.

[hawkbucks]

16. the one where anything written on your skin appears on your soulmate's skin as well. I just imagine MIT tony falling asleep and rhodey drawing a dick on his face which also appears on Bucky aka the winter soldier one of the most deadly Assassins

This really got away from me. Somewhat angsty? Idk hgjfkdls I go from talking about a dick on Bucky’s face to… well, a certain date. It sorta ends happy.

The Asset stares blankly at the concrete wall in front of him, shoulders stiff and knuckles turning white as he grips the edge of the steel slab they have the audacity to call a bed. He breathes in and out, in and out, long, deep lungfuls of air. The taste of ice still lingers on his tongue, and there’s a chill in his bones that aches.

His Handler circles around him, hands clasped behind their back as they relay the details of his mission. “Do you understand?” they ask, snappish, barely glancing at him out of the corners of their eyes. He isn’t important enough for direct eye contact; he’s learned that a long time ago.

Before he can respond, his Handler does a double-take, looking at him with widening eyes. “What,” they start, “in the fuck is that.”

He makes no noise as they hoist him up and drag him in front of a stained mirror, their clipped fingernails digging into the flesh of his right bicep. Right in the middle of his forehead is a rather… phallic looking symbol drawn in black marker. Still dazed, he looks confusedly at his Handler, unsure if this is some sort of test.

An irritated growl rips itself from his Handler’s throat before he finds himself being shoved back into his cryostasis chamber. Before he slips back into the darkness, he picks up bits and pieces of harshly spoken Russian. Something to do with a “soulmate”? Whatever it is, he’s sure that he won’t be woken up again until that problem is solved.

Thankfully, the next time he’s up to bat, there are no phallic symbols drawn anywhere on his body. In fact, nothing appears on his skin the entire time his Handler gives him information on another mission. He’s noticed, though, that the once-clean concrete wall is now stained with mottled red, greens, and blacks. The light in the back right of the room–which flickered the last time he was here–now seems to have been ripped out, if the copper wires dangling from its previously occupied hole in the ceiling is any indication.

He can’t help but to wonder if they remember what happened last time. Or maybe they do, and they’re just desperate. It’s not like he’s going to ask; that’s a quick way for him to get disciplined for speaking out of turn.  

A manila folder is pressed into his hands. He understands what he has to do.

He sits on a rather uncomfortable plastic chair behind the counter in a convenience store. The actual cashier is conked out in the backroom, their name tag currently decorating the front of his shirt. A cheesy pop song blares from the radio sitting on a black table behind him, of which the audio quality is not the greatest.

There’s really nothing to be done as he waits for his target to come in, besides reading a battered pile of magazines sitting in a cardboard box by his feet. The top one doesn’t even seem socially acceptable to be read in public. He absentmindedly drums his fingers on the surface of the counter along with the beat of the song, reading the far away labels of Doritos bags and Red Bull cans. Out of all the places for his target to frequent…

As he studies a mole on the heel of his palm, blocky–yet elegant–writing starts to form across its surface.

Call Jan – need help for lab tmrw

His brows knit together, and he clenches and unclenches his fist, watching as the words roll and crinkle on his skin. If he sees what they write on their skin, could they see what he writes on his? Curiosity bubbles up in him like a volcano waiting to explode.

Biting his bottom lip, he reaches for a ballpoint pen sitting on the edge of the counter. He presses the cool tip against his wrist and writes. Hello. His letters are lopsided and decidedly ugly compared to the other’s, but at least it’s legible. He hopes.

Holy shit, is hastily scribbled below his greeting. All these years, and now you answer?

Yes. Sorry.

You should be! I’ve been sending you messages ever since I knew what a soulmate was, but you never wrote back! I just assumed I didn’t have one.

Something like guilt stirs at the bottom of his stomach, but his attention is drawn to that word: Soulmate?

For the next few minutes, no new words appear. He’s on the verge of giving up and scrubbing away the pen ink on his wrist before he gets a reply. You aren’t joking.

Why would I be?

I don’t know. To screw with me or something? Have you been living under a rock?

Kinda. That’s close enough to the truth.

Yeah, you must have been if you haven’t replied to my messages for the past 9 years. What’s your name?

He frowns. It changes. One day he’s Nicholai and the other he’s David. He’s been called Matthieu and he’s been called Sebastian. He doesn’t have a true, solid name. Then, one pops in his head. One that feels vaguely familiar, comforting in a way that he can’t put a finger on. James.

Cool. My best friend is named James, too. My name is Anthony, but you can call me Tony.

Hello, Tony.

Hi, James! A small smiley face appears next to the exclamation point.

The bell above the door rings, bringing him back to reality. He snaps his head up, recognizing his target’s face from the dossier. I have to go now, Tony, but I’ll talk to you soon.

He doesn’t get to see Tony’s reply before he throws the pen with devastating accuracy.

By the time he was finished dispatching his target, Tony’s messages have all disappeared. He feels a twinge of disappointment in his chest when he realizes that he never got to see what Tony said after he bid him farewell, and only God knows how long it’ll be before he’s taken back out.

He scrubs any and all traces of the ink off of his arm, not wanting his Handler to demand an explanation should they see even a faint mark. If he were to mention this soulmate of his… well, he has no doubt that what they would put him through would make him wish he never even picked up that pen.

Throwing the pen into the cardboard box from earlier, he makes his way out of the store with no more than a passing glance at the now bloodied floor.

The walls are stainless steel now, not concrete, and the lights are all a harsh white that wash the room in its fluorescence. His Handler is different–younger and crueler in the way the corners of their mouth turn up.

Instead of a folder, he’s handed some black device, molded perfectly to fit in his ear. They motion at him to put it on. With shaky hands, he does.

A voice booms in his ear, much too loud for how sensitive his senses are, but he manages to keep his face schooled. He grits his teeth, jaw clenching. His Handler looks him straight in the eye. “You keep this on you at all times, do you understand?” He realizes right then that it’s their voice that he’s hearing.

He nods stiffly, glaring up at them.  

They grin, looking almost wolf-like. “Good.”

He stops by a convenience store like the one before to buy himself a couple of granola bars and energy drinks. If this mission is going to go the way he thinks it’s going to go, he’s going to be camping at that place for a while, and what his Handler packed for him can barely be considered food.

His Handler also doesn’t seem to keep that close of an eye on their wallet.

“I know you took some money,” they say, although they don’t sound that annoyed.

He rolls his eyes, picking up a small bag of chips. He can’t exactly reply, not without a microphone. As he walks to the checkout, a pack of pens catches his eye.

Without hesitation, adds it to his basket.

Hello, Tony, he writes over his pulsepoint, sitting in a tree next to a craggly, old street. Underneath him lies a motorcycle, covered up by the bushes. The night sky above him is a gradient of hazy blues and blacks, with the only light being provided by the flashlight he has pinned to the front of his vest.

Asshole, is all he gets back. You and I have a very different definition of “soon.”

I’m sorry.

It’s been 2 years, James. He sucks in a breath. 2 years? He’s sure that he’s been out for longer than that before, but when put it in the perspective of someone who doesn’t know who he is… Where have you been?

My job is very demanding. It’s not a lie, but it’s not the truth either.  

What are you? The President of some foreign country?

No.

A spy? An assassin? A soldier?

I can’t tell you.

Great, that means you’re some sort of super secret government spy. Don’t worry, I won’t tell. Can you at least tell me how old you are? I didn’t get to ask you that last time.

Using the bottom of the pen, he scratches at his temple. His age? Like his name, it fluctuates, but he settles on a number that feels right. 26.

Oh. You’re only 5 years older than me. Thank god, I thought you were like… 45.

5 years. So, Tony’s 21? I’m not.

Yeah, I know that now… so, how are you?

I’m bored. Waiting.

For what?

It’s for my job.

…Okay. I’m kind of waiting, too.

For what?

My parents. They’re out somewhere, and I wanted to surprise them.

We can talk. It’ll be less boring.

Tony draws another smiley face. Okay!

From their chat, he learns that Tony is wicked smart. He attended M.I.T, made a functioning robot, and obtained 2 master’s degrees before he was even able to drink. His best friend is in the Air Force, and he has this butler he loves like a father. He likes shrimp carbonara and refuses to touch green beans unless they’re shoved down his throat. Tony, he concludes, is utterly fascinating, and he makes that clear in all the sentences he writes back.

What about you? Tony writes after going on a paragraph-long rant about some movie series called Star Wars. (They both had to wait for some messages to disappear lest they start taking off their pants for more writing space.)

What do you mean?

Do you like Star Wars?

I’ve never watched it.

Tony’s next response takes up a good chunk of his arm: BLASPHEMY!

Can you give me your number? We need to arrange a meetup, and it gets exhausting to write.

His hand freezes. Number? I don’t have one.

A few seconds pass. Then: You can’t be serious, James.

I’m being serious.

Yeah. You’re the same guy who didn’t know what a soulmate was. I believe you.

Thank you.

You know what you can do? I’ll give you an address. You in New York?

Yes.

Good. What’s your last name?

God, he really wishes Tony would stop asking these kinds of questions. He settles on the first one that pops in his head. Barnes.

Okay. Go here–an address is scribbled across the crook of his elbow–say your name is James Barnes, and ask for Tony.

Tony what?

Tony Stark.

He drops his pen. Stark. There’s no way. Except that his Handler gave him all of the information on his target, including the fact that they have a son named Anthony, but he preferred to be called Tony. Anthony’s birth date matches up with his Tony’s age. Anthony went to M.I.T, too. Anthony reported having made contact with his soulmate 2 years ago, having previously thought he had none.

In the distance, he hears the purring of a car’s engine.

He switches off his flashlight and jumps down.

James, are you there? appears on his right palm as he smashes Howard Stark’s face in. You didn’t even say bye. Kinda rude.

He finds himself scrubbing away all evidence of conversation on his arm again, this time using boiling hot water and going until his skin is pink and raw.

Back in the base, his Handler grabs at his forearm, gripping him so tightly that the skin around their hand turns a pale white. “We know you’ve been writing to someone,” they whisper, low and dangerous. “Stop. Now.”

He nods.

My parents are dead, is scribbled over the middle of his right forearm. The glass in front of him fogs up with ice. If you’re there, I really need to talk to someone right now.

James?

Where are you?

I thought we were going to watch Star Wars together. I’ve asked, and no one’s said that you’ve visited, and I told everyone that you pretty much get priority. There are only two James Barnes that I know of: you and Captain America’s old war buddy. Were you named after him?

I liked talking to you. You can’t just pull another 2 years on me. First time I didn’t mind that much, because we didn’t really know each other, and I didn’t want to seem clingy, but I really like you, James.

It gets hard to ignore. There’s a tugging sensation in his gut every time he allows one of Tony’s messages to go unanswered. He manages to shake off the tail he has on his next mission. They must’ve assigned a more inexperienced person. Who knew they were accepting amateurs these days?

He swipes a pen from an office supply store. Hello, Tony.

You. It’s amazing how such a short word can hold so much bitterness.

I’m sorry.

What the fuck is up with you?

Has it been that long? Sure, the world seems far more technologically advanced than it did when he talked to Tony a 2nd time, but he figures it can’t be more than 8, 10 years.

It’s been 30 fucking years, James. Oh.

…I’m really sorry.

Don’t be. But he feels like he should be. Listen, I can’t write that much right now. I’m on my way to Afghanistan for a demonstration. We can try again later. Bye.

Bye. I’m sorry, again.

Sure.

TONY STARK: MISSING?

Three months later, and, for some reason, he’s still out in the field. Something his Handler–another new one–said about another target having cropped up during the tail end of his original mission.

Don’t tell me you haven’t seen the news.

Quickly, he dips into a store along the street and asks to use their bathroom. He fishes the very same pen he took from the supply store out of his jacket pocket. I have. Are you okay?

I’ve been better.

