#but it's the first day. we literally got here less than six hours ago. what a hassle. I'm so fucking tired.

[neverendingford]

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[heavyhitterheaux]

Touch Me, Tease Me (NSFW)

First Lady of Private Garden Fic

AN: Pure filth with a sprinkle of fluff 🥰

Synopsis: One thing that you can always do is help Jack relax and turn his bad mood around

Pairing: Husband!Jack Harlow x Wife!Reader

Do not engage if underage

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

The time on your phone read 10:26 PM as you heard the front door open letting you know that your husband was back.

Urban had sent you a text about 45 minutes ago telling you that Jack was in a mood, but he couldn't figure out why and as much as he tried to get it out of him he couldn't. So, his next best option was to tell you in the hopes that you could get to the bottom of what was wrong and make him feel better. 

The bedroom door was open and Jack didn't even greet you as he walked in despite you speaking to him first.

“Hey babe.”

Instead, he simply slipped off his New Balances and laid on top of you with you letting out a yelp because you weren't expecting him to do so.

His head was on your chest as you wrapped your arms around him and he hugged you tighter.

“Hmm, smush? You wanna talk about it?” You asked him and he immediately shook his head no.

“Now you know we don't do that around here. We talk about how we're feeling so it doesn't cause a shitstorm later.” You said as you started playing in his hair.

Jack lifted his head to peek at you and you simply kissed his nose while giving him a small smile.

“So spill It.”

“I just missed my wife. I didn't want to do anything today.” He finally confessed as you pinched his cheek.

“You're so cute, but you're back now so you need to relax. Did you eat?”

“Yes. Urban made me.”

You made a note in the back of your mind to text him and thank him because knowing Jack and how busy he tends to get, it wouldn't be unlike him to forget to eat.

“Good and you aren't doing anything tomorrow so you can sleep.”

“Baby, we have six kids. What is sleep?” He asked while raising an eyebrow at you. 

“I… well I'll text Clay to see if he can take them out tomorrow so you can rest.”

“If you ask him he'll say yes. If I ask him, I'll have to go through my mom.”

“Jackman, you are so dramatic. Clay loves spending time with them.”

“Don't you remember last time? He dropped The triplets off 2 hours early.”

“Well yeah because they ate him out of a house and home.”

“They're going to summer camp because they can be fine all school year and the MINUTE that the last damn bell rings on the last day of school they act like we haven't fed them since birth. Talking about ‘daddy, I'm hungry’ when they ate less than 20 minutes ago. Fuck outta here. Need to start paying for groceries if they want to eat so damn much. In THIS economy!?”

You couldn't help but to bust out laughing, but you knew he was completely right.

“We'll worry about that when the time comes, but for now I need you to do something.” You replied as you played with his beard.

“What do you need babe?”

Before you answered him, you leaned forward to kiss him and he eagerly kissed you back.

“Get up, lock the door, and you need to lose your clothes. Now.”

Jack simply smirked before kissing you again and then he got up and made his way over to the door to lock it.

By the time he turned back around, you had lost all of your clothes and he was looking around dumbfounded.

“What the? How?”

“I literally wasn't wearing that much to begin with, now come on.” You laughed as you were now sitting on the edge of the bed and pulled him closer to you by the waistband of his sweatpants.

“Off now.” You told him as you tugged on them, but instead he slowly slipped his shirt off and threw it in the corner.

“You're teasing me and I don't think I like that very much.” 

All he did was smirk, but was caught off guard as you got his sweatpants and boxer briefs down in one swift motion and began stroking him.

“Shit, baby.”

“Do it again and I won't let you cum.”

Hearing this, Jack immediately put a hand around your neck stopping your movements. 

“It's honestly cute how you think you're in charge. You know better than that baby. I run this.”

“Hmm, we'll see.” You softly answered as he let go and you took him in your mouth, but suddenly had an idea.

You stopped and simply slid all the way up in the bed and Jack was looking at you confused.

“My dick isn't going to suck itself. What's going on, baby?” He asked as he was stroking himself and peering down at you.

“Sit in between my legs.”

From that moment forward, you knew he was at your mercy.

Kicking his sweatpants the rest of the way off, he did as he was told and his back was now leaning against your chest.

Your arms went around him as you leaned down to whisper in his ear.

“You always put me to sleep and now it's my turn to return the favor.”

All he did was lean his head back and you lightly kissed him while smirking.

You started kissing down his neck and snaked your hand around to continue stroking him. The precum was now leaking as you massaged the tip of his dick before continuing to move up and down the shaft.

“Oh fuck.” You heard Jack quietly say and he adjusted himself so that you would be able to have a better grip.

By now, he had simply closed his eyes and now had his head resting against your chest. He tried to move to the side to be able to put your pierced nipples in his mouth, but your movements immediately stopped.

“Stop moving, Jackman.”

“But…”

“Just be patient.”

He did as he was told as you continued pleasuring him because the last thing he wanted for you to do was stop again.

You lost count of how many love bites you left all over his neck, and knew that he wouldn't be complaining when the two of you were finished.

Soft moans and whimpers were leaving Jack's mouth every few seconds and you simply slowed down and quickly heard his protests.

“Baby, come on.”

“Hmm? What's wrong?” You asked, knowing exactly what the problem was.

“You know what you did. I was almost there.” He whined and you simply laughed to yourself.

“Now you know how it feels, huh?”

“Baby, let me fucking cum.” You heard as he tried to increase the pace of him moving in the palm of your hand.

“Or what?” You asked as you stopped completely.

He turned around to look at you and kissed the side of your mouth.

“Don't ask questions to the things you don't want the answer to. Your ass won't be able to walk tomorrow if you keep fucking playing with me.”

“Who said I wanted to walk tomorrow?”

Jack let out a light chuckle before turning back around.

“Famous last words.” He replied as he patted your thigh and knew that it was going to be a long night.

You spit in your hand before reaching back around and sped up the pace of you stroking him.

“Yes, baby. Keep fucking going. Be a good girl and make daddy cum.”

Not even a minute later, he released all over your hand and you kept stroking him as he rode out his high with you kissing him.

Between kisses you heard his moans and the stickiness between your thighs was becoming more evident and could no longer be ignored.

You two sat in silence as Jack got himself together before he flipped over to see you licking his cum off your hand making him get bricked up all over again.

“Mmm, tastes so good. And what were you saying about me not being in charge?” You asked as you looked at him hovering over top of you.

“Don't fucking start with me because we are nowhere near done.” He said as he slowly entered you.

“Oh shit.” You breathed out because you were caught off guard.

“Don't get scared now. Take this dick.” Jack said as he pounded into you and placed his hand around your neck.

“And if you're a good girl, I just might let you cum. Open your mouth.” 

Listening to instructions, you felt warm liquid hit the back of your throat.

“Swallow it.”

As you did, you smirked up at him which made him halt his movements and slide out of you.

“Turn around.”

Now on your knees with your head resting on your arms, you felt Jack's warm tongue as he started to eat you out from the back.

“Fuck, baby. It feels so good.”

A few minutes had passed and without warning, he abruptly stopped and slid into you.

“Arch that back and act like you want this.” You heard him say but not before there was a hard smack to your ass.

You did as you were told and knew that this wasn't stopping any time soon.

About an hour later, Jack was fast asleep on your chest as you played in his hair and you couldn't help but to laugh to yourself.

 

And as much shit as he talked, you still put his ass to sleep. 

[hisaribi]

Reverse robins brainrot but not to the side even I expected

So Tim aged eighteen goes to circus with his father, because that was one of the last happy memories they had with Janet. Bruce also comes with sixteen years old Jason, who weren't in the field, just adopted by Bruce, because he uncovered student of his orphanage to criminal pipeline and was mostly training under Bruce and Damian to follow them, Damian is a part of covert operations team under the Justice League, he couldn't come because Arkham had an escape this day and he needed to come here to deal with it.

Apparently Mary Grayson remembered Drakes and specifically Janet, and seemed really sad that she died. Drakes and Graysons made a photo about ten years ago, and well, somehow they decided to make another photo together. Back than it was Mary, her brother Rick, his wife Karla and their son John, who at that time was six and didn't act on trapeze. Now they expanded with Mary's husband John and their child Dick. The kid was very enthusiastic, telling Tim he was allowed to family's routine for the first time (which was a lie, he just tells it to everyone who aren't really deep into the following circus circles on media or whatever, because people get worried if they hear he's been doing it for a couple of years already). But this time he was mostly to do some tricks in the begining with cousin John and at the end with his parents, because he was still getting better from a bad cold he had, and he was only allowed to act out the less risky parts of their show. Tim told him he would watch for his performance, even though this whole thing still left a bittersweet taste in his mouth, but the kid didn't need to know that. Dick was a very tactile kid and hugged Tim closely. What neither Drakes noted was how Dick stole Tim's wallet, and how cousin John got it back to exactly the same pocket. He promised not to tell parents, but for that Dick would have to bring him an ice cream after the show.