As long as–he’s cut off by Tony’s writing overlapping his own. Where are you?

In a bathroom, which is inside a store.

Smartass. Where’s the store? Give me the address.

Why?

I’m coming to see you. Right now.

What if I’m on the other side of the country?

I have a private jet… of sorts.

But by the time you arrive, I won’t be in that store anymore.

Just give me the goddamn address.

So he does. Meet me inside.

As he rifles through a rack of leather jackets that cost an obscene amount of money, he feels a tap on his shoulder.

He whirls around quickly, eyes flaring, before he comes face to face with the most expensive-looking man he’s ever seen. They don’t seem the type to be working with his, er, employers, and with that sling around their arm, he doubts they could do much damage to him. So, he relaxes. Just a little.

“Are you James?” they ask. “Please be James. I’ve asked at least 4 other guys already and they’ve all looked at me weird.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“It’s me. Tony.”

WOO, I ACTUALLY MADE THEM MEET AT THE END. I was actually going to end it right after Tony leaves for Afghanistan, but I decided to let them meet ‘cause y’all deserve that after the last fill.

Tony still doesn’t know James killed his parents. He doesn’t know James is the Winter Soldier. But I had to stop or else this really would’ve… turned into its own monster.

Thank you for reading!

[gluestickcherrybum]

Happy Earth Day peeps! ヾ(@°▽°@)ノ

I haven’t written in a while but I wanted to write something for this occasion, and more posts about environmentalism since its something i’m quite passionate about. Coronavirus is pretty much all anyone’s talking about lately. And as a result , our entire way of living has been adjusted due to the outbreak: Staying indoors, washing our hands, and social distancing has become the new normal.

But just because we’re experiencing difficult times doesn’t mean we should lose sight of the bigger picture which is caring for the earth. 

Thinking about sustainability is even more important now because it connects us to the world at a time we’re told to quarantine ourselves. We’re told now more than ever to purchase single-use hand sanitizers, face masks, gloves, and other products. 

Unfortunately, these items will likely end up in landfills, or worse - the environment. Already, face masks are polluting the shores of Hong Kong. Also, people fear reusable items like never before - some businesses flat out refusing reusable mugs, containers and produce bags. While I understand we want to stay healthy, and prevent the spread of the virus, we should still make a conscious effort to think about how our decisions effect the Earth too. So, with this in mind, here’s how to stay zero waste during the coronavirus outbreak.

Why should we care about zero waste right now?

Sustainability probably isn’t on the forefront of anyone’s mind right now, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t still care or talk about it. As I mentioned earlier, thinking about sustainability helps us connect to the world in a time we’re told to bunker down and stay inside. It helps us appreciate things and maybe view the world a little differently. And, as scary and disheartening as all of this is - there is some good news too.

For example, there have been several reports of clearer waters in Venice where fish are now visible. Air pollution has dropped significantly in Italy due to the fact that fewer fossil fuels are being burned from people staying indoors. Even New York, Los Angels, Chicago, Seattle and Atlanta have reported significant drops in air pollution.

I’m well aware these positive changes come at a cost - so they’re bittersweet, at most. However, they can’t be ignored. It would be fantastic if, after the emergency is over, we could remember the beauty we’ve seen reappear in the world and do our best to preserve it.

There’s of course negative news as well, single-use items are being disposed on the daily and ending up littering up our community. Worst part is, these gloves and masks are not biodegradable or good for the environment - they’re made with petroleum. They’re also a health hazard because you can’t exactly pick these items up without worrying you’ll catch something.

That’s why it’s so important to think about sustainability right now. And zero waste does figure into all of that. By remaining zero waste during this time, we’re acting on our commitment to bettering the planet as a whole. 

How can I stay zero waste during the coronavirus outbreak?

Thankfully, there are several ways to make an impact during this time. All hope is far from lost.

Make the most of your food by reducing food waste

In this hard time, the food we eat should be cherished. With so many people struggling to put meals on the table due to job loss, we need to make our food last us. One way we can do this is by cooking with leftovers. For example, if you have some leftover rice and vegetables - make fried rice. Or turn boiled potatoes into mash.You can also get creative and make vegetable stock out of food scraps, turn mushy berries into jam, pickle some fruit. Or getting into some good old composting.

Invest in reusable masks and gloves

During this time, you’ll likely see a ton of people walking around with face masks and gloves on. Most of them are single use too. As I mentioned earlier, lots of face masks and gloves are being littered right now. 

It’s bad enough these items are single use only, they should be disposed of properly. Face masks have already started to wash up on the shores of Hong Kong in addition to other ocean polluters. Yikes.

Cloth masks havent been proven to be as efficient as clinical face masks in filtering the air, but for those who are sick and would like to prevent infection to others, the cotton does aid in catching water droplets from coughing and such. Just make sure to wash them regularly.

Instead of plastic gloves, consider using those reusable rubber gloves that people use to wash dishes sometimes. You can wash them with soap or even boil them to disinfect.

Decluttering

If you haven’t yet read Marie Kondo’s book “The Life Changing Magic of Tidying Up”, now’s a good time to get inspired. Time to go through all of your items and find the items that truly “spark joy” and be rid of the rest. Unfortunately during this time, you can’t exactly donate items to thrift shops. More than likely, thrift shops will be closed. However, you can at least set items aside to be donated once all of this is over. If you’re not comfortable waiting that long, you can always try selling it online like on Depop or Carousel.

That said, don’t be afraid to throw certain things out. I know that may seem kind of counterproductive, as I’m advising you to stay zero waste during this crisis.However, I’m fully aware there are some items we hold onto as zero wasters because we hope to keep them out of the landfill as long as possible. Items that are hard to recycle, or we don’t know how to recycle; items we believe we can fix but never get around to fixing; items simply destined for landfill one way or the other.

I know it hurts to let these items go, but you have to. It’s good for your mental health, and for the sake of your home. Remember: There is no such thing as being fully zero waste. We can get very close, but the truth is, our economy is a linear one. And every living creature creates waste of some sort. Now, this doesn’t mean I want you throwing out perfectly good items. Try to find items homes first! See if your friends or family want items you don’t first. Then, if not, seek to donate or sell. But obviously things like clothing tags and junk mail must go.

Invest in reusable period products

At this moment of crisis, with everyone panic buying basic necessities, menstrual pads and tampons are starting to get scarce so much so, you might have a hard time finding those items these days . This might be a good time to try out some sustainable alternatives. Women spend an enormous price in period products throughout their lifetime, so investing in reusables not only keeps a phenomenal amount of waste from landfills, but also saves the time going to the store and a whole lot of money.

Personally i use a menstrual cup (which i might write a whole post about it later), but for the less adventurous there are a good few other choices like reusable cloth pads and period panties (which sounded like a miracle when i first heard about them, but i haven’t seemed to be able to find any sold locally for now)

Heck, invest in reusable anything…

Its not just pads and tampons with reusable counterparts, if you want to get a little advanced in zero waste, try swapping out any disposable items possible, like stainless steel safety razors for plastic ones (ask your granddad), the infamous metal straw for plastic straws, or even things as simple as bar soap for bottled body soap.

Shop for food without the waste

During this time, please only stock up on what you need. You don’t have to hoard food - there’s plenty to go around. There’s more than enough food for everyone. Just take what you need and leave some for others.

To continue shopping sustainably, you can bring your own reusable shopping bags or produce bags (or you can diy some from old pillow cases)

I understand not everyone will be able to shop in bulk during this time for dry goods. So, you should shop as if you have no bulk food options. This means opting for items packaged in paper, cardboard, glass and aluminum.

If you must get something packaged in plastic, get the biggest container you can afford. Smaller plastics especially cling film are harder to or even impossible to recycle. Less than 9% of plastic is actually recycled so the less we consume, the less will likely end up in the landfill or oceans.

And thats all for today’s post, im sorry if its posted a bit later on Earth day than expected. I hope everyone is safe and healthy during these hard times. And if youre a student, i hope the online classes arent as bad as people say (im conveniently on a special leave of absence this semester (see my last post) so i have no idea how its going down) and if youre interested in more tips and tricks in being zero waste, feel free to hit me up and maybe ill write more posts like these. Thanks for reading ヽ(*・ω・)ﾉ

[amyscascadingtabs]

the missing pieces of my heart, they finally collide

The socks are the smallest thing he has ever seen.

Jake isn’t sure how exactly he ended up having a low-key freakout in the middle of the day at an H&M, but he figures there is a first for everything - public meltdowns over impending fatherhood included.

(In which Jake is scared of fatherhood and baby socks are really, really tiny.)

read on ao3

april

The socks are the smallest thing he has ever seen.

Jake isn’t sure how exactly he ended up having a low-key freakout in the middle of the day at an H&M, but he figures there is a first for everything - public meltdowns over impending fatherhood included.

He has been doing well with his fears since they found out about Amy being pregnant. He didn’t panic when she showed him the beginning of her pregnancy binder. He stayed calm at their first visit to the obstetrician. He did shed a tear when they got to hear a loud and strong heartbeat and see a tiny, white, moving blur that’s supposedly their baby on a screen for the first time, but in his defense, Amy cried more.

They're having a kid now, and he's ready; as ready as he feels he can be at this point. Come early December this year, he'll be saying farewell to full nights of sleep, double shifts at work and watching all the movies for adults and teens he can think of.

It’s a guarded excitement. For now, it’s this humongous secret they carry around, trying to explain away their absence at Shaw’s nights and why it looks like Amy’s always about five seconds from either throwing up or falling asleep, without revealing the truth just yet. At the same time, it’s the knowledge their lives are about to be forever changed, and it’s equal shares thrilling and petrifying.

They’ve known for three weeks, which is not a lot of time - Jake has eaten older lunches from the precinct’s fridge at least twice - but already he’s spent oceans of time thinking about it. It just so happens that when he’s not doing everything to take care of his exhausted, nauseous, and emotional wife, his thoughts circle back to the monochrome sonogram picture and the indescribable, undiluted love building inside him whenever he looks at it in his phone gallery.

He’s excited, but he’s never been more scared in his life. He’s worried about miscarriages and diseases and complications and how there’s such a thing as sudden infant death where a baby can straight-up die without any explanation. He’s scared of doing too much and not doing enough and he’s helplessly scared of becoming his own father, and so far the only person he can talk about it with is Amy. The problem is he doesn’t want to bother her with his asinine fears; he’s sure that reminding her of all the terrible things he’s learned can happen will do more harm than good, plus she’s exhausted all the time now and would likely fall asleep in the middle of the conversation. He finds it endearing how she’ll fight to keep her eyes open before falling asleep next to him on the couch, but she’s become pretty much worthless in any conversation longer than three minutes. Consequently, Jake’s keeping his fears to himself for now, taking deep breaths and hovering with his thumb over the number to the shrink he had a series of appointments with a year ago.

He takes it one day at a time. It’s what he tells Amy to do when she complains about feeling too sick and miserable to appreciate anything, so he figures he might as well follow his own advice. He handles things to the best of his ability, trudges his way through a few pages in his copy of The Expectant Father: The Ultimate Guide For Dads-To-Be when Amy falls asleep, and every Wednesday there is a new fruit or vegetable comparison available on the pregnancy app he’s downloaded. This week, their baby is the size of a raspberry, so naturally he bought two jars of them when he stopped by the fruit seller earlier in the day.

(“Are you going to do this for every week?” His wife had asked with a curious gleam to her eyes as he made her company while she ate a late, bland breakfast.

“Only for the fruits I actually like," he’d told her, and she'd laughed before accepting a few of the berries he held out to her.)

The original agenda for their Saturday was to run errands together, but Amy's had a long week already without enough time to rest. A pregnancy podcast he listened to yesterday told him that rest is crucial if you're pregnant, so Jake promptly instructed his wife to spend her day on the couch while he completed their to-do-list on his own. Her grateful smile when he handed her their best fluffy blanket and made her a cup of green lemon tea before leaving told him he made the right choice.