Tim and Jason were sort of friendly in a way that our father's get all over each other but not in the romantic sense and we have to awkwardly stand next to them while they talk to each other and catch up for literal hours. Jason also shared that Damian couldn't come, but was somewhat indifferent to that, because Damian had always called Jason a charity case, so their relationship were strained, he didn't know about the current Arkham escape, while Bruce did. They politely talked about school, circus and some tv show that was big lately.

From time to time they made jokes or comment about the act on stage, sometimes framing everything as a reference to some meme or show just because they could.

And then the Flying Graysons came, a closing act, and Tim told Jason about what he knew about the family and their youngest member, Jason sort of frowned about the kid this young being allowed to risk so much, but both just decided that circus people were crazy just like that.

And then they saw the family fall during the difficult trick Dick didn't participate in.

His only alive Grayson relative from the group was Rick, all the news were about it, and well, Mr Wayne was somewhat invested, and well, Tim followed news, all movements and threads, he almost ready to reason with his father to adopt Dick, because... there was some other player that didn't let the kid stay in circus' care, and it surely wasn't out of his best interests, because he ended up in juvenile.

And then somehow an alive relative resurfaces, a sister of Karla living in the Gotham, Harleen Quinzel. Mind you that she isn't Harley Quinn yet, even though she already works with Joker and other mentally unstable villains as an Arkham therapist, and while she's single, she can afford take a good care of a child. She didn't have a chance to meet him in person yet before all of that happened, but they were both aware of each other, and even talked like once over video call, mostly because Harleen's nephew John was showing her some moves and Dick also wanted to show off with his cousin who he loved dearly, so yes, they were practically strangers. She was to come to their performance, but got caught up in an Arkham escape attempt.

And yet she was his relative, even though they didn't share any blood, so she took him in. Aunt-in-law and all that.

And then the Joker and Harley era came, and while Harleen really tried to make sure Dick stays out of it, he was searching for ways to avenge his parents. So it all turned into a big mess. Tim followed what was going on, he learned that the kid everyone called Pierrot, after he got caught on camera doing a trick no even much of adult athletes could do, was Dick Grayson, and well, he didn't kill, but he acted as a decoy more than once, he taunted police, other goons, Batman and Wraith, while at the same time leading children away from the craziness and harm's way. Also he was as likely to help bad guys as he (though everybody thought Pierrot was a girl, and more than that, Harley and Joker's daughter) was likely to help good guys.

Was as likely to take victims to safety as to danger. Show vigilante and police a way to ruin Joker's plans as to lead them into traps. Do what he was told to do by Harley and Joker as to do exactly opposite.

He covered his face with two-sided black and white mask, one part was smiling. Some said that it could be understood what he was going to do by the way he tilted his head, but so far it wasn't ever accurate.

And then Harley and Joker got caught and put to Arkham. At that point Tim tipped Batman on who the kid possibly was, and he told that to Jim, because having a tiny child running errands for super-vilains wasn't really sitting with any of them well.

So Batman was let to talk to Harley.

"Where is your nephew-in-law, Richard Grayson?" Batman said. Harley looked a bit out of it, but then smiled.

"He's in the walls." But then Harley surprised everyone when she grabbed Batman, he was expecting her to steal something from him, but he still let her do so. "There is a Talon after him, Bats, don't let him take little guy away."

First thought they got was that they killed a child and put him literally inside some wall, but then some records showed Pierrot from time to time coming to Harley, and that was how they caught him. And the phrase about Talon sort of made sense, as there was a figure in black following the kid.

Tim was the one to actually follow and find Dick. Mostly because Dick remembered him from circus and became curious why Tim was jumping on roofs without funny costume.

So ye, here we have this brainrot

[annakie]

Fixing The House Chapter 5: Power Down

Part One: I Do Not, In Fact, Have the Power

Part Two: Let’s Spend Lots of Money!

Part Three: All These Things That I’ve Done

Part Four: I Really Want to Stay At My House

A little interlude.

Part Five: Power Down (YOU ARE HERE)

Part Six: You Will Leave Some Paint

Part Seven: Backwards to go Forwards

Part Eight: Master of Bathrooms

Part Nine: Within a Room, Somewhere

Part Ten: Rooms With No View

Part Eleven: Big Bang Room Part A and also Part B!

Part Twelve: We Can Make It On the Outside

Part Thirteen: Mauve Haze Symphony

Part Fourteen (A) - In the Kitchen

---

It's been many weeks.

And like I said recently, so much has happened.

Not a lot happened in the first week after my previous update.

And then EVERYTHING happened.

There's not much of a point in trying to do a timeline at this point or talk about what's happened in order.

At this point I've settled on, instead, after this, going room by room. Maybe each room gets a separate post.

The thing is, no room is done yet. Several are CLOSE, but every room has some details to go where I wouldn't want to start in on talking about it until it's done, you know?

But there is a story of how all this started with a small thing and turned into a near full remodel that I can start in on, first.

I dunno, let's see how I do. I've got an hour to type right now.

Let's start with an update on Laundry Mountain

Part One: Put it Away Now

Like I said in the last update, I'd done a lot about Laundry Mountain. I got the clothes in the house into a state of semi-put away. But honestly there's stuff that there still just isn't room for and I still have had zero time / energy to deal with. Basically all my tanktops and t-shirts that currently fit are just... on the guest room bed. There's also, like I said before, like a tub full of t-shirts that are currently too small and a kind of misc laundry hamper still.

I'd posted back then that sheets and blankets were next. For a little while they were all in their own new Mountain, but eventually I pulled out all the sheets/pillowcases/towels and brought them inside. I then threw away a couple of gross blankets and folded up the rest. As a part of cleaning up the garage I'd bought two wire storage racks and got most of the stuff still just on the floor of the garage onto the racks, with half of one of the racks dedicated to old towels and all the blankets. It's not perfect, but it's much better. And there is still at least 1/3rd of the work left to do in the garage. But it was still around 100 every day when this was happening and I couldn't do much more in there until it cooled off, I determined.

I pulled everything out of the linen closet, and I spent a day sorting through the many sheet sets I had, honestly just a stupid amount. I sorted out the ones I didn't want anymore due to no longer liking the color, or they were too low quality to want to sleep on, or just more or less rags at that point, and some were just like, the sheets I slept on IN COLLEGE 30 YEARS AGO, and bagged them up. The rest I put in the linen closet. For the most part. There's one more tub with like, bedskirts and mattress pads I need to figure out what to do with.

In the end, though. I ended up with a garage with a pretty good chunk of actually usable space, whereas before, there was literally none.

That would come in very, very handy in the near future, in ways I hadn't anticipated.

So yeah, there's still A Problem in the guest bedrom, but I think once all the big HOUSE things are done, I'll have time to do an actual sort of clothes better than I have. I really need to put thought into things like... do I NEED so many work clothes anymore? I have been WFH since March, 2020. My current job is literally never going to be regularly going into the office, we don't even have enough office space for that to be a reality and no one, not even the bosses, want to go into the office regularly. And my direct boss is in New Jersey.

I honestly at this point hope to be with this company until I retire, which isn't that far off, but still at least 10 years. But yeah, I especially need to do a hard sort on work clothes and dresses.

The other thing I've sort of hinted at is that some of the problem should be working itself out because I am shrinking out of clothes bit by bit every day. I've lost a fairly significant amount of weight this year and am nowhere near done losing yet. I'm just still not ready to post about that. Again, maybe after all the home stuff is done. But there's already clothes that I was wearing regularly that now are just ridiculous on me, though not as many as I'd like. In six more months I think there will be no need for at least a third of the clothes I have now. So part of me is just waiting for that to work itself out, I think.

Power is Power

So, on Saturday, August 10th, phase two of the big house project started.

Originally, it was just going to be getting the power done. That was it. Arturo was coming to rewire the house and put in a few more lights and outlets, move the fusebox outside... Boom. Done. Important, my house wouldn't burn down, and that would be the extent of the remodel.

I did, of course, have things I wanted to do. I talked last post about wanting to pretty up the new patio. The ceiling got put on and I needed to paint the ceiling, and thought about painting the concrete, too. Things that would be a little difficult but doable for me.

When Arturo came to start talking about the rewire, I asked about when the ceiling fan could go up, since the ceiling was on, because I needed to paint the patio ceiling before he did.

"My guys can do that," Arturo said. "We can get it done the same day as doing the electricity."

"Oh, that'd be nice. How much?" I asked. He told me a price, including the paint, I thought as totally reasonable. I asked him if they could also paint the garage door so I didn't have to do that AND I had alreay bought the paint. Sure, he said. A little more for labor. I asked about painting the patio concrete. Sure, he said. Would have to be done on a different day, but they could do that.

Oh, ok neat.

Arturo also mentioned that my fence poles didn't have caps on them, and he kind of warned me that he'd had the guy who built my fence, Jose, work for him for a couple of days and didn't really like his quality of work, not getting fence caps seemed to show that, as well. So Arturo said how much getting fence caps would be and held be happy to install them.

Oh, ok, great. I also pointed out a few other bits of work that I'd been dissatisfied with in the end with Jose's work. In the end I didn't fight with him about it because I figured he'd done his best and didn't think he could fix it to my satisfaction. I was planning on finding someone else to fix those bits. No problem, Arturo said. His guys could fix that and he'd make sure it looked great.

Hmmmm... Okay? Sure! Just a little bit more money, totally reasonable amount.

While we were pointing out a couple of other things about the electric work, Arturo pointed out a few other minor things and was like "I'll fix that, too." Some of the things he was like Naaaah, no extra charge.

I really, really liked Arturo. After being a single female homeowner for 21 years I've developed a fine sense for who is bullshitting me, and I didn't get any bad vibe from Arturo at all.

So I decided to take a leap of faith and showed Arturo my biggest shame in the house -- the bathrooms.

We'll get to the reasons why in another post, but I showed him the horror that is my bathtubs and exactly what I knew was wrong with them, and warned him that it could be worse. I told him I would want a completely new tub for the hall and a complete replacement for the master, including tiles and plumbing in both.

Holding my breath for another 10 - 15k quote like I'd been given a few times before, I asked him how much he wanted.

Um... he wanted much less than that. A reasonable amount. I confirmed all the things I wanted, and he was like "Yeah, no problem. About this much."

Fuck... I could take a little more out of savings and do that. I really could, I could end the fucking nightmare that is the shower/tub in both my bathrooms.

I decided to do it. Okay but that's all I could do, okay? Sure. Got it.

Electricity Makeover Day 1

So yeah, August 10th I woke up early, got the cats into the guest bedroom, threw all the clothes out of one half of my closet where the fusebox was, loaded the guest bedroom up with all the comforts I wanted, shut down my computer, and before 8am Arturo and his crew were there to do the rewiring.

I spent most of the day in the guest room, just staying out of the way. Arturo would pop in and ask questions or give me updates, but I had my laptop, Steam Deck, bluetooth speaker... I was good.

Arturo cut power to only the section of the house they were working on and kept the AC on as long as possible. I had power most of the day.

They decided to work late, really late. Technically I was supposed to go to my buddy Marcus' for TTRPG (13th Age). It was the capstone night for the entire adventure, and I had to not be there in person. Instead, I called in with my laptop and gamed that way. It wasn't the best, but it worked.

Mid-afternoon it was time to cut power to the AC, all of the house really. I got ready. I had my hotspot from work and my backup emergency battery, so no problem. Should just be for an hour or two.

Well, it was a lot longer than that, it turned out. All power was out through the entire hottest part of the day. For a couple of hours it stayed decent in the guest room with the door closed and a blanket over the window, but after awhile I had to open the window.

Wasn't a fun time, while trying to also play 13th Age remotely with my friends, and I was more distracted than I would have liked... but... eventually... power came back on right around the time it was getting dark. Arturo stayed awhile longer making sure things would be ready for work to resume Monday. No work on Sundays.

Only about half the rooms had electricity at all, but the office, living room, and kitchen did, and that was enough.

Electricity Makeover Sunday & Day 2: No AC Bugaloo

So here's a pic from early on that first day...

That's the hallway. That's the insulation from my attic all over the hallway, and that is a giant hole in my hallway ceiling that they needed to make to use for easy access into the attic. There's also an access in the garage but for Reasons, it was a lot harder to use for their purposes and they needed to make an access in the hallway.

What neither I or Arturo thought of before he left that night was the need to cover that giant hole.

It took quite awhile for the house to start to cool off again and only too late did I think Hmmm... the AC might get overworked because maybe the house cannot completely cool off with a giant hole in the ceiling.

See that door on the left with the green handle? That is the access to the furnace. I realized sometime Sunday afternoon that I didn't think the AC had shut of at all since coming back on. Uh oh. That's usually bad news for me.

I went over there and realized that the floor was wet. that usually meant the AC was freezing up. So I turned it off, replaced the filter, even though it didn't really need it, and for the rest of the day would only turn it on it short bursts to keep the house tolerable.

The state of the laminate only got worse. It'd been slowly soaking for hours before I really noticed it, and the towels I put down didn't help much.

Still, I set it to 80, stuffed towels around it, and left it on when I went to sleep.

In the morning it was clear I had to shut it off for good that day. I called my AC guy and he said I had to let it completely unfreeze, he'd be there first thing tomorrow.

So yeah, I worked my job that Monday and the electric crew worked the house with no AC. It wasn't great.

Near the end of the day they had to turn all the power off again, so I clocked out early and hung out on the patio until they were done. Honestly it may have been at this point when Arturo and i discussed the bathrooms.

That night, after they left, I sat in my 100 degree house. It was miserable. I considered looking for the nearest pet friendly hotel, but decided on another course of action instead.

I went to Lowe's and bought a portable air conditioner. Even the smallest one they had was over $300.

I got it home and tried setting it up in the master bedroom but it turns out the new power outlet installed in the bathroom was turned off. I only found this out AFTER I'd gotten it all set up and the vent taped into the window.

NGL, that was a real, real low moment and I had about a 5 minute breakdown before I dragged myself out of it, and realized that although I couldn't use it in the Guest bedroom, as it still had no power at this point, I could, instead, install it in the Living Room, which is the smallest bedroom of the house.

I had to move some furniture and it was a pain in the ass to set up, but in the end, I did it.

I was supposed to run my Monday Night PF2e game, but ended up having no internet, the outlet I needed to be on for that as still switched off, which I hadn't noticed when Arturo had left that day. (But he did cover up the Hall Attic Hole with plastic before he left!)

I sat with a fan pointed at me and instead of playing we talked as a group about the next steps we would take -- ending the Beginner's Box for PF2e and starting Season of Ghosts, the second campaign I'd be running in that module since I didn't have time to learn and run a 3rd module. It turned into a pretty good session anyway.

By the time that was done, the living room had cooled down a bit. I nailed some blankets over the room door, and slept on my couch. The door was cracked just enough for the cats to get in and out, but they spent most of the night in there with me since it was the only cool place in the house.

It wasn't the best, but it could have been worse.

Electricity Makeover Day 3: Return of the AC

The next day I... just camped out in the living room. Brought my work laptop in there and worked from the couch. At that point, I'd decided the $300 for the portable AC was well worth it.

Arturo and the guys were showing up at noon that day and Joe, my AC guy, arrived earlier. After looking at the AC he realized it was working fine -- the problem was that the drain was stopped up. Probably some debris had fallen into the drain between getting the roof done and the electricity done. He thought I was going to have to call a plumber but instead used some attachment on my outside hose and was able to pressure-push whatever was stuck in there through.

So he just did normal service on the AC after that, which I was very late calling him for anyway, just charged me for that, and voila, my AC was back on and haven't had a problem with it since.

Even though it was on it was still almost 100 that day and the guys left the doors open so the house itself wasn't cool, but the cats and I were just fine and in the mid-70's in the living room. I felt a little bad for staying cool while everyone else was suffering, but I mean, it was my house. They were in and out and in and out so much that they'd been leaving the doors open most of the time.

And for good reason with the back door to the patio... but that's a part of the Master Bedroom story.

By the time Arturo and the guys left that night, it was starting to cool off, but I slept in the living room with the portable going again anyway. It would actually shut off and turn back on on its own, though, as the temperature actually got cool enough, which was nice.