So far, he’s mailed a gift for Amy's great-aunt, left a carpet at the dry cleaner and picked up more of his wife’s favorite pink grapefruit shower gel. He’s also informed Amy of all this via Snapchat, using the most ridiculous filters he could find to put a smile on her lips and received equally hilarious pictures back. The last errand before food shopping is H&M; one of his best navy hoodies caught on fire at work last week, and Jake can’t risk being out of a hoodie - the world could collapse for less. He finds one that seems decent and is about to go pay for it when he catches sight of the neon sign from the corner of his eye. BABY, 0-12 MONTHS.

They’ve agreed not to start buying clothes for a few more weeks. Even window-shopping for them without Amy feels like cheating, yet it's as if a gravitational force is pulling him towards the newborn clothing section. Just to have a look, he defends it to himself as he enters it.

All the clothes are tiny.

All the clothes are overwhelmingly tiny, too much for him to take in even though he’s not sure what he expected. He walks around in a daze, eventually coming to a stop at a shelf with baby socks. Right in front of him hangs a grey-and-white two-pack with writing on them - the white pair says I ♥️ MUM, and the grey pair I ♥️ DAD.

That’s when Jake loses it.

Up until this point, he hasn’t cried. There was the single tear at their first ultrasound, the one he’s not counting in comparison to Amy’s flood of them, but aside from that? No crying. He’s held it together like the responsible dad and family man he’s going to have to become in about seven months, but he runs his finger over the soft cotton blend stuck to a piece of white cardboard, and a stubborn tear trails down his cheek. Then another, and another, bringing with them panicked breathing and a sensation of walls closing in on him.

He’s going to be a dad. He’s going to have partial responsibility for a miniature human at least up until the day they turn eighteen years old. He knows what a good dad is from watching Terry and Charles and even Holt, but he lacks all perception when it comes to the question of whether he knows how to be one.

There will be a whole new person in his world, demanding attention, love, and care. He’s going to make mistakes and have to hope what he’ll do right will be enough to outweigh them. He’s excited but he’s scared and he’s scared but he’s excited - the two keep conflicting, and he’s never certain which is stronger. He’s not sure it matters when he’s standing in a clothing store, unable to make himself stop panic-breathing and crying as he clutches the two-pack of unfathomably minuscule socks.

“Sir? Sir, I’m sorry, but are you okay?” A warm hand touches his shoulder through the leather jacket, and he spins around to find a tan-skinned, round-cheeked young woman with dark curls and an employee tag in a red lanyard around her neck. She’s giving him a worried look, and he blushes with instant embarrassment.

“Yeah, yeah.” He snivels, wiping a few tears on the sleeve of his jacket. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay," she assures him, though it sounds tentative. A wave of guilt crashes over him as he realizes how terrible a customer she must find him; no retail employee can want to spend their underpaid hours comforting crying strangers. “Has something happened?”

“They’re so small," Jake mumbles, and she raises an eyebrow, so he clarifies. “The socks.”

“They’re for babies.”

“I know.”

“So… they’re supposed to be small.”

“I know.”

“Then what’s the issue here?”

“I’m going to be a dad," he blurts out to her, realizing it's the first time he's said the words out loud. They feel foreign, like he's speaking from the perspective of another stellar undercover personality he just made up, but easier than he expected them to. “This November. My wife and I are having a baby.”

The employee smiles at him. “Aww! Congratulations. That’s amazing.”

“It is," he admits. “I’m really happy about it. But you know, it’s this huge responsibility. I suck at being responsible and I had a crappy dad.” Jake grimaces. “Like, seriously, the crappiest. Mayor of Craptown in the country of Crappy Dads.”

“You're scared you'll suck at it, too?” He nods, and she shakes her head, shrugging. “You probably won't. Lots of mediocre guys have kids that grow up perfectly fine.”

“I… thanks?”

“If you ask me," she continues, “the fact that you’re scared just means you want to do a good job. If you want to do a good job, I’m pretty sure that means you love your kid. Put those two together and you have a solid basis.”

Her comment makes Jake's mind flick back to the moment with Amy in the hospital lobby after his negotiation with Pam. He’d realized then how maybe fear could, in the end, be the key to guaranteeing he would do a good job. Trusting said realization is another thing entirely - but he wants to, and he tries to.

He clears his throat. “I do love my kid. I mean, I barely know them yet and I love them already. It doesn't even make sense.”

“Then I’m sure you’ll be okay.”

“Do you have kids, or…?”

She gives him an honest chortle before shaking her head again. “I have a cat, though.”

“Ah.”

“Are you going to buy those socks, by the way? Not to be a jerk, but I feel like you crying on them means you gotta buy them.”

“... yeah. Yeah, I’ll buy them.”

He leaves the store feeling equal parts humiliated and relieved, painfully aware he owes Amy an explanation for buying the first item of clothing for their baby without her, but somehow, he leaves it feeling better.

(He tells Amy about his breakdown when he gets home. The next day, he goes back to leave a handwritten thank-you-note for the friendly employee.)

october

Her clothes are the smallest thing he has ever seen.

With eight weeks left to the due date, Jake is getting used to the thought of what’s to come. The arrival of their daughter - they’re having a daughter, his intuition is better than Amy’s - is fast approaching, and if it wasn’t clear enough to him from the close to finished nursery in their apartment and the stroller on its way to them, Charles now has a daily countdown on his phone.

(“64 days today," had been his greeting yesterday, and Jake couldn’t even bring himself to be annoyed.)

He struggles to determine whether he feels ready, but he does feel prepared, which makes the worries easier to live with. Amy made them a Type-A-style preparation checklist the day she entered her twelfth week of pregnancy, and though Jake found it excessive at first, he knows they wouldn't have survived without it. Not only have they researched and purchased everything an infant could possibly need in terms of material things and watched four informative documentaries together, but he’s also read two and a half books about babies and parenthood and gone to a class in parenting. It turned out to be one of the weirdest experiences of his life, but at least it made him a self-proclaimed master in the art of holding a fake baby doll correctly.

His excitement is genuine now - no longer clouded beneath the veil of apprehension and nervousness it once was. It's impossible not to feel excited when every night, he'll curl up next to Amy on the couch and simply talk to their baby, drawing lazy patterns with his fingers on her bump until he's able to feel a foot or an arm, their kid kicking and pressing and doing somersaults at the sound of his voice. When he's unsure what to talk about, he’ll read Harry Potter or play Taylor Swift to his unborn daughter. Style, so far, appears to be her favorite.

The nursery has only a few last touches left to it before it’s fully ready. This week, they’re spending their Saturday dealing with one of them and sorting out their kid’s collection of clothes. It's turned out to be a project for a full day - first washing everything with hypoallergenic laundry detergent, then letting each item hang to dry, then folding, sorting and placing everything in the dresser. Jake’s been staring at newborn clothes for hours on end, and he still can't fathom how small they are.

He's seen them before, of course. He was there to buy most of them and has marveled over everything from the tiny hats to the Harry Potter-onesies to the red-and-black-checkered baby flannel Amy found, several times already. It doesn't seem to help; for each colorful item with animals, stripes or bright colors he folds and places in its correct pile, he's reminded his kid will be wearing these clothes. Once the initial sparks of excitement fade, the waves of fear he thought he was free of engulf him anew.

It's the fear he's felt each time he's been held at gunpoint, except he's no longer fearing for his own life but for his child’s. He fears something terrible will happen to them which he won't be able to stop and he fears he will be the cause of it. It's the fear that reappears at odd occasions, submerging him in nightmare scenarios of long-time undercover operations only he can execute. He fears death threats forcing him into witness protection. It's the fear where he imagines a five-year-old with Amy's nose and dark hair standing in front of him with crossed arms and downcast eyes asking where he's been for the last weeks, and then Amy's there as well asking the same thing. He fears having no better answer to give than I got too wrapped up wanting to solve a case again, I forgot to come home.

Though he’ll do everything in his power to be a good parent, there’s an inevitable risk he’ll fail. It shakes him and it haunts him and seems to paralyze him right then and there.

“Babe?” Amy’s voice, calm but suspecting, helps him snap out of it. He looks up from the mint-green onesie with smiling clouds he’s holding to find her watching him with worried advertence.  “You zoned out.”

“Sorry, Ames. You were saying?”

“Oh, just about the car seat.” She nods in the direction of a carton box near the door. “I was thinking we should install it tomorrow.”

“Car seat. Great. That’s cool," he mumbles in an attempt to fake normalcy and steer the conversation away from his looming meltdown. “Cool, cool, cool.”

“Jake.”

“I’m fine.”

Amy rolls her eyes at that, shuffling a few inches closer to him on the long-pile rug with what little gracefulness she can manage. “Clearly not. Come on, you can talk to me.”

“You don’t have to listen," he assures her, but she shakes her head.

“I already am. Wanna tell me what’s up?”

The words stagger on the tip of his tongue, faltering before he figures out how to express them.

“It's the same things. Same fears as before.”

“Do you need to talk about them?”

He does, to some extent, but she's heard his panicked thoughts before and helped him through them what feels like a million times. His eight months pregnant wife deserves better than listening to his preposterous fears when they're supposed to be folding clothes.

��I don't want to bother you," he excuses himself.

Amy glares at him in reaction. It’s the glare reserved for when one of her uniformed officers makes a detrimental mistake, or he tells her he thinks they might be ordering too much Polish food, wordlessly telling him he's made a mistake.

“I think I can handle it," she says. “Do you want to talk about them?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” She nods, putting a pair of newborn-size white pajamas with red hearts in the sleepwear pile and holding his left hand in hers. Their fingers intertwine, wedding rings next to one another. “Go ahead. I’m listening.”

There’s guilt as he rambles to her about equally unlikely scenarios and the fears he was supposed to have let go of by now. He’d meant it when he said he felt ready a little over a year ago, and he loves and wants the child that gets the hiccups in the middle of her parents’ conversation so much, which he assures Amy of in about every other sentence. The fear doesn't take away from the love, but it makes it feel more inaccessible at times, harder to reach behind the dense fog of anxiety. Jake detests that feeling. He wants to love this child without the overpowering fear, wants to feel the excitement he’s gotten used to always, and most of all, he doesn’t want to have to doubt himself each and every second of each day.

Amy’s silent while she listens. She doesn’t utter a word until she’s sure he’s finished, catching his breath from the anxiety and fast-paced talking. Instead, she hugs him from the side, letting him rest his head on her shoulder while he slowly returns to a calmer peace of mind.

“I just don’t want you to think I’m not excited," he whispers once he can speak again.

“I see your face every time she kicks when you talk to her," she replies matter-of-factly, guiding his right hand to rest high up on her belly where the hiccups have calmed down only to be replaced with stubborn kicking. The corners of his mouth twitch into a grin, and he laughs at the timing. “No one could ever see that and think you’re not excited.”

“I know.” He sighs. “But I’m not doing anything right now, it’s all you. The moment she’s here, it’ll be different. What if I don’t know what to do?”

“You know what to do, you’re practically Santiago-level-prepared at this point.”

“What if I blank?”

“You won’t blank.”

“What if?”

“Jake.”

“I know, I know.” A metallic taste in his mouth makes him realize he’s bleeding, having bitten too hard on his lip. “You have total faith in me and all that.”

“You’re saying it like you think I don't mean it," she points out, eyes narrowed. “I do have total faith in you, because I know you and would never have agreed to have this baby with you if I didn't trust you could handle it.”

“I’m scared, though. I thought I wouldn’t be scared at this point, but it’s still there.”

“So am I. So is everyone who's ever been a parent.” There’s a small smile on Amy’s lips as she reaches for a pair of socks from the pile of them. “I think it’s part of it.”

“It’s the worst part," he argues, and she lets out a short laugh.