That was the last night of discomfort, I moved back into the guest room after that. My actual master bedroom had just a ton of stuff piled up on and in it. The guest room was out of the way, and for the next three weeks, it was my main domain, and still is for the cats, during the day when there's workers in the house at least.

Neither of them would run out and run away, I don't think. I just feel a lot better with them locked away, and they've found a comfortable, dark and secluded space in the closet behind some boxes.

So yeah, it took about three full days for the main parts of the electrical work to get done.

As I start to go through room by room at some point soon, I'll point out all the work that was done both electrical and otherwise in each room, and how the electric work influenced what was to come, but it was kind of the base for everything else to come.

I'll leave this with one more picture -- where the "old" fusebox had been. Took this pic in the near pitch-blackness on Saturday night after everyone had left and my game was over. Only a couple of rooms had working electricity that night, and everything was extra creepy. Seeing this coming out of the wall didn't help.

Future updates will have lots more pictures and will be more results focused. But that was the first few days of the second part of the home renovation saga.

[chaseyesterdays]

Mahonia and papyrus?

mahonia: what place, thing, activity inspires you most and how do you express yourself when it does?

You know, I see what you mean about these ask games being too subjective. Good lord, how the fuck do I answer this?

Basically what it comes down to for me inspiration-wise is this: I either see something done really right, or really wrong. For example: I went to a production the other night in which some of the actors sang eighties and nineties power ballads in three part harmony. Afterwards, all I wanted to do was sing, because they all blended so well together and I wanted to be a part of that myself. Similarly, I watched some of the less seasoned performers in that show really struggle to find their characters, and all I could think was "Hmm, okay, here's what I would do different and how I would execute that nuance more effectively," and down the mental rabbit hole I went.

Same thing goes for writing too - sometimes I see words woven together so beautifully it creates a visceral reaction in me and I just...desperately want to make something that beautiful or impactful myself. Sometimes I read (or see, thanks to tv and film) something so poorly constructed or just outright bad that I have to try and fix it. I don't even know if this is really answering the question or not, because I don't know if any of this is inspiration so much as it's motivation to create or correct, but that's usually what spurs me into action, so. I guess it works?

(As for what inspires fics... God only knows. Most of those things hit me like a meteor strike in the middle of the most boring fucking banal things you could imagine. If I had a dime for every time a plot bunny caught me in the shower or while I'm working my actual full time job, I...probably wouldn't need the job, to be honest.)

papyrus: if you put your 'on repeat' playlist on shuffle, what's the first song that comes up? what do you like about it/associate it with?

(Under a cut because this is insanely long and also...way more emotional than I intended to be, but I am at the mercy of shuffle here, so.)

I literally just did this and the song it picked is "The View Between Villages (Extended Version)" by Noah Kahan. And that just...fucking wrecks me, to be honest. In the best way, but whoo boy, shuffle is coming for the jugular tonight.

I discovered that song a few days ago (and honestly it's got some verses in it that are very Percy-coded), but when I listened to it for the first time, all I could see is my two best friends' hometown in the mountains. All I could feel is that...bittersweet longing for things you just can't have back. Hiraeth, I think they call it - a homesickness for a home you can never return to, or a home that never existed in the first place. Mine is in those mountains, and I hear it in the most...insane ways in that song.

So, for starters, the first time I visited my closest friend Su in her hometown (six hours away from mine), it was 2014 and all we listened to was the soundtrack for The Fault in Our Stars. M83's song "Wait" was on that soundtrack and I fucking loved it - we listened to it driving at night, when the streetlights smear against the night sky and you can only see by the backlit numbers on the dash, and it was just such an atmospheric song for those summer nights with the windows down and the mountain breeze coming in. I don't know why, but that was one of two or three songs I've come to associate with that place, and I hear them in my head every time I drive back into town.

Cut to a few years later when I'm in the same town, but hanging out with my second best friend. Aly. The one I called "sister" because "friend" never seemed to be enough. We listened to so many of the same songs, and so many memories of the things we did in that exact same place got attached to those songs as a result. They went on my playlists and I would send those playlists to her sometimes - music was such an outlet for us both, and trauma bonding drives people together in some strange, strange ways.

Now, cut to July 2022 when Su and I drive back into town for our sister's funeral. Grief thick in the back of our throats, eyes too glazed over to really see. Some of those same songs are on my sad playlist, because they made me think of her. Made me think of all the places we'd been and things we'd done. Made me miss those things. Made me realize none of us would ever have those things again.

And then fucking Noah Kahan releases a song that's...objectively about his hometown. About the love you have for a place and the desire to just...run from it. Drive away and never look back. Feeling the hold it has on you, the tether that keeps you here, stuck between two places, suspended. "The things that I lost here, the people I knew - they got me surrounded for a mile or two. Left past the graveyard, I'm driving past ghosts; their arms are extended, my eyes start to close. The car's in reverse, I'm gripping the wheel - I'm back between villages, and everything's still." And Jesus Fucking Christ if that isn't everything I feel when I think about Aly's hometown. When I drove back through it for what I knew might be the last time, right past the house she never came home to, past the graveyard where they buried her ashes.

And here's the kicker: it sounds so much like those songs we used to listen to together. There's a huge layered vocal swell that reminds me so much of "Wait." The build from something soft into something huge and loud and impactful is both "Wait" and "All I Want". The vibe and some of the harmonies I add in over the melody line when I sing along make me think of "The Night We Met" in places - the last song I sang for her, the one that autoplayed literally right as I drove by her house for her funeral. And all of that, all of that is mirrored for me in this song.

It makes no sense. It makes perfect sense. And this is way, way more than you asked for, I know. But I've listened to this thing over and over so many times now, and every single time, it just hits me in the face with all of the above.

Will it speak to everyone that way? No, and I would never expect it to. But goddamn if it doesn't hurt just the way I need it to now, driving home alone in my car, windows down and sky night-dark and dashboard lights the only thing to guide my way.

[maria021015]

Zaida stared down at the text message thread on the lit-up screen of the phone in her hands, her fingers flying over the keyboard to respond.

To Artemis: Where have you been all night? Scott said he sent Isaac to find you ages ago!

Artemis: I was asleep. My phone was shut off.

To Artemis: You NEVER turn your phone off. Rookie move.

Artemis: I didn’t this time either. But some unknown number called me literally a thousand, nine hundred, forty-three times and left the exact same voicemail every time in Japanese. What are the chances Lydia got bored with archaic Latin and took up Japanese?

To Artemis: Lydia doesn’t know Japanese, but Mr Yukimura does.

The sound of a door creaking open had Zaida shooting up from her chair as Noah Stilinski quietly exited the hospital room Stiles was in. Scott and Lydia were close behind her as she put her phone away and crossed the hall to where Raphael and Melissa were already standing.

“How is he?” Zaida blurted, eager to hear what was going on. As soon as Melissa had texted Scott that Stiles had been found and that they were taking him to the hospital, they rushed to meet the boy there. Waiting for the doctors to finish examining him had been hell, and Zaida was itching just to simply lay her eyes on Stiles herself. It had been a rough few days. After Stiles had been discharged from the hospital the first time, he hadn’t been going to school. In the afternoons she would stop by to check on him and play video games or watch movies - doing anything to keep both of their minds off everything else happening. Him going missing was completely out of the blue.

“He's sleeping now...And he's just fine. He doesn't remember much. It's a bit like a dream to him.” The man answered her, turning to Agent McCall, whose bandages were peeking out of the collar of his uniform. Zaida thought he’d gotten back into the field rather quickly after the attack the other night. “Thank you.”

“It was that repellent we sprayed in the coyote den to keep other animals out. I couldn't go near it without my eyes watering. It's just a good thing he mentioned it over the phone.” Raphael explained how he’d discovered to look for Stiles in Malia’s old coyote den in the Preserve. As it had turned out, the entire time Stiles had been on the phone with Scott, he'd been asleep, leading them to believe he'd been in an environment entirely different from where he actually was.

“No, it was more than that. Thank you.” Noah repeated gratefully, setting aside the fact that the man was still trying to move forward with an impeachment.

“It was a lucky connection.” Raphael insisted, and it was the first time Zaida had seen him act humbly.

“McCall, can you shut up please and accept my sincerest gratitude?” The Sheriff huffed gruffly and Scott’s father smiled in amusement.

“Accepted,” He nodded at the man.

“All right, you three. You've got school in less than six hours.” Melissa shifted her attention to the teens. “Go home. Go to sleep.”

“Okay,” Scott didn’t even attempt to argue, and Lydia went with him with a forlorn expression, still feeling guilty about how she had gotten it all so wrong.

Zaida turned around to watch her two friends walk down the hallway, only to see Xander approaching, hands shoved into the pockets of his deputy uniform. “Don’t even try. There’s no way in hell I’m leaving,” Zaida laughed humourlessly, refusing to go.

“Zay, what are you going to do here? Wait around for him to wake up? Let’s go home, get some rest, and I can bring you back in the morning before my shift starts.” Xander was careful to speak softly to her, knowing she was in a tense state at the moment. He knew even if he’d tried to get her to go to school tomorrow, she would never allow it. At least she might compromise on this.

“The only way I’m leaving this hospital is if you throw me over your shoulder and carry me out, kicking and screaming, and fighting tooth and nail to stay. Do you really want that?” She crossed her arms over her chest, hip jutting out as she raised a brow at him challengingly.

“I’ll drop you off some clothes in the morning on my way to the station,” Xander yielded with a long and tired sigh, exhausted from having spent the night out looking for the boy along with the rest of the task force. He knew fighting with Zaida was futile, and she was going through enough as it was without him making it more difficult for her.

“Love you!” She called out after him with a wide grin as he went back the way he’d come.

“Love you too, you little terrorist,” He muttered back with a roll of his eyes but kept walking.

Zaida was waiting once more out in the hallway with her phone flashing to warn her of her critically low battery. Ignoring the glaringly low percentage in the top right corner of her screen, she turned her attention back to the message thread that had been running with Allison since the night before.

To Artemis: Did you get the translation?

Artemis: Yes, but we only ended up with more questions.

To Artemis: Do elaborate. It’s not like I have anything else to do here.

Artemis: Mr Yukimura said it was an announcement instructing Japanese-Americans upon arrival to an internment camp in WWII, but the camp was called Oak Creek and didn’t exist. He thinks it’s a prank.

To Artemis: Do YOU think it’s a prank?

Artemis: With everything else that’s happened? No.

To Artemis: Me neither.

Japanese fox spirits, demons, freaky voicemails from WWII internment camps that don't exist...What the hell was going on?

“Zaida?” Sheriff Stilinski’s voice roused her from her laser-like focus and she looked up to see him beconing her over to where he stood by Stiles’ room. The doctor he’d just been speaking to had left and was already down the hall by the same Zaida made her way over.

“Are they done yet?” She questioned, wondering if the examinations were finally over.

“Almost. They wanna do an MRI.” The man let out a weary sigh, his posture haunched with exhaustion. He’d been there all night with her and hadn’t slept a wink - not even when Zaida had dozed off against his shoulder after they’d raided the vending machine for a late-night-early-breakfast.

“So that means none of the tests have been conclusive?” She raised her brows, eyes shining with hope. Inconclusive test results would be good news at this point, considering the only other alternative if they were conducting an MRI would be to confirm a suspected diagnosis.

“I dunno kiddo,” He shook his head with lips pursed in stress. “Look, I’m gonna pick us all up some proper food. While I’m gone, you should be in there with him. He needs you right now.”

“He needs you too, Sheriff.” Zaida pointed out, seeing how the man was on the verge of dissociating to cope with it all.

“I know,” He promised, reading the meaning behind her loaded stare. Zaida nodded, allowing him to leave before she reached for the door handle and twisted it open.

“Hey there stranger,” Zaida smiled at the boy lying down in the hospital bed as she entered the room and closed the door behind her. She’d been there almost all day as doctors pulled him in and out for various tests, but it was the first time she’d been allowed to see him.

“Zaida,” Stiles shifted to straighten into a sitting position at the sight of her. “You look…”

“Hideous? Xander dropped me off a change of clothes this morning and picked the most atrocious yet basic outfit ever, and there’s no need to remind me,” She wrinkled her nose and pulled at the purple top that kept riding up her body uncomfortably. She hoped that trivial humour might be enough to lighten the situation.

“I was going to say you look exhausted,” He noted. Her makeup had started to wear away to reveal dark circles under her bloodshot eyes.

“Because that’s so much better,” The brunette drawled sarcastically, crossing the room to sit on a chair beside him.

“How long have you been here?” Stiles questioned. He hadn’t seen her, but Xander dropping off clothes for her would suggest she’d been at the hospital for a long while.

“Since last night,” She shrugged, as if waiting around a hospital for over eighteen hours was no big deal. His amber eyes shone with appreciation as he gazed at her in a way that made her heart flutter. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got hit by a bus.” He ground out with a huff of dry laughter, shuffling over the mattress and patting the space beside him to beckon her. Zaida pushed herself out of the chair and clambered onto the bed, settling into place next to the boy. “Have they told you what’s going on?”

“They didn’t have to tell me,” She shut her eyes, leaning into his side and savouring the warmth of his body.

“Of course you figured it out,” Stiles smiled fondly, the arm that was around her coming up to brush over her skin. He didn’t have to tell her that he was scared, she could feel it now. The connection had opened once more upon her arrival at the hospital.

“You know, even if it is…” Zaida began but couldn’t bring herself to say the words. “There is still something we can do - something Scott can do.”

“You’re talking about the bite,” He deduced and she pulled away to look at him eye to eye.

“Would you do it? Scott won’t go through with it unless you want it,” She questioned, searching his face for an answer. She wanted to cry and beg him to say yes, but she also didn’t want her pleas to influence his decision. This wasn’t about what she wanted, it was about Stiles. So instead she tried to hide her hopeful expression. For a moment he appeared conflicted until she found determination in his eyes.

“If it’s true - if I have what Mom had,” Stiles sucked in a deep breath and Zaida’s pulse quickened in anticipation. “Then yeah. Yes, I’d take the bite. Being a werewolf is better than what I had to watch her go through, and what my father would go through by having to live it all again.”

Her muscles relaxed at his response and she curled into him once more, resting her head over his chest so she could hear his heart beating beneath her cheek. Stiles’ arms wrapped around her, resting his chin atop her head. Each time he breathed in he could smell her sweet perfume and it calmed the anxiousness in his soul. “I just want all this to end,” He whispered and her chest ached in sympathy for him.

“He’s in there,” Zaida held the door to the examination room open so Scott could walk through before she followed him. Noah and Melissa were already inside with the specialist.

“I'm not sure I know how to pronounce this...or if it's not actually a misspelling…” The doctor trailed off as he stared at Stiles’ medical forms in his hand, and not for the first time Zaida wondered what the boy’s birth name was.

“Just call him Stiles,” The Sheriff waved the doctor off impatiently.

“Okay. Stiles, just to warn you, you're going to hear a lot of noise during the MRI. It's due to pulses of electricity going through metal coils inside the machine.” The man explained to the boy who was wearing a hospital gown, ready to be examined. “Uh, if you want, we can get you earplugs or headphones…”

“Oh, no. No, I don't need anything.” Stiles declined, sitting on the edge of the bed that would soon retract into the machine.

“Hey, we're just on the other side of that window, okay?” Melissa reassured the boy and Zaida sent him a comforting smile that he struggled to return before she joined the adults and the doctor in a conjoining room behind protective glass.

“I don’t think you’re allowed to be in here, young lady,” The doctor conducting the test stared at her sternly, but Noah waved him off.

“It’s okay, Stiles would want her here,” He defended her and she sent him a grateful expression.

Zaida watched as Scott and Stiles talked to one another, knowing what was being said as Stiles nodded and pulled Scott into a tight hug with tears in his eyes. When Scott pulled away and left the room to go back into the hallway, the doctor whose badge told them his name was Vandenberg began the process.

“Okay, Stiles...This will take about forty-five minutes to an hour. Now, remember, try not to move - even a little bit.” Dr Vandenberg spoke into a long microphone as the bed Stiles was lying on moved into the white machine like entering a cocoon. “Stiles, you're going to hear that noise now. It's going to be a loud clanging - kind of like a hammer hitting an anvil.”

Zaida winced and was forced to push her blocks firmly into place as Stiles’ anguish echoed down their bond. This would be a long hour.

“Is it over?” Zaida asked as the doctor pulled up a few images on the screen in front of him. She crowded around the control panel between Noah and Melissa as they all looked at the scans of Stiles’ brain.