“Maybe it is. I guess we’ll just have to see if it’s worth it.” She hands him the socks, and he can’t help but beam as he recognizes them.

They’re light grey and impossibly tiny,  with I ♥️ DAD printed on them in capital letters. It’s the very first item of clothing he bought for his child, having been made to purchase them ensuing his breakdown in an H&M store five long months ago. He’d nearly forgotten about them, but he holds them in his hands now, wondering how on earth an item smaller than his palm could ever fit a living person.

“That’s true, you know," Amy tells him in a quiet voice. He looks up to find her eyes glistening, but she wipes the threatening tears away before they fall this time. “She’s going to love you so much. She already does.”

“How can you know?”

“For one, she goes absolutely nuts when you're talking.” Amy shakes her head, grinning fondly. “Even if you’re not physically there. Like last week, when you left that message about being on your way home. I listened to it on speaker and she started kicking me in the ribs. She's getting strong now, so it hurts.”

He laughs, blushing. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. It's super cute, and it totally gets my dumb, hormone-fuelled emotions every time.”

She leans slightly forward and he takes the hint, letting go of the disarmingly cute socks to lock lips with his wife. It's short and perhaps not the most passionate of kisses, quickly interrupted the moment Amy gets too out of breath, but it lasts long enough for him to enjoy the feel of her lips against his, the softness of her skin as he cups her face.

“I love you," he declares when they break apart. The socks are next to his knees on the violet carpet and he picks them up again, smiling to himself as he places them on top of Amy's bump. “Both of you.”

“Well, cheeseball, we both love you back. You're a lucky guy.”

“I am. I really, really am.”

(The fear refuses to disappear altogether, but it stays under control for the rest of the wait. By the time Amy’s contractions start five weeks later, Jake's all excitement and little anything else.)

november

His daughter is the smallest thing he has ever seen.

Person, he corrects himself. She's a person, a whole little individual with ten fingers and ten toes and a full head of dark hair, and she’s managed to utterly and completely steal his heart in the forty-three hours she’s spent out in the world.

Leah Rose Charlotte Santiago-Peralta is marginally smaller than the average newborn, thanks to her just over three weeks early arrival, but she’s perfectly healthy and strong. After two nights at the hospital, the new family is cleared to go home.

Jake has his first minor freakout post Leah’s birth when the doctor tells them. He’ll have to drive, which means there’s an atomic but existing risk they’ll crash. Once they go home, there will be no more friendly nurses to help, no more surprisingly excellent coffee machines in the communal kitchen, and no more red buttons next to the bed they can press if they panic. They’ll be on their own in their mission of keeping a helpless infant alive, and Jake’s not sure he’s ready.

He looks over at Amy to where she’s propped up in the hospital bed feeding their daughter and opens his mouth to communicate this, but he changes his mind once he sees them. With Amy’s gratified smile overpowering the bags under her eyes and with Leah’s content suckling noises, there’s no doubt whatsoever.

He’s ready. He’s always been ready for them.

Leah cries when they fasten her in the car seat. There’s a fleeting moment where he worries the drive will be a twenty-minute crying party, but she passes out the second the car starts moving and sleeps through her first car ride like it’s no big deal. She continues sleeping through her first ride up the building’s elevator, and snoozes through being carried over the doorstep into their apartment.

“Welcome home, Lee," he tells her as they enter, hospital bags in tow. “You too, Ames.”

“Thanks," Amy mumbles.“It feels nice.”

He nods, leaving their bags on the living room floor for later unpacking as he helps her unfasten Leah in the seat. “You feeling okay, babe?”

“I guess," she shrugs. “I’d kill for a proper shower, though.”

“So go take one.”

She hesitates, observing him closely as if she’s searching for something. “Are you sure? I can stay with you if you don’t want to be alone with her for too long, I know you think it’s scary - “

“Ames.” He places a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “You can take a shower. You can take a long shower if you want to, because god knows you deserve it. Need it, even.”

“That’s hurtful.”

“Go take that shower," he repeats, kissing her forehead. “Lee and I will be okay.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

“Okay, then.” She kisses first Leah’s, then his cheek, and squeezes his hand one last time before heading towards their bathroom. “Have a good father-daughter bonding time. Kick it off with a diaper change, will you?”

“This isn't my favorite part," Jake informs his daughter as she starts waking up on the changing table, grunting when he has to take off the cozy, white overall they brought her home in. “I’m not sure it’s anyone’s. I’ll do it for you, though.”

He promised himself after seeing Amy go through twenty-six hours of torturous pain that he'd do all the changes he could for the first weeks. So far he's sticking to it; it’s not the most enjoyable of experiences, but it's simple and straightforward enough for him to feel like he's mastering it with some proficiency.

“So," he narrates while he navigates his mission. “This is going pretty well. We're doing good, Lee.”

She eyes him with skepticism, letting out a few whimpers before they’re done, but he keeps his calm and draws a breath of relief when she doesn’t start crying.

“See? We did it.” He holds her little hands, waving them like she’s the one doing it. “We’re just going to get you a new pair of pajamas and we’ll be all set.”

It’s the first time he’s dressing her without Amy’s input. Seeing how he technically has the freedom to put their daughter in a Die Hard-onesie and varicolored leggings, Jake considers it a mature use of his power when he opts for white pajamas with a pink rose print and a regular pair of grey socks.

He figures they’re a regular pair, at least. He realizes otherwise when he unrolls them to find the familiar I ♥️ DAD-print on them. They bring a smile to his lips as he thinks back to when he bought them, back when no one knew their secret yet, and he was scared out of his mind he wouldn’t be able to do the exact thing he’s doing now.

He puts the socks on Leah’s feet, shaking his head at how the itty-bitty clothing items are still almost too large for her. He has to roll the socks up so they’ll stay on, but they work, and the result is possibly the most endearing thing he’s seen. He snaps a few shots with his phone - it’s lucky he upgraded its storage, because he’s already taken enough photos to fill a museum of baby pictures - and then kisses Leah’s forehead, lifting her so she’s held against his chest as he carries her out to the living room and sinks down on the couch.

Jake must have been on this couch nearly a thousand times. From pre-relationship Thanksgiving dinners to early dates to countless movie nights on this particular piece of furniture, a substantial part of all the hours Jake's ever spent at home with Amy has been focused to the off-white seats. He's had makeout sessions, sleepless nights and lengthy discussions on it, but it's the first time he hangs out with his daughter there.

He must say she seems pretty chill about everything new so far. She lays against his legs without complaint, and he watches her as she blinks and yawns, waving and kicking her limbs with intermittent, jerky movements.

“Cool to have this much space, huh? Must've been pretty cramped in your first living quarters," he comments on her stretches. “I can't believe we have you here already. I mean, I figured you'd be early because of those Santiago genes, but your mom convinced me not to get my hopes up.”

“I kind of knew, though," he adds, holding her tiny feet through the socks. “I had a feeling. This is when you say yeah, dad, you were totally right, you're the smartest.”

Leah makes little bubbling noises with her lips in response. Jake decides to interpret them as an agreement.

The shower stops running in the background. He figures this means Amy should be back soon, but for now he has some remaining alone time to enjoy with his daughter. He's in the exact situation he was scared for his life to even think about six months ago, the only one in charge if Leah starts wailing uncontrollably or stops breathing or some other nightmare scenario, but for some reason, he's not panicking.

He's calm. Somehow, he thinks she's the secret.

“I'm still a bit nervous, you know," he tells her while she keeps up her squirming. Every now and then she squints at him like she’s trying to make out the details of his face, looking adorably skeptical. “I know what it’s like to have a crappy parent, and I’m scared of becoming one. I probably will be for a long time, but… I’m starting to think it’s going to be okay.”

He has to take a break before he keeps talking, taking a deep breath to compose himself.

“I’m going to try my best, always. Every single day. I’ll probably fail a whole bunch, but I’m always going to try. For you.”

Leah accidentally punches herself in the face with one of her fists as he says the last words, making herself gasp in confusion and Jake laugh.

“I promise," he adds with a careful grip of her tiny hands, nudging at one fist with his pinkie until her fingers close around it. “I’m not going to leave you, ever.”

It’s a dicey promise to make for someone with his profession. Too many times in his career, he’s had to pack his things and leave everything behind for reasons far beyond his control, and he’s known for getting so sucked into a case he’ll forget to eat and sleep and go home for days on end. Neither of these factors are compatible with having and raising children, and while he can’t really control whether any mafia bosses will force him to go into hiding soon, Jake knows he’s picked up his last double shift for a long, long while. He has almost all of the next month off to learn how to be a family with his wife and daughter, and even after he returns to work, the shifts will be fewer and somewhat shorter.

Four years ago it would’ve been agony. Now, he couldn’t be more excited.

He’s going to watch his daughter grow up and become the coolest little person in the Universe, and he gets to do it all with the love of his life. It’s a nonpareil joy, and he wants to describe it all in words to Leah, but he’s sleep-deprived and overtired and ever-so-slightly worried it’d be the factor to finally bring him to tears, so he starts humming Hedwig’s Theme to the newborn instead.

“Oh, man.” He notices Amy’s presence first when he hears her sniffle and sees her shake her head as she sits down next to them. Her hair is blow-dried and she’s changed into grey pajama pants and a tank-top, completing the outfit with a blue hoodie identical to his own. He suspects both the pants and hoodie are originally his, but when it comes to stopping her from stealing his clothes, he lost the battle a long time ago.“I was so proud of myself for not having cried yet today, and then you go ruin it.”

“I mean," he grins, giving her an amused look. “Is making you cry really that much of an achievement right now?”

“Don’t try me," she warns him and dabs at her eyes with the sleeves of her hoodie. “You wouldn’t last an hour with these hormones. Or any other part of it.”

“Fair judgment.”

“Yeah.” Leah’s begun to whimper again, puckering her lips at the sound of Amy’s voice. “You want to give her over? I think she's hungry.”

“Do you magically sense that or something?” He transfers his daughter over to his wife, gently as if she’d been made of crystal glass.

“My boobs feel like stone, does that count?”

“Ah.”

“Trust me, they're not the worst thing.” Jake grimaces, and Amy laughs at his reaction while she adjusts herself, a couple of pillows and Leah to a comfortable position. “Giving birth is a nightmare.”

“Sorry you had to," he says, scooching closer so he reaches to put his arm around her shoulders. “You were incredible, if it's any consolation.”

“Thank you.” She whispers the words without looking at him. Her gaze is locked on Leah, pure admiration lighting up her face while she watches the newborn eat. “I see you chose her socks.”

“She looks cute, right? I think they suit her.”

“She's wearing the mom-ones tomorrow," Amy states. “And she’s always cute, but yes. They suit her.”

As intense of an effort as it is to divert his attention from the newborn, Jake’s growling stomach eventually reminds him they haven’t eaten since lunch. Pizza seems as good a celebration as any after three days of hospital food, he decides, and manages to finish their order and end the call right when Leah finishes eating.

“I can take her," he offers, and Amy gently transfers the girl back, helping him hold her so that her chin rests on his shoulder.

“You look like such a dad.” Amy laughs. “It’s a good look on you.”

“I am a dad," he corrects her, and she smiles wide.

“You are. How do you feel about it?”

“I don’t know," he confesses. “Happy and nervous. She’s the greatest thing in the world, clearly, and I have no idea if I’ll be good enough at taking care of her, but…” He takes a deep breath. “I love her, and I hope so.”

“I know you will be. I think Lee does, too.”

As if to either confirm or deny her mother’s suggestion, Leah chooses that very moment to let out a loud burp and spit up all down the back of his hoodie.

“Burp cloth, Ames, you forgot the burp cloth," he mutters as his wife wheezes with laughter.

He doesn’t bother changing his hoodie. It would take getting up and disturbing the milk-drunk baby who falls asleep on his chest minutes later, curled up like a koala bear with her mouth open, and he can’t make himself risk waking her up.