“See this? The tissue here and there?” Dr Vandenberg’s gloved finger pointed to red and orange masses on the otherwise blue, black and white images. “Both those spots are showing signs of atrophy.”

“Atrophy?” Noah repeated in a defeated tone, his lined face crumpling as tears welled in his light eyes. Zaida’s own heart sank to the very bottom of her stomach at the news. Atrophy meant degeneration, which meant brain shrinkage, which meant...

“I'm sorry.” The doctor pursed his lips, stepping back to allow them the privacy to grieve.

“Sheriff, I’m so sorry,” Zaida pulled the man into a hug as he broke and the tears came flowing. He surprised even himself when he began sobbing, and she could feel him shaking as he returned her hug tightly. She couldn’t imagine how hard this must be for him, given it wasn’t the first time he’d received such news about someone he loved.

“My son…” The man’s words were muffled between loud sniffles. “Why my son? First my Claudia…and now Stiles...”

“It’s going to be okay. Scott’s going to do something, alright?” Zaida reassured him, her own eyes tearing up in the heavy emotion of the moment. All she wanted to do was to break down herself but she held it together for the sake of the man who had already lost his wife, and had just found out he was set to lose his son. “He’s going to be okay, I promise.”

The lights above them flickered and dimmed with a loud hum before the power was restored and the lighting returned to normal, surprising them all enough for Zaida and Noah to pull apart with inquisitive expressions. “What was that?” Melissa questioned.

“It sounded like a power surge.” The doctor answered, and they all looked towards the MRI machine where the bed was now empty and Stiles was nowhere in sight.

“Where's my son?” Stilinski asked, his voice low and stuffy from the crying. Zaida didn’t wait around to hear any of their guesses as her heart pounded in alarm. She was the first to rush out of the room and into the dark hallway, reaching out to the door in her mind only to find it locked once more. It was enough to tell her something was wrong.

She wound through the torrent of patients and staff alike panicking in the hallway as she headed back to Stiles’ room, only to find the pile of clothes he’d left when he’d changed into the hospital gown was now missing. “Damn it, Stiles!” She swore and emerged back into the hallway as they began to empty. Where was he? Had he run out on his own or was he taken? She walked through the darkness aimlessly, not knowing where to even start searching for the boy, until she heard voices.

“You know me?” A woman was speaking, and Zaida came to the end of the corridor where it met with another at a ninety-degree angle where an elevator was. “Then you remember that I won't be deterred by your choice of host…even if it's an innocent boy.”

At the woman’s words, Zaida stepped back, ducking behind the corner so as not to be seen. A host? Teenage boy? Her heart leapt into her throat as she realised there was only one thing the woman could possibly mean by her accusation. She was talking to the Nogitsune.

“Are you threatening us?” Goosebumps rippled across her skin at hearing the second voice. It was cold and low, but not unfamiliar. Stiles, she had been talking to Stiles.

“Now I'm threatening you.” The woman responded and Zaida risked a peek around the corner to only just see inside of the elevator. As the lights flickered on and off above, they illuminated the masked, snarling faces of two Oni on either side of a woman with dark hair and almond eyes.

“We're not really afraid of your little fireflies.” Stiles chuckled in amusement and Zaida’s blood froze to a river of ice. Stiles was the Nogitsune.

She couldn’t move - she could hardly breathe as her mind struggled to comprehend the fact that Stiles was the Dark Kitsune’s vessel. She’d thought that humans couldn’t host the Nogitsune, otherwise, why had the Oni not tested any of them? She’d thought that had meant he was safe. Her painting, his dreams, her dream…Everything had been pointing straight at him all along and yet they’d still been blinded. She’d had a feeling the other night in the hospital and she cursed herself for not listening to it - for not figuring out what it had meant earlier. But what of his symptoms? The MRI results? Was the diagnosis still true? Or had it all been a smokescreen to stop them from figuring out the Nogitsune’s identity?

“If the Oni can't defeat you, I know someone who will.” The woman challenged and Zaida finally tore her feet from where they’d been glued to the floor, stumbling away from the scene.

She needed to find the others. She needed to warn them. And Stiles…was Stiles gone, or was he still in there somewhere? Was there any way to get him back? Her footsteps echoed through the empty halls as she staggered through the darkness, fear’s grip tightening on her heart like icy claws. What did the Nogitsune want? And why had it taken Stiles? Tears rolled once again down Zaida’s cheeks, streaking through her already smudged makeup. Why did it have to be Stiles?

Turning into the next hallway, Zaida froze in her tracks when a figure was standing before her, as if it had been waiting. A conflicted wave of emotions crashed over her at the sight of him. It wasn’t Stiles - not really - but it wore his face. The face that made her body instinctively calm down was now the source of her anxiety, and she was teetering on the edge of a very tall cliff. Zaida's breath caught in her throat as she met his gaze, her heart hammering against her chest.

“S-Stiles,” Her voice shook as it left her lips, and she tried to paint a facade over her terror. He didn’t know that she knew, right? Maybe it was best if she could keep it that way. “I was looking for you. You disappeared.”

The Nogitsune didn’t say anything, he simply smirked faintly as he stepped closer at a leisurely pace. The overhead lights flashed on and off until they completely died, shrouding them in a blanket of darkness. Zaida prodded with her powers, reaching into her mind to try and find Stiles’ door to find it locked once more. It was only then that it dawned on her - the connection between herself and Stiles was never gone. It was simply that this wasn’t Stiles. All those times that she couldn’t feel him…It was because it hadn’t been him at all. When the Nogitsune was present, Stiles was completely unreachable.

“We- We should probably find the others,” Zaida spoke again when he remained quiet, attempting to flash him a casual smile. Her words were barely a whisper as she struggled to maintain her composure. Stiles - or rather, not -Stiles - kept staring at her with that amused expression stopping in front of her. She tried to take a step - to move past him under the guise of searching for their friends, but his arm shot out with impossible speed, barring her from going any further.

“Did you really think that your little act would work?” He tilted his head at her, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “It’ll take a lot more than that to fool a fox, Zaida. You can’t trick a trickster. You can’t trick me.”

Zaida could hear her own racing heart beating in the blood that thrummed through her ears, and she was fairly certain the creature before her could hear it too. She didn’t dare look in his eyes, not when she knew what she would find there - something dark, something other, something not -Stiles, something Void. Every instinct in her body screamed at her to run, to flee in the opposite direction and never turn back. But she couldn’t move. Terror stiffened her muscles, sticking her to the spot. A single, lonely tear betrayed her, rolling down her cheek. As the Nogitsune stepped even closer, her breath hitched in her throat, her body trembling. She didn’t know what to do. Her brain was full of thick fog, inhibiting her ability to think straight - or think at all.

Void Stiles chuckled and the sound made her organs twist uncomfortably, her nightmare flashing through her mind as the arm barring her movement lifted to grip her chin. Tilting her face away from him, his nose dragged across her cold skin from her temple to her ear. His warm tongue pressed forcefully over her cheek where her tear had run and she flinched, trying to jerk away from his hold, but he was too strong. “I can taste your fear.” He whispered, his breath hot against the side of her face.

Void stepped away, letting her go, but before she could react he lunged forward, his movements swift and predatory. It was a far cry from his usual awkward and clumsy demeanour. The world spun around Zaida as his fist connected with her jaw, sending her crashing to the ground in a haze of pain and confusion. As darkness closed in around her, the last thing she saw was the Nogitsune in Stiles’ body, looming over her.

“We have a live wire, a powerline has been cut at Beacon Memorial. Ten forty-five ‘d’, two deceased adults and one electrocuted teenager with second-degree burns, over.” Xander spoke into the radio clipped to his uniform pocket as he scanned the scene before him.

An ambulance driver was dead, having stepped into the electrified water covering the ground. A civilian had done the same, and the area was already being roped off with police tape. Another officer was directing the flow of traffic around the crime scene, and once again, right in the middle of it all, were Zaida’s friends. Xander stalked over to Scott McCall, Derek Hale, Allison Argent, and Kira Yukimura, who were all crowded around an injured Isaac Lahey. Gripping Scott by his arm and pulling him aside, Xander’s jaw locked with anger.

“So are you gonna tell me what the hell really happened here?” He demanded with a threatening glare. The fact that the group were always showing up at crime scenes was suspicious at best and incriminating at worst. It was hard enough to hide the supernatural from the world without the McCall pack constantly getting involved.

“Someone tampered with the electrical on the roof of the hospital and one of the powerlines up there snapped and came flying down here,” Scott answered in a hushed tone so no one would overhear them.