She’s a warm, comfortable weight against his ribs, in perfect height for him to kiss the top of her head if he looks down. He’s never seen anyone look quite so peaceful.

Amy leans her head on his spit-up free shoulder, snuggling into his side and holding one of their daughter’s fists in her hand, and Jake never knew his heart could grow to the size it’s doing.

He figures it’s for the best. If he’s going to spend the rest of his life loving the two people currently falling asleep on him with everything he has, his heart will have to perform some serious expansion.

(It does.)

[blueseasfanfics]

Halloween Treats

Pairing: Loki X Reader

Word Count: 1526

Warnings: Fluff

A/N: Hello everyone! I still count it as Halloween if I’m eating Halloween candy (that I bought. When it wasn’t 3 AM). Go to the end for an important announcement!

You like Halloween. Just not the parties that come with it. You weren't sure what always rubbed you the wrong way. You think its a mix between way too many people forced together, the ridiculous amounts of alcohol making everyone acting equally ridiculous, and the festive touch of being forced to wear a costume. Of course, Tony always had a huge Halloween party at the Tower every year, and all the Avengers were invited. More like forced to come, but invited nonetheless. As you got dressed, you tried to hype yourself up for this year's party. This year, the tower decided to dress up as each other, and everyone pulled a name out of the hat. You pulled out Loki, and you're really looking forward to his face when he sees you. Mainly because you made him look ridiculous. You had the flashiest gold heels on, that had straps that twisted all the way up to your mid-calf, and a short, green sequined dress that looked so over the top you might as well be floating above the Tower. The finishing touch was a pair of cardboard horns, spray painted gold. You had originally wanted to steal his real horns, but that would have just ruined the surprise, considering you were the only one that was stupid enough to even attempt it. No, you'll go ahead with the cardboard. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you even realize it all looks..good. You had meant for it to be a trashy version of Loki, but instead you somehow managed to find something you could even see him wearing. ... Ok, maybe not, but it's still a funny image. He could probably only wear this dress as a shirt anyway, so maybe stop imagining that for now. For now. Looking at the clock, you leave, meeting up with Natasha in the hallway. She must have gotten Clint, because she's in an all purple get-up, ridiculous sunglasses on, and what seems to be his actual bow in her hand. You weren't the only one wanting to steal from their partner, it seems. Looping your arm in hers, you both walk down to the main room, where the party has already started. Approaching the stairwell leading down into the pit of people, the din of their conversation and laughter wafting up the stairs, you take a deep breath. Quickly, both you and Natasha walk down the spiral stairs, trying your hardest not to stumble. As you get to the bottom, you look for people you recognize, and noticing how every single Avenger really took their costume seriously. Tony had gotten Bucky, and he wore a silver suit arm, gotten an old wig, and was dressed in sweatpants and a tank top, with Bucky having painted his arm (and pretty much the rest of his body) red. In the distance, you saw Thor with a curly red wig and leather gear, Clint with his already short hair dyed blonde and every piece of American flag clothing you can buy at Walmart on his body, and Steve with a long wig and what seems to be the front rooms red curtain pinned to his back. Then, that means, Loki is.. Whirling around to the corner, you see Loki, already looking at you with a bemused smile. His longer hair is pinned up in a bun, and he must have raided your drawer because you are 100% certain that he's wearing your sweater and blue sweatpants. That jerk, he's going to stretch out the fabric. He mouths from across the crowded floor, it full of tipsy people dancing and milling around, but you still feel like you can hear him as clear as day. "Come here." Smiling to yourself, you walk to him confidently, standing in front of him and looking him over. "I expect those back by tomorrow. Those are my comfy clothes." You remark, and he chuckles. "And I expect that dress myself. It just fits my personality so well." He reaches to the side when a waiter comes by with sparkling rosé on trays, and grabs two, offering you one. You accept, and sip it as he continues looking you over, rendering you as pink as your drink. "You like what you see?" You say after a minute and he shrugs. "Would it be a compliment or narcissism to tell you that you look beautiful tonight?" He drinks slowly, looking at you over the brim of his glass, as you choke slightly. "Well, I guess it would be a little bit of both. But a thank you either way." You say timidly, and he laughs a little again. You take a gamble and move next to him, leaning against the wall and staring out into the crowd. Currently, Thor is in a drinking contest, the slumped over losers of the two previous dares on a couch next to him. Cheers ensue as his third victim laughs and lays his head down on the table. "This is boring." Loki sighs, his fingers fiddling with his empty glass. "Oh? Is this party too tame for your Asgardian standards?" "Yes, actually. Asgardian parties are much more lively. Normally I would be engaged in a fight to the death with someone by now." "What?" "Nothing. You seem bored as well, or you wouldn't be talking to me." "Ah yes, because I spend most of my time with you on a regular basis because you're boring." You roll your eyes, but Loki only chuckles and grabs hold of your wrist in nimble fingers, pulling away from the wall and bringing you with him. "I like this song." He yells over his shoulder as he pulls you closer to the dance floor. "How much have you drank tonight? More than Thor?" You yell back incredulously, but he only pulls you into the middle of the dance floor and turns to you, taking your glass and his and throwing them into..nothing. It always entrances you when he uses his magic like that. He puts his hand on your waist, and pulls you closer until your against him, his mouth next to your ear. "Hey there." He murmurs, and you chuckle nervously. "Maybe you actually have drank more than Thor.." "The only intoxicating thing to me is you." You can only press your face into his throat, your ear on his shoulder, swaying to the music with him to one of the rarer slow songs on Tony's playlist. "Why do you say things like that?" You ask softly, and he sighs. "Because you refuse to notice subtle hints. Or big ones, apparently." "What do you mean by that?" "Mortal, how many people do you think are allowed in my bedroom? To touch my things? Hel, to even touch me?" "Well, I would think anyone you invited to your room which has to be-" "You. Only you. You are the one that has a permanent access to my being, and it frustrates me that you will not see it. Unless, of course, you do not wish for it then it's perfectly alright and-" "No. I want it." You blurt out. His hand around your waist clenches slightly, pulling you even closer to him, until the only way you can be any closer is by stepping on his toes. "I'm glad to hear that." He murmurs against your cheek, his lips seeming to burn a hole in your skin, and when the heat gets too unbearable, you move your lips to his. You seem to have taken him by surprise, since at first he doesn't make a motion, but a split second later he's taken your face in both hands and kissing you back hungrily. Both of you forget about the rest of the party around you, the music and voices melting into nothing as the only thing you can focus on is him and how his lips feel against yours. The only thing breaking you apart is Thor's loud cheer as he smashes down his mug, shattering it and sending glass everywhere. The screams that arise from this make you cover your ears, and Loki quickly wraps his frame around yours and after your next blink, you're both standing in the kitchen. "When my brother does that, it's usually time to leave." "It's not time to leave when the fighting to the death starts?" You laugh slightly, and he brushes it aside as he lifts your chin up and kisses you again, gently backing you against the counter. "Well, there are you two. And thank God, do you know how hard it was to rig a hat so you would pull each other? I have no idea how Voldemort did it." Tony has staggered up to the kitchen, rifling through the fridge. "You're not supposed to say his name." Loki growls, pulling away from you slightly and you gasp. "You finally read the books!" You say excitedly, and Tony rolls his eyes. "True love, isn't it? Was the counter when you two are done." His words fell on deaf ears, as both of you are in an heated conversation about Snape, interrupted with kisses whenever there was a pause.

Hey y'all. I'm back. With some good and bad news. Good news first: I am back, and I am writing! I will trying to get into my regular ways very soon, as I have finally finished moving in and getting my life set-up (no job yet, as I am still a couple months short away from being an adult), but writing this actually came very easily to me so I'm hoping I get better quality works and more, soon. Bad news: I may be done writing Loki. I have felt for a while now that I haven't been writing Loki, that I haven;t gotten his personality down correctly or his mannerisms, and I would like to work more with writing him and reading him more so I can truly put his being into words. Until then, I will be writing primarily Bucky, but I would love to know who you all would like to read! And again, don't worry, you'll be getting some Loki sometimes too, just not as my main focus. Anyway, that's all. Hello again y'all!

TAGLIST @fuckthatfeeling @drakesfiance @ihavenofilter @nalokoniloki

[softnow]

burn and keep quiet

nsfw. rebecca x nathaniel. (ao3) title is taken from this frederico garcía lorca quote. inspired by this prompt from @lozkelly.

“Is that what this is? Is she Reese Witherspoon? Was the elevator not good enough? Too much room for personal space? Did the big movie director in the sky decide to try again, somewhere smaller this time, where there’s no escaping the scent of his cologne and the warmth of his body and the feel of his skin and—”

Of all the things Nathaniel Plimpton III has done to her—buying out her boss, kicking her out of her office, threatening to fire her friends, seducing her in an elevator—Rebecca thinks this might be the cruelest.

For starters, she has a wedding to plan and about two billion pieces of ribbon at home, waiting to be tied into bows for the mason jar candle holders, and the mason jar confetti holders, and the mason jar utensil holders. And what’s more, it’s a Friday night, when she should be with her fiancé and her best friend and miles away from her asshole boss kneeling in the dirt, picking the lock on the back door of the Fifth Street Soup Kitchen.

“Nathaniel!” she whisper-shouts, frantically surveying the parking lot to make sure nobody is coming. “This is illegal!”

“Says the girl who exhumed dead bodies to blackmail a cemetery,” he says, not looking up from the tools he’s using to jimmy the lock.

“Well, technically it was Paula who did most of the exhuming, but that’s—that’s different!”

“How?” he asks, standing and brushing the dirt from his knees. He opens the door with a flourish, beckons her in with an after you gesture. “You knew the cemetery was in the wrong and needed the evidence for a client. I don’t see how this is any different.”

Rebecca huffs, casting her flashlight around the darkened kitchen. One of their biggest accounts, Ransom Dodge-Toyota, a new and used car lot down the road, wants to expand. They’d been on Fifth Street Soup to sell for months, but the kitchen has continually refused, no matter how hard Plimpton, Plimpton, and Plimpton (and Whitefeather & Associates) dogged them. Ransom was getting antsy, and Nathaniel was worried they were close to backing out, and it just so happened that he’d recently gotten a tip that the good folks down on Fifth Street were dealing a bit more than soup.

“Still,” she says. “I don’t know why you needed me for this. Couldn’t you have sent Tim? Or George?”

“Oh, come on, Rebecca, you’re smarter than that,” Nathaniel says in that chiding tone she hates so much. “Tim and George would just screw everything up. As much as it pains me to say it, you’re the best I have. I mean, you did do a good job with the cemetery case.”

She follows him to the small office at the back of the kitchen, simultaneously offended and perversely flattered.

“Plus,” Nathaniel adds, his voice overly casual and his attention fixed on the desk in the center of the room. “I figured, you know, you could probably use some overtime, with the wedding and all.”

Rebecca blinks. “Wow, that’s…not awful.” He shoots her a bemused smile, an eyebrow quirked. For a moment she can almost hear him saying, Don’t be a dick. Then his eyes drop back to the drawer he’s searching, and she wanders to a file cabinet next to the window.

“How’s that going, anyway?” he asks, still perfectly polite. “Pulling off a wedding in two weeks?”

She takes out a file, leafs through it without really seeing anything. She thinks about this morning and how she cried—just a little, an understandable amount for a bride-to-be—when she realized she’d ordered brown yarn instead of twine, which is not, as one might suspect, the same thing at all.

“Oh, it’s great,” she says. “Yeah, so great. It’s so much fun and—and satisfying. Honestly, I think more people should plan their weddings in two weeks. It’s thrilling. Like a rollercoaster. So exhilarating.”

“Yeah,” Nathaniel says, drawing out the word. There’s an edge in his voice, something close to mocking. “Wow, sounds great. And Josh? He’s being helpful?”

“So helpful,” she says. “Or, at least, when he’s there. I mean, he’s just been so busy lately with work, and church basketball, and that’s really important, you know? Helping kids shoot hoops for Jesus.” She mimes a free-throw. “That’s…big. This stuff—wedding, crafty, artsy stuff—it’s not really his thing, but that’s okay, because he trusts me. And loves me. And trusts me.”

“Sounds convincing.” He closes a drawer and turns to the desktop computer, shaking the mouse to wake the monitor.

Rebecca’s forehead wrinkles in frustration. Her mouth opens, closes. She shoves the file in her hand back into the file cabinet.

“Are you sure they’re even dealing, you know—?” She puts a finger to her nose and sniffs, crosses her eyes like she’s dizzy.

“Pretty sure, but not entirely. That’s why we’re here. To find something that proves they’re—wait, what would you say?—a bunch of filthy, flimflamming dope peddlers?”

He gives her a smile—a genuine one, with no hint of malice—and Rebecca can’t help herself. She barks out a laugh and claps a hand over her mouth.

“Is that your impression of me?” she asks, giggling through her fingers.

He shrugs, mock-humble.

Her shoulders heave as she fights to get herself under control. He watches her, smiling. There’s a softness around his eyes that she doesn’t want to interpret, something gentle and pleased. As her laughter dies away, a palpable silence fills the room between them. His smile falters, but his eyes—big and intense and so blue even in this gloomy flashlight-darkness—never leave hers.

Rebecca’s feet take a half-step towards the desk on their own accord. Nathaniel pivots in the desk chair, tracking her movement. She takes another step. He leans forward by a fraction. The back of her hand brushes the corner of the desk.

And the room is thrown into sharp relief, headlights cutting through the gauzy curtains over the window.

Nathaniel’s jerks, leaping up from the chair, and Rebecca looks from the window to him with saucer-like eyes.

“We have to g—”

“No time,” he says. He grabs her by the wrist and pulls her around the desk, opening the door to a closet and shoving her inside. It’s small and mostly empty, only a few cardboard boxes stacked in the corner. There’s just enough room for two. He steps in after her and pulls the door shut as they hear the door to the kitchen—the one he picked—open.

They click off their flashlights.

Without the light, the closet is entirely dark, the sort of dark that makes your eyes hurt to look at. Rebecca’s heartbeat sounds too loud in her ears.

“This is your fault,” she hisses, stabbing a finger in the direction she thinks is his chest. “Breaking and entering, are you stupid? If we go to jail—!”

Nathaniel’s hand claps over her mouth as footsteps approach.

“We have to be quiet,” he whispers, his words barely more than a puff of air.

They stand there, barely breathing, his large hand cupping the bottom half of her face. They hear the click of the light switch. A thin golden line appears around the edge of the door, bright enough to ease some of the discomfort of the darkness but not enough to allow Rebecca to see anything.

Beside her, Nathaniel shifts. She feels him lean in to the door, listening. His other hand, the one not currently becoming damp with the perspiration of her breath, comes to rest casually on her lower back.

Rebecca stiffens, thinks, this is not happening. She hears Paula’s voice in her head. It’s happened to Reese Witherspoon, like, eight times.

Is that what this is? Is she Reese Witherspoon? Was the elevator not good enough? Too much room for personal space? Did the big movie director in the sky decide to try again, somewhere smaller this time, where there’s no escaping the scent of his cologne and the warmth of his body and the feel of his skin and—

No. No. No, no, no. She is not going there. She shakes her head to clear it like an Etch-a-Sketch and rubs her mouth against his palm in the process. Okay, no, bad plan. She stands perfectly still instead, making her body into a statue. A perfectly still statue, cold and stony and definitely not feeling any tingles in her stony statue lady limbs. Nope.

On the other side of the closet door, a drawer opens. The mouse clicks. The desk chair creaks under somebody’s weight.

On this side of the closet door, Nathaniel’s thumb moves against her back. She passes it off as a twitch, but then it happens again. And again. And again, until he’s drawing small, gentle circles there.

Statue. Stony. Stony, stony statue. Rebecca squeezes her eyes shut and focuses on the mantra, focuses on keeping her muscles rigid. But then he begins to apply a subtle pressure, and she finds herself wondering if he’s taken massage classes before, because that’s really nice, actually, and she has been tense lately, and her body begins to relax into his touch.

His hand skims up her back, pausing to rub one of her shoulders. Then he brushes his fingertips down her arm, his touch feather-light. She feels her skin reacting, waking up as if for the first time in days. She shifts her weight and leans into the touch.

She feels Nathaniel straighten beside her, and then his mouth is at her ear, his lips brushing the lobe, his words electricity and wind.

“Wouldn’t it be nice if we had an invisibility cloak right now?” he whispers.

Rebecca takes a long, slow breath, and she can feel it when he smiles against her. Cocky bastard, thinking he can get her that easily.

She grabs the hand on her mouth and pulls it away, tilting her face to lay her cheek along his. A few days’ worth of stubble scratches at her and she can feel it all the way down to her toes.

“I don’t know,” she whispers back, teasing the shell of his ear with her lips. “I’d settle for a nice, big wand.”

Nathaniel makes a satisfyingly undignified, muted sound low in his throat. His hands find her hips and pull her firmly against him. Outside, the keyboard continues to report rapid bursts of typing, but Rebecca barely registers it. Her world has shrunk to approximately four square feet. She rubs her hands over his chest, feeling the firmness of his muscles, the way they jerk under her touch, before gripping his neck.

The air in the closet is warm, humid, tight. It presses in on her, cradles her, makes her feel a little lightheaded. Makes it easy to forget why this is such a bad idea.

He turns his head at the same time she does, and their mouths come together easily. It’s different from their first kiss, softer. They’re both aware—vaguely—of how important it is to be silent. She fits his bottom lip between both of hers, testing, teasing.

Their last kiss was all pressure, the collision of two orbiting planets. But this… This is fired glass, liquid and raw.

Rebecca presses up onto her toes to get closer, and he helps her, his arms wrapping around her back to support her. He meets her for another chaste kiss and then opens his mouth to her, melting into her as she melts into him. Her hands wind into his hair, nails scrape gently over his scalp, and she feels him shudder against her.

He kisses her until she feels gooey and dumb, all thoughts having packed their bags and headed for the hills. Then he tears his mouth from hers and peppers hot, open-mouthed kisses along her her jaw. He swipes her hair behind her shoulder and secures it against her head with his hand. He kisses her ear and then drops to her neck, finding the pulse point and sucking.

Rebecca takes a rugged breath and exhales a soft moan. Nathaniel freezes. His grip on her tightens.

“Shhh,” he breathes and shifts her backwards until her back touches the wall, moving in slow motion so as to not make any noise.

Outside, a file cabinet drawer slams. They both jump, and then Nathaniel’s on her again, kissing her like a drowning man trying to reach the shore. His hands find the hem of her shirt and hover there.

“Can I?” he whispers against her mouth.

She nods, not trusting herself to speak, not trusting herself not to moan his name the way she so wants to. It’s there, strangled at the back of her throat, and she’s afraid if she stops kissing him for even a moment, it will push its way out and ruin everything.

Nathaniel’s hands dive beneath her shirt, pushing up, up, sliding beneath her bra, cupping her breasts. She jerks and rolls her hips, finds him hard and wanting against her stomach.

Some distant—very, very distant—part of her brain wonders if this is such a good idea. One rando kiss in an elevator is one thing; it was late, their defenses were down. There was the wind. But this… This is a different sort of thing altogether, the sort of thing she moved her wedding up to avoid, the sort of thing that could ruin her forever.

But then Nathaniel’s fumbling with the button on her jeans with one hand while the other continues to massage her breast, and he’s kissing her hard enough to bruise, and his fingers are skimming along her overheated skin, testing the waters, if you will, and she loses all cognitive ability.

“Can you be quiet?” he whispers into the hollow beneath her ear. His breath is rough and hot.

She bites her lip and nods.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she manages, a single exhale of air, and then his fingers curl into her and his mouth comes over hers to swallow the sound of her gasp.

He works her deftly, like he’s a well-trained musician and she’s his favorite instrument. Her hips rock, searching for the right friction. When she finds it, her head falls back, and a choked sound builds somewhere behind her teeth. She clings to his shoulders, and he replaces his mouth with his other hand once again, pressing firmly to keep her silent.

She doesn’t know if her eyes are opened or closed, but it doesn’t matter, because all she knows in this moment is him. His overheated skin, his long fingers, his hungry mouth that seems to be everywhere at once—this is what makes up her entire universe.

Her climax washes in like the sea, wave upon wave of rolling pleasure, and Nathaniel buoys her through it with the attention and skill of a long-time lover. When she finally comes down, she sags against him. Her legs feel not altogether present, like perhaps they’ve been detached and hidden here in the dark somewhere.

He keeps her pinned to the wall with his body. His hand slips from her mouth to cradle her jaw, and his lips find hers once more in the darkness. The kiss is unhurried and gentle, a stark contrast to the way he’d devoured her only moments ago.

She may be sated and soft, but she can feel him, and he’s anything but. Her hands fall to his waist, sliding along his belt, and he gasps into her mouth when she takes ahold of the buckle.

On the other side of the door, the desk chair creaks. There’s a whiss as it’s pushed in, then footsteps. The one-two click of the light switch and the doorknob follow. The sliver of golden light framing the closet door disappears, and they freeze, listening.

A minute passes. Two. No sound.

“I think they’re gone,” Nathaniel murmurs, his voice low and rough. It makes her ache.

“Mm..hmm. Yeah.”

“We need to get out of here.”

He moves away from her and the air that rushes to fill the space he’d occupied is cold, sobering. His flashlight clicks on, and Rebecca is momentarily blinded. When her eyes adjust, she sees him leaning against the door, ear to the wood, checking. Her stomach clenches.

He looks like he’s been through a wind tunnel. His hair, normally so neat, juts in all directions. His shirt is rumbled, halfway untucked, and when did the top two buttons come undone? Rebecca tries to remember and can’t. His mouth is red, lips swollen and damp. When he meets her gaze, his eyes are heavy and a little unfocused.

The realization crushes her like a cow tossed from the tornado of her own self-hate. They just— He just— She just…

Nathaniel must see it on her face, because he carefully schools his features and straightens his shirt, retucking it as best he can with one hand.

“I think we’re clear,” he says and pushes the door open.

They both tense, but the office is empty. They spill from the closet. Rebecca glances down and feels her throat tighten with shame. Her pants are still undone. She zips and snaps them with shaking fingers.

With her back to him, she forces out, as evenly as she can, “What about the evidence?”

“Forget it,” he says. “This was obviously a bad plan.”

He means because they almost got caught breaking and entering, she’s sure. And yet there’s a twinge in her gut like small, icy knife when she considers what else he could mean. Which makes no sense, because she shouldn’t care if he thinks that was a mistake. Because it absolutely, one hundred percent was a mistake. A horrible mistake. An awful, stupid, intense, thrilling, mind-blowing mistake that she’s definitely not going to think about later in the shower as she—

Needs to leave. Right now.

Nathaniel follows her out into the night, taking care to lock the door behind them. She’s halfway to the sidewalk, making a beeline for her car stashed inconspicuously in the parking lot of a church down the street, when he catches up to her.

“Rebecca—”

“Nope,” she says, not slowing, not looking at him. “We’re not doing this.”

“Hmm, too late for that,” he says.

His tone is infuriatingly casual, ridiculously smug, and she spins on her toe to jab a finger into his chest as she says, “Nothing. Happened. Okay? Nothing. We did nothing.”

Nathaniel holds his hands up in submission, but he doesn’t look chastised one bit, and his hair is still mussed, and she cannot look at him right now. She resumes her angry speed-walk, shoulders hunched, hands balled into swinging fists at her sides. He doesn’t try to stop her. She doesn’t acknowledge the disappointment blooming in her ribcage.