“Someone?” Xander repeated with raised eyebrows, sensing there was something the wolf wasn’t telling him. “What am I missing here?”

“Zaida is gonna kill me for telling you this, but…when we died to find our parents we gave power back to the Nemeton, which turned it into a sort of supernatural magnet.” Scott winced, knowing that if Xander didn’t brutally murder him after hearing the truth, Zaida certainly would.

“You idiots did what?!” Xander hissed, his dark eyes narrowing.

“Yeah, well, it gets worse.” Scott swallowed thickly. “It brought something to Beacon Hills - a dark Kitsune spirit that is possessing someone, and a bunch of demon ninjas that are looking for it.”

“Where’s my sister?” Xander realised with a jolt that Zaida was missing from the group, and so was Stiles.

“She’s still inside,” The werewolf answered, and Xander didn’t wait to hear anymore.

With a newfound sense of urgency and concern for his sister propelling him forward, he sprinted into the building, launching himself into the stairwell and climbing the structure three at a time. The clatter of footsteps behind him told him he was being followed, but he didn’t care - his sole thought was of his sister. Sprinting through the hallways, he made a beeline for Stiles’ room, gripping the frame to shift his direction as he burst inside to find Noah Stilinski standing alone in the darkness.

“Where is she?” He asked, his chest heaving as he scanned the otherwise empty space.

“She’s gone. They both are,” The Sheriff muttered an answer, his shoulders sagging defeatedly. “Parish reported Stiles’ Jeep leaving the premises ten minutes ago.”

“Damn it!” Xander cursed, overwhelmed by a mixture of anger and worry, and he took it out on a nearby chair. Lifting the furniture into the air, he hurled it across the room where it smashed to pieces against a wall.

“Is this hers?” Scott asked from behind the hunter, lifting a cream-coloured knit jacket to his nose. Xander nodded and the werewolf turned to Derek beside him. “That scent on the roof? You remember how I told you there was something else to it? It wasn’t just Stiles’ scent, it was Zaida’s too.”

“That might not change anything,” Derek stated with a blank expression, elaborating when Scott appeared confused. “Sometimes, when two people are bonded together, their scents can start to mix with one another.”

“So you’re saying it was only Stiles on the roof?” Scott frowned, trying to keep up.

“Yes. And no.” Derek tilted his head. “I’m saying it could have been either of them, or both. There’s no way to tell.”

“What the hell are you two talking about?” Xander whipped around to face them.

“When we were looking for Stiles I tracked his scent to the roof - or what I thought was his scent. The person on the roof sabotaged the wires. This whole thing was orchestrated…by the person possessed by the Nogitsune.” Derek answered and Xander’s heart sank when he finally understood the significance of the discussion.

“But Deaton said the Nogistune could only get in through an open door - one that was already connected to the other side. Allison, Stiles and I are the only ones who did that.” Scott reasoned, but a voice by the door turned all of their heads.

“That’s not entirely true.” Lydia stood before them with a grim expression on her face.

“What are you doing here?” Scott questioned. “I thought you were staying home tonight.”

“I heard Zaida screaming…I had to come.” The girl explained in an empty voice, knowing she was too late. She'd been driving when she'd heard her best friend crying out in what sounded like agony, over and over and over again until her head felt as though it was about to explode.

“What do you mean it’s not true,” Derek interrupted, prompting the redhead to speak up.

“Zaida did open a door, remember?” Lydia looked at Scott. “Before the three of you did the ritual, Zaida did something just like it with Stiles to talk to her mom.”

“So it could be either of them,” Scott whispered in realisation.

“Okay, you all need to tell me everything, right the fuck now.” Xander glared menacingly. All he could think about was his sister and the blinding need to find her.

“You need to tell us everything.” Noah corrected, his spine straightening with purpose.

[phawareglobal]

Jennifer Gendron - phaware® interview 432

On the 14th anniversary of her son's life-saving lung transplant, Canadian pulmonary hypertension care partner, Jennifer Gendron discusses how the PH landscape has changed over the past 20 years and life post-surgery.

My name is Jennifer Gendron and I'm from a small town in New Brunswick, Canada. My oldest son was diagnosed with pulmonary hypertension back in 2003 when he was five years old. As a lot of people's stories go, there were some subtle hints sort of leading up to it. Nothing seemed too out of the ordinary. We thought he had asthma. Just sort of out of the blue things progressed really quickly and we got this diagnosis sort of out of nowhere. It felt like, that he had severe pulmonary hypertension and that there was really not a lot that they could do.

20 years ago, things were certainly looked a little bit different in the pulmonary hypertension world than they do now, even less medications and treatments available. He started on oral therapies and quickly ended up on Flolan. He sort of never really did great. He stabilized for a little bit and then he would get worse. We were thrust pretty quickly, I would say, as PH goes into looking at transplant options. He ended up at the age of 11 having a double lung transplant back in 2009, so 14 years ago.

Back in that day. So one of the first things that I immediately tried to do was find some other people, connect, learn a little bit more about the disease. There was really not much happening here in Canada. I live on the East Coast and I found a very active support group on the West Coast, BCPHS. It was led at the time by Liz McCall. It was the most active group here in Canada and literally on the opposite end of the country. There had been the Pulmonary Hypertension Society of Canada at one point, which had become pretty much inactive by the time that Braden was diagnosed. I found PHA in the US and got myself on a plane and got to a conference down there, met some really incredible people and started to make some connections with people that were from Canada that were also looking for support, that had started little pockets of support groups throughout the country. I got myself connected with that group, and it wasn't too many years after that that we were able to come together and form what is now PHA Canada, that just celebrated 15 years unbelievably as an association.

To me that was one of the biggest, most important things was to connect with other people and learn as much as we could about the disease, find the support that we could not only for our son but for the rest of our family. I had two other young boys that were three at the time, twin boys, that when their brother was diagnosed and certainly it's a disease that impacts the entire family and one that is very complicated to manage. Just talking with other people and connecting with other families that were dealing with this similar journey was certainly, I feel, very important.

It's interesting because over the years I'd often have people say to me... So he was diagnosed in '03, so he lived with the disease for six years before we ended up in on the transplant list. People would say, "Well, he have a lung transplant, wouldn't that fix it?" It sounds like a fix, but you're certainly trading off one set of problems for another and a lot of unknowns. As much as it sounded like this miracle cure, it's not something we wanted to rush into. We also don't live anywhere near a transplant center. Being from rural New Brunswick, the closest transplant center for us is Toronto, Ontario. So 18 hours from where we live, and we had to physically move to that area before Braden could be listed.

We also weren't sure if that was really something that he would be up for. He was 11 years old. He was very frail. Would he survive a transplant? Was a transplant the right decision? Was he up for the long process of the recovery and all of those things, because he was still a child, but he was getting to that age where how much do we involve him in the decision? How much of this decision is ours? At one point, he wasn't responding well to treatment. We had gone through the transplant process, the workup leading up to it, tons of testing, and then they got him on Flolan and he stabilized a little bit. So that kind of got parked. It was almost a relief like, okay, we don't have to deal with this right now. We don't have to think about this. Because it was a really tough decision and a decision that affected us all.

Unfortunately, he stabilized only briefly on the Flolan and so we got faced with the whole transplant scenario again very quickly. We went up and we had all of the testing done again. It wasn't just him that was testing, we all had to meet with the psychological team to make sure we were all capable of going through the process or that they deemed us to be capable of going through the process. We had to, as I say, physically commit to moving our family. That was a big decision, because at the time, again, I had two other young children at this point they were nine years old. We, I guess, decided really early on as a family that if we were going to do this and we were going to go down this path, that we were all going to do it together. So we weren't going to separate our family, because we had no idea how long we would have to be in Toronto waiting for transplant.

My husband was an RCMP officer at the time, he took a leave of absence from his job. I owned my own business. I hired someone to run it. We were still sort of on the fence if it was the right decision to put him through the surgery. I remember we were sitting in Toronto in a restaurant, my mother-in-law had come up to meet us. We had been just going through several days of tests. This was a boy who his two younger brothers played sports, hockey, which he was not able to do. But also, always, "Oh, hockey is so stupid, I'd never want to play a game like that." He was a video gamer, that was his passion. We were sitting in the restaurant having lunch and my phone rang and it was the hospital in Toronto. And they said, "We just wanted to let you know that your son, we've gotten all of his tests back and he is a candidate, we would be willing to move forward and list him for transplant." He said, "Who's on the phone?" I told him and I told him what they said and he said, "Yes." I said, "Really?" He goes, "This is great. I'm finally going to be able to play hockey." And that was that.