She’s at her car when he calls out into the night, “Oh, have fun with your wedding planning! Hope it’s as satisfying as doing nothing!”

Rebecca flips him off with both hands before flinging herself into the driver’s seat and slamming the door. She doesn’t look in the rearview mirror as she peels out of the parking lot. Just like she doesn’t think about the patch of skin where her neck meets her shoulder that is red and raw from his scruff.

She doesn’t sleep at all when she gets home. She stays up all night, ties two hundred mason jar bows. She only cries twice. She tells herself it’s the most fun she’s ever had.

[newstfionline]

Why the sole resident of a Nebraska town is staying put, but is in good company

Doug Struck, CS Monitor, August 22, 2017

MONOWI, NEB.--As the mayor, only voter, and sole resident of this incorporated village, Elsie Eiler is pretty used to people asking why she remains here as population: 1.

“But this one fellow, he just kept at it. He kept saying, really, why do you stay?” recounts Mrs. Eiler. “I finally said, ‘There’s something you don’t understand. Nobody is keeping me here. I am here because I want to be here.’ He looked at me like I was crazy.”

Eiler is not crazy.

She’s not even that unusual in broad, sparse rural America. Out here, community is defined less by the people who live next to you and more by the people who would help you if you need it.

And in that, Eiler has a thriving community. Like Rocky Wilson. He strolls in the side door of the tavern operated by Eiler and her late husband since 1971, the only working building left other than the trailer she lives in behind the cafe. No need for salutations. Mr. Wilson heads to the cooler and helps himself to a bottle of pop.

He throws down a dollar, but Eiler ignores it and sizes him up sharply.

“You feeling strong today?” she asks.

“Watcha need,” Wilson shrugs.

Eiler had pulled her car up to the cafe last night after getting groceries in Spencer, 20 miles away. She just slightly bumped the motorcycle parked there by another regular, toppling it down. She giggles, embarrassed. Could he pull it upright?

“Sure,” says Wilson, ambling for the door. “I’ll be back to throw out those cardboard boxes.”

When Eiler grew up on a farm outside Monowi, it was a busy little cluster of farms and businesses, with a population of more than 100. She went to a schoolhouse with four grades in one room, then took a bus to the high school in Lynch seven miles down the road.

She met Rudy Eiler in school. When he graduated, he went to France in the Air Force. “All the boys went into the military then. There was nothing to keep them here,” she says. Eiler and a girlfriend headed off to adventure, too. They went to airline agent school in Kansas City, and then worked in Austin and Dallas.

“We went with the big idea we’d be stewardesses, but you had to be 21 to be a stewardess. We were only 19.” They stayed in city-life for a year, “but neither one of us cared much for it. We knew we wanted to come back.”

She did come back, and got married to Rudy. They farmed for a bit, but then Rudy, a reader and all-around friendly fellow, suggested fixing up the old café and bar in town to run it. “Fine by me,” Eiler recalls saying. “Baby pigs are cute, but there’s nothin’ cute about them when they get big.”

But by then, the restlessness that defined America’s character--the gold-prospecting, homesteading, land-hungry push westward that had left the countryside seeded with small farms and towns--had passed.

Rural America began slowly to empty out. Monowi’s three groceries closed. Small farmers sold to big, and left. The post office closed. The other tavern in town settled into the ground. The last funeral held at the wood frame Methodist church was for Eiler’s father in 1960, and a birch tree rose to wrap itself around the abandoned building.

Travelers emerging from the broad cornfields of eastern Nebraska to the folded terrain skirting the Missouri River on Highway 12 saw the green road sign announcing Monowi change from Population 11, to 3, and then to 2. When Rudy died of cancer in 2004, the sign changed again.

Rural towns all over are declared “dying.” It is a too-harsh diagnosis. They are certainly emptier--one can drive the long, straight roads of Nebraska at night, and only occasionally see a solitary light in a window twinkling in a sea of darkness. Seven of Nebraska’s counties had a population of less than one person per square mile in the 2010 census.

But they are not dying. People stay because here is more appealing than there--the there of a city, of a suburb, of a retirement home or a room in their daughter’s home. They do the work they know. They drive for a half-hour to visit friends they know. Some stay to raise kids. Some stay to harbor memories.

“When Rudy went, a lot of people thought I would be just close the door and leave,” says Eiler. “But why? All my friends are here.”

She has a daughter in Tucson, Ariz., and a son near Sioux City, Iowa. Her daughter flies in each November to help with the crush at the café during deer-hunting season, and Eiler often returns with her to Arizona for a few weeks.

“Oh, I’d be welcome to live with either one,” she says of her grown children. “And I could do it, if I have to. But then I’d have to make friends all over again.”

Instead, she walks down to the squat, white tavern, every morning except Mondays--she’s given herself one day off. The place is a bit worn. On the front of the plain building she has put a beer sign proclaiming the “World Famous Monowi Tavern.” She puts on a pot of coffee for some of the regulars who drop by, even though she doesn’t make breakfast. Come lunchtime and dinner time, though, she will whip up meals from the menu posted on the wall. Burgers $3.50, gizzards $4, steaks $14.75.

She does it all herself. But “if I get busy, somebody will jump up and help.” Between orders, she hand-washes the dishes or sits at the table to visit. There’s a steady stream of visitors. Some regulars drive 10 miles or more every day to check on her and swap stories--many grew up near Monowi and did not stray far. Gayle Heiser heaves down on a chair, and Eiler brings out a photo of them together in elementary school, posing over a Rodeo red wagon.

Other people drop by because they had heard of the town of population one, or had read about it on Facebook posted by other visitors--Eiler doesn’t have any use for computers or a cellphone. On a recent day, Denny and Judy Sloup drove 175 miles to say they had come here, and buy a T-shirt and cap that Eiler sells from a table in the tavern. Before they leave, the 80-something proprietress asks them to sign her guestbook--volume three in her collection.

“How could anybody say I’m isolated when I’ve had visitors from 47 states and 41 countries?” she demands. She does the annual paperwork to keep Monowi an incorporated village “just because I feel like I’d be letting the community down” she says, if she didn’t.

In the winter, she hosts a regular Sunday night came of Euchre, with up to two dozen buddies. She closes “whenever everybody decides to go home”--usually around 9 or 10 p.m. When they leave, Monowi’s population returns to one.

“Believe me,” she says with emphasis. “When I lock up and go home at night, I’m perfectly happy.”

[not-a-space-alien]

Moving Day

Title:  Moving Day Rating: G (maybe PG for nsfw reference?) Word Count: 3,400 Warnings: None Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley decide to move in together, and it turns out Aziraphale has a bit of a hoarding problem.

 On AO3

Crowley was glowing with happiness. Not literally, of course.  But he was very happy.

He was happy because he and Aziraphale were moving to South Downs together.  It had taken a while to get to this point, but this story is not about that. It’s about what happened afterwards. Because Aziraphale had sent Crowley a message asking him to help “sort out his belongings” to get ready for the move.

Crowley’s Mayfair flat had a very minimalistic aesthetic going on, so it only took him about half an hour to pack up his own belongings.  The result was only two cardboard boxes thrown in the backseat of the Bentley. The only thing that remained was his houseplants, which he would take over to the cottage later to ensure they arrived safely.

But Aziraphale’s living space was a bit more…cluttered.  There was the main body of the shop, which had been purposefully kept in disarray to discourage people from coming in, but when Crowley came over even the back room, which customers never saw, was always a mess.  But it was pretty small; Crowley figured that Aziraphale wanted help cleaning it out so that he didn’t take all that junk with him.  Their new living space was smaller than the shop.

It would probably only take about two or three hours to go through everything, and then they could start boxing up everything in the main shop.  The move was planned for next weekend, after all.  His heart fluttered again.

“I’m here, angel,” he sang out as he came into the shop.  The place was already in upheaval, with stacks of boxes and books and odd bits of rubbish scattered here and there.  It was a challenge to find a clear path to the back room, but when he finally managed, he saw Aziraphale in a pair of old trousers and a grubby shirt. The angel was already knee-deep in piles of things he had taken off the shelves.

“Thank goodness,” said Aziraphale. “Would you please hand me another trash bag?”

Crowley noted that Aziraphale was covered in dust and had already accumulated a pile of literal garbage by his feet.  Crowley waded back to the counter in the main shop and grabbed the bag of heavy duty trash bags and brought it back in.

“Thank you, dear,” he said, taking the roll and beginning to stuff a black bag full.  “I didn’t realize how much rubbish I had accumulated back here. I just need to separate the trash from the books and then we can move on.”

“I don’t suppose there’s any way to convince you to pare down your collection?”

“I’m afraid not.”

Crowley had figured that would be the answer, but it hadn’t hurt to try.  Little did he realize this was foreshadowing for how the entire day would go.

“Go ahead and take these out to the main shop, would you?” said Aziraphale, setting a heavy stack of encyclopedias in the demon’s arms.  “I’ve got a pile of things to keep started on the counter.”

“You’re keeping these?” said Crowley, a bit annoyed and noting the date on the covers.  “They’re from 1965.”

“They’re valuable.”

“They’ll say that man hasn’t landed on the moon yet.”

“Vintage.”

Crowley rolled his eyes and moved them without further argument.

He came back in to find another load of books ready to ferry—this time a set of dictionaries from the 80’s.

“Angel, nobody really needs encyclopedias or dictionaries anymore,” Crowley began.

“Well, yes, that’s why they gave them all to me,” said Aziraphale.

“No chance you could pare your collection down at all?  Not even a little?”

“If I have a book in my collection it’s because I’ve already judged that it’s worth holding onto.  There would be no point.  I’m keeping all of them.”

“All right.  Just remember that whatever doesn’t fit in the study at the cottage has to go in the attic.”

“Yes, I remember.  Let’s go through everything and we can move the furniture when it’s all clear.”

Aziraphale filled three trash bags full of used paper towels and empty alcohol bottles and globs of congealed cocoa and scribbled pages of notes, all the while handing Crowley more books to set out in the shop.

He came back in from setting out a set of thesauri from the early 1900’s to see that Aziraphale was tying the last bag up.  “There, got all the garbage out now, have we?” said Crowley cheerfully.  “It looks a lot bigger in here now without all that stuff in it.”  It was amazing how clean the room was now that it had been emptied.

“Mmm yes,” said Aziraphale pensively. “I’ve only got part of my collection of grimoires and spell ingredients back here, though.  The rest is upstairs in the bedroom.”

“…the bedroom?”

“Yes, there’s a second floor. You’ve never been up there?”

Crowley deflated a little. “Oh.  No, I suppose I forgot about that.”

“We’d better get started on it, then. Grab those trash bags, will you?”

They mounted the staircase and made their way up to the dimly lit second floor.  Aziraphale cracked the door open, and Crowley gasped.  The bedroom was stuffed with boxes and bags and collections of mysterious objects covered in cobwebs; even the bed, dusty from disuse, was cluttered.

“Angel, what is all this stuff?”

“Just…things, you know,” said Aziraphale fretfully.  “I didn’t have room in the shop for all my belongings.  I don’t usually sleep, so I thought the bedroom could be used for extra storage.”

“It’s going to take all day to go through this,” said Crowley, dismayed.

“Oh, stop being dramatic,” said Aziraphale, wading into the mess and picking up a box.  “Just help me start looking through this.”

Crowley picked up the nearest box and opened it.  It contained a variety of ruffled decorations in the shapes of stars and turkeys and candles and lights.

“Are these holiday decorations?” said Crowley.  “I’ve never seen you decorate the shop at all.”

“Oh, that’s where those went!” said Aziraphale.  “I’ve been meaning to decorate for the holidays for decades now, but I never got around to it. Don’t toss those out.”

The next box contained a grimy crockpot, a cookbook, and a set of utensils.

“Aziraphale, you don’t even cook,” said Crowley, showing him the contents.  “What did you get this for?”

“It was a hand-me-down,” said Aziraphale. “I had planned to try and start cooking.  I’m keeping that.”

Crowley set it aside and dragged another box forwards; it yielded a trowel, a pair of garden gloves, a floppy sunhat, and some nutrient spikes.

“Angel, you don’t garden,” said Crowley. “Even when you were posing as Brother Francis, you didn’t actually garden and just moved the soil around.”

“That’s not true.  I’ll get good use of those once we have more yard space.”

He pushed that to the side and pulled another box towards him.  It contained a few pounds of moldy yarn and knitting needles.

“Angel, you don’t knit!”

“I was going to start!  Don’t throw those out, they’re perfectly good!”

Getting increasingly frustrated, Crowley pushed that box aside and peered into the next one.  He caught sight of a silicone dildo and a bottle of lube.

“Angel, you don’t—”

“The adult shop next door was just going to throw them out!”

“All right,” said Crowley, rubbing his temples.  “Why don’t we do this?  If you haven’t used it in the past six months, and you think you aren’t going to use it in the next six months, you have to throw it out.”

“But that includes most of my books!” Aziraphale exclaimed, alarmed.  “I can’t do that!”

“All right, how about the six month rule, except for if it’s a book.”

“One year.  I have to throw it out if I won’t use it in the next year.”

“Okay.”

“Unless it’s very expensive and would be hard to replace.”

“That fair.”

Crowley helped him go through all the boxes in the first half of the room, and to his dismay Aziraphale said that he planned to use something from every single box soon.

“This isn’t even usable anymore!” said Crowley, holding the old broken popcorn machine they had dug up.  “If you wanted to make popcorn, you’d go buy a new one instead of using this one.”

“That’s an antique!”

“And you don’t need this space heater. The cottage has central heating.”

“It might get cold in one specific room.”

“Okay, then keep one and pitch the rest.  You have six or seven up here.  Find one that’s not broken.  I’ll get the garbage bag.”

“They can be donated.”

Crowley rubbed his temples.  “All right, let’s do this.  We’ll make three piles.  If you want to keep it, put it by the door.  If you want to donate it, put it in this corner.  If you’re going to throw it out, just put it in the trash bag.”

Crowley watched with mounting aggravation as over the next forty-five minutes, everything went into the “keep” pile.

“Angel,” he said, taking Aziraphale’s hands.  “We don’t have room for all this stuff.  We need to get rid of most of it.”

“I know,” said Aziraphale sadly.

“Okay, imagine the shop has burned down. A cataclysmic accident!  What in this room would you actually miss?”

Aziraphale wrung his hands.  “But that’s wasteful, Crowley,” he said.  “We could use all these things.”

“No.  Nope.  We don’t need them.  If we need something, we can just go buy a nice new one.”

“That’s the spirit of Temptation,” said Aziraphale critically.  “Indulgences. Wasteful excess and debauchery.”

“I promise you it is not debauchery to buy a new set of plates instead of using these ones.”

He eventually managed to get Aziraphale to part with most of the stuff in the room by promising him they would donate it to the homeless shelter.  He was not sure whether or not he was lying.  Most of it was in fairly good condition, if a bit dusty, and he almost didn’t care what happened to it if it meant getting it out of the way.

He made sure that the dildos and expired lube went into the trash instead of the donate pile, at least.

They moved the things to donate to the alley behind the shop, saying they would call the shelter later to see if they could come pick them up.  They went back upstairs and moved the “keep” pile, which was mercifully much smaller, downstairs.

“Whew, all right,” said Crowley, spinning around in the now mostly-empty bedroom.  “That’s done.  See, isn’t this better now?  All that clutter gone!”

“Mmm, yes,” said Aziraphale, not sounding convinced.  “I hope the attic will be this easy.”

“…the attic?”

Crowley watched with horror as Aziraphale led him into the hallway and pulled a staircase down from the ceiling, disappearing up into it and flicking on a light.  “Oh, dear, it’s a great deal dustier up here than I remember.”

Crowley took off his jacket and tie so they wouldn’t get dirty and followed Aziraphale up.

He emerged into a cavernous space nearly twice the size of the bedroom, but stacked with old, discolored boxes just as thickly.

He groaned.  “Angel, what is all this stuff?”

Aziraphale wrung his hands again. “Well, when I moved in here from my last residence, I may not have gone through my belongings to pare them down quite as thoroughly as we’re doing now.”

“…What you’re saying is when you moved in here, you just threw all your old stuff in the attic.”

“…Yes.”

“Have you touched any of this stuff since then?”

“Er…Maybe once or twice.”

“And when did you move in here?”

“19…1924.”

“Just throw it all out! If you haven’t used it in almost a hundred years I’m sure you don’t need it!”

“No!” Aziraphale said defensively.  “Some of this is hundreds of years old!  There’s journals, photographs, jewelry, paintings…”

As they began to go through the mess, Crowley finally understood.  Just as Aziraphale’s angelic intelligence was not much greater than a human’s but had the advantage of having thousands of years of practice, so did his angelic hoarding.  He had just accumulated as much as any human would by living for six-thousand years.

“I don’t suppose Adam changed any of this when he gave you the shop back?”

“No, I don’t think his imagination was quite that good.”

Crowley held up a string of pearls he had found in the box he had been rummaging through.  “Are these real?”

“A dear friend of mine gave those to me since she didn’t have an heir.”

“And you just left them in the attic?”

“Well, it’s not like she’s the only one who gave me something precious,” said Aziraphale, a bit testily.  “There’s not room for all of it in the shop.”

They pulled out boxes and boxes of black and white photos, which Aziraphale insisted on keeping. The same went for all the jewelry and old, hand-written volumes that came next.  Crowley uncovered a stash of paintings behind the old mirror leaning against the wall.

“Is this by Picasso?” Crowley exclaimed.

“Hm?  It might be.  I don’t really recall where I got it.”

Crowley watched with amazement as the attic yielded one treasure after another, antique writings by famous figures long dead, precious antiques and heirlooms Aziraphale insisted came from humans he had helped, sculptures and pieces of art and things thought lost to history.  Things got progressively older the further back they went.  Crowley could not convince him to part with any of it, which was a shame because they would have been millionaires if they could sell most of it.

“All right,” said Crowley. “Whatever we’re keeping, let’s take it down into the shop.  The rest let’s just pitch.”

It took over an hour to move everything down from the attic.  They were beginning to run out of room in the main shop.  Crowley was sweating by the time they were finished, a bit angry, knowing that he would never have been able to talk Aziraphale into using miracles to assist them with the process.  “All right,” said Crowley, wiping his face and smearing grime all over it. “I swear to somebody if there’s anything else, I’ll burn down the shop again myself.”

Aziraphale, who was just coming up the stairs and had not heard him, turned to survey the room. “Hmm,” he said.  “Yes, I think this quite takes care of the attic.”

“I should think so,” said Crowley tersely.  “There’s nothing else in here.  It’s empty.”

“Right, well now we can start on the basement.”

“The basement?”

Aziraphale’s head had already disappeared down into the light.  Crowley followed, seething with barely suppressed frustration.

There was a door in the back room that had been revealed with the removal of all the clutter.  It was hardly more than a slat of wood; the hinges had rusted away.  Aziraphale opened it by simply moving the panel out of the way, revealing a crypt-like staircase fading way into blackness.

“Okay,” said Crowley. “Aziraphale, this is the last place, right?  After the basement, we’ll be all done, right?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t have any other belongings anywhere else?”

“No.”

“No crawl space?  No off-site storage unit somewhere in London?”

“No.”

“All right.”

Crowley got a flashlight to illuminate their way down.  The light was burnt out, and objects loomed in beastly shapes in the darkness.  They changed the lightbulb, and it glowed weakly in the cavernous space.

“All right,” said Crowley. “Now, what is all this stuff?”

“It’s um…I think it’s the things from when I moved from the place before the last one I lived in.”

“And when was that?”

“18…1893.”

Crowley dragged his hands down his face.  “All right. Be brutal, Aziraphale.  We don’t have room for any of this.  Throw out what you do not absolutely need.”

“What I do not absolutely need.”

“Only keep it if you think you would die without it.”

“Got it.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

Most of the boxes had water damage on them.  Lots of the objects Crowley pulled out were unrecognizable under black mold.  He pulled out a few amphoras he was sure must have been millennia old.

“Is this from that time in Rome??” Crowley exclaimed, digging up an enormous candle.  “Why did you keep this?”

“It has sentimental value.”

“It’s decaying.  I don’t even think you could light it.  And are these brass scales from the market in Egypt?”

“A friend gave those to me!”

“I think he’d be aghast to find them in this condition!  Come on, angel!  Do you really want to keep all this?”

Aziraphale looked conflicted as they moved through the room.  Once, Crowley caught sight of a golden chalice he was pretty sure could be the Holy Grail, and when Aziraphale had his back turned he set it aside so that he could sell it on eBay later.  He also found a chunk of rock that looked like a fossil of some sort, which he suspected had been alive and then died and fossilized under Aziraphale’s belongings.

Most of the things made of paper and cloth and less durable materials were not salvageable at all went into the rubbish; things made of metal and stone that had lasted longer were more difficult, but Crowley managed to convince him to get rid of most of them. They probably would have been a great find for some archeologist who wanted to put them in a museum, but it would have been a great effort to sort through them all by geography and time period and it was already growing dark out.  Aziraphale said he would donate them, but Crowley was too tired to argue and let the angel take ancient pottery and storage jars and antique metalwork up and set them next to the decade-old crockpot and cookbook in the alleyway.

The rest of the basement went into black trash bags and was set on the curb, joining the ever-growing pile of rubbish.  Both of them were covered in grime and dust and sweat by the time they finished, standing panting under the dim lightbulb in the center of the room.

“All right,” said Crowley. “All right, we’re finally done.”

“Why don’t we decide which pieces of furniture we’re taking now that that’s done?”

Crowley screamed internally. “All right,” he said externally.

They started in the back room and made the circuit again.  Aziraphale said they should take the wooden table the two usually had drinks on, which seemed agreeable enough.  Aziraphale never used his bed, and the mattress was ancient, so Crowley insisted on leaving it here.

“Let’s move this out,” said Crowley, motioning to the card table.

“Okay,” said Aziraphale.

They each grabbed one side, lifted—and tried to move off in opposite directions.

“We’re taking this out to the trash, right?” said Crowley.

“No, I’m taking this to the cottage.”

“You’re not taking this!”

“It’s perfectly good!”

“Not even the homeless shelter would want this crummy table!  It’s filthy and awful and one of the legs is broken!”

“That can be easily fixed! It’s very sturdy otherwise!”

“Sturdy?  Sturdy?  Sturdy?”

Crowley marched outside, picked a Babylonian stone idol out of the donation pile, came back in, and dropped it on the table, which splintered immediately under the weight.

“Well, we can’t take it now,” said Aziraphale snippily.  “You broke it.”

“I b—”  Crowley hid his face in his hands and took a long breath. “You know what?  Okay, fine.  Let’s just. Let’s just take all the furniture. I don’t care.  We’ll just cram it in the study, and you can just sit in your study with no room to walk around because you’ve got three card tables and two couches and five easy chairs in it.  That’s fine.  Whatever.” He removed his hands.  “There. Are we done?”

It was pitch black outside. The clock told them it was an irresponsibly late hour.

“Yes,” said Aziraphale. “I think we are.”  He stepped over the splinters of the desk, took Crowley’s hand, and nuzzled his grime-stained cheek.  “Thank you for your help, dear.”

Crowley sighed.  “All right.  Let’s go use the shower at my place, why don’t we?  And we can finally get some dinner.”

“That sounds nice.”

Moving out the next weekend was a lot easier with all that old stuff gone.