I had to leave the table and excuse myself and go to the washroom and lock myself in a stall and cry my eyes out for a few minutes and get it together. But I realized then, okay, this is what we're doing. This is what he wants and we're going for it. We came home and found somebody that would look after our house and packed up whatever belongings we thought we would need and got in a U-haul and drove to Toronto with our two dogs, our three kids and our worldly goods and waited. We really had no idea the wait list at that time... Well, the wait list is always... You just don't know how long you're going to be there. We didn't know if it was going to be months or a year. We arrived in Toronto at the first part of August and got a call on September 23rd, he got the call for his transplant.

Right up until they took him through the doors of that OR I kept thinking, we should just go. We should just go. We know what we have here. We know what we're dealing with. I know what his quality of life is now. We should just turn on and leave. What if he doesn't make it through this surgery? It was horrible. But he was so determined at that point that this was going to be and that he was going to have this new life, we were like there's no turning back now. But yeah, I think of all the highs and lows in this whole journey, that was one of the absolute toughest moments is just not turning around and running out the doors with him.

He's been very fortunate in terms of transplant and how well he has responded. There have been very few setbacks over the years. Early on, he did experience some chronic rejection right at the very beginning, which was really scary, because we weren't sure where that was going to lead us. I had seen and heard a lot of stories where people just chronically rejected and had to go back for a second transplant. That was fairly early on, probably six months out, he ended up with some chronic rejection and having to have high doses of steroids. You have a preteen on IV steroids, who's in this absolute emotional rollercoaster.

But after that, and when they got him stabilized, he really has done very well. We were back home in New Brunswick, he was transplant in September, we moved home in April and we technically could have come a little sooner, but I was really hesitant to leave Toronto. I felt like we were safe there and we were close to the hospital. So moving back home, I found really hard. I mean, my kids couldn't wait to get home. But it was something that I was wrestling with in that what are we going to do? What if things go badly? We had gotten used to traveling back and forth over the years. The closest PH center is also in Toronto. I was used to running back and forth to Toronto with him a couple times a year for follow-ups. But there was just something about being right there and being close to the hospital.

But we came back home and he did really well. We would go back to Toronto a couple times a year initially, and then once a year. Then the years just kept ticking by and he kept getting older. Then my new fear became, oh my God, we're getting close to the point where he's got to leave pediatric world and we got to go down the street to the adult hospital, and yikes. That's a really great problem to have when you are in this world. But that brought a whole new set of challenges with it again, because as an adult they don't want to talk to your mom and dad. They want to talk to you as the patient. As an 18, 19 year old kid, we were always the ones who were the spokesperson and the advocate for him. It was really challenging. At that point he was almost in denial about anything. He's 18 years old, he's invincible. I don't need to worry about all this stuff. I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to talk about my medications.

So we went through quite a rocky transition time, I would say, for a couple of years where he was just not as compliant as he should have been. We were trying to be the bridge, but it got to the point where the hospital didn't want to talk to us anymore. That was a challenging time. I mean, he's 25 years old now and it's gotten much better. That was probably one of the hardest times in just managing his illness, was having to turn it more over into his hands and trust that he was going to do the right things.

I never thought we would get this far. I think back to these times, well, initially when he was diagnosed, we were diagnosed in a hospital that had no experience with PH. It was basically take him home and enjoy the time you have left. We really never thought we would reach the milestones that we've reached. As he got sicker, we got to make the most of every day, because I don't know how many days we're going to have. I never thought we would get to this point. Even at the transplant point, it's like, are we going to get through this? Are we going to come out the other side of this? Am I just dropping my son... Is this the last time I'm going to see my son, as I wheel him to the OR? You just kind of live with that in the back of your mind every day.

Even now, people will say to me, "So everything's great. He's fine now." I'll be like, "Well, I mean, yeah, he's really good right now." And that's awesome. But you just don't know what's around the next corner and it's a hard thing when you really sit with it to process. But again, I mean, I just try and look at it as none of us know. He's living with something that he knows he is living with every day and none of us knows what's next in life. I just watch the things that he's been able to do. That day that in the restaurant where he is like, "Yeah, I'm going to play hockey." I was like, "Okay." And he had the transplant in September and another young fellow had a transplant around the same time, and they had a bit of a competition going, who was going to do the best in rehab and who was going to bike the longest? He used that and I started watching him.

Then he would start asking the doctor every appointment, "So can I go play hockey now?" I'm talking October. The guy still has staples in his chest... And they'd be like, "Oh, no, no, not right now." I'm like, oh God... And so every time we would go he would ask this question. So in January we'd go to the hospital and he does the same thing, "All right, so can I start to play hockey now?" And the doctor says, "Well, do you think you can find a league that has no contact?" He goes, "Oh yeah, yeah, yeah." He said, "I don't see why not." I just about fell off my chair. He's like, "All right." So the next thing I know we're sitting white knuckled in the rink watching him try and stand up on skates. He didn't even remember that he used to know how to skate, he hadn't skated since he was five years old. He was 11 and they put him on a team with, I think they were seven-year-olds with this amazing coach who was like, "We're going to get this kid skating."

He had a ball and he just went from there. I would be panicking about him wanting to do something and he would look at me and say, "Mom, I didn't go through all this just so I could keep sitting home watching everybody else do things." I was like, "How do you argue with that? All right, get out there and do what makes you happy, because that's why we did what we did."

So my name is Jennifer Gendron, and I am aware that my son Braden is rare.

Learn more about pulmonary hypertension trials at www.phaware.global/clinicaltrials. Follow us on social @phaware Engage for a cure: www.phaware.global/donate #phaware Share your story: info@phaware.com @phacanada 

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[saint-batrick]

I posted 13,977 times in 2022

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Blogs I reblogged the most:

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I tagged 1,927 of my posts in 2022

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Longest Tag: 139 characters

#op don't you dare apologise‚ as this was a fun punchline to deliver‚ as an introvert who has less than five people who know my phone number

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

HELP URGENTLY NEEDED.

see that forecast? our central air conditioning just broke down.

me and my roommates have six cats between the three of us, and it's going to be a couple of days before we can get it repaired.

repairs are going to cost $2000 and we've had to get hotel rooms to keep the cats (and ourselves) at a safe temperature.

PLEASE help if you can, and please share this.

paypal.me/voidbat | cashapp and venmo: voidbat

447 notes - Posted August 1, 2022

#4

so, earlier today i was having a discussion with a friend about how james cameron's avatar had just zero fucking cultural impact, which is kinda nuts considering how huge of a movie it was.

then a few hours later, i learned goncharov fics surpassed the number of avatar fics on ao3.

my friend is terminally offline. so i first had to explain ao3, which they grasped fine. i then had to explain goncharov, which...well, that took a while. but they got there!

then i had the immeasurable joy of informing them that goncharov, a movie we invented whole-cloth less than a week ago has more fan works on ao3 than avatar. the glee on their face was amazing. just fucking transported.

5,047 notes - Posted November 23, 2022

#3

20,065 notes - Posted October 4, 2022

#2

sometimes i get so angry about how the housing market bubble bursting led to the economy collapsing and literally never recovering for the middle class. like...basically wiped out the middle class entirely, if we're being honest.

my bank just offered me a "high yield" savings account. high yield! just a fucking amazing APY! ...the APY is 0.4%. zero. point. four.

in 2006, i worked in a call center for $17.60 an hour and had a savings account with a 9% APY. not 0.9%, a full fucking 9%. i'd only been with the call center for a year and a half, i was 24 years old, my credit was middling at best, and that savings account was brand fucking new with a bank i'd NEVER banked with.

high yield. 0.4%.

my field is in-home healthcare now, and i get paid $9.25 an hour.

the fucking rage i feel at what was taken away from my end of my generation (eldest millennial) and fully denied to everyone younger than us is unreal sometimes.

23,139 notes - Posted March 7, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

do y'all even know how much i hate being an "elder queer" at 40? a whole goddamn generation before me was wiped out by a plague that politicians deemed not their problem bc it was killing the "right" people. like. this was OPENLY STATED. i spent a large chunk of my childhood going to funerals. nevermind the fact that killing queer people for being queer wasn't codified into law as a hate crime until i was a junior in high school.

i should NOT be an elder queer, i should be middle at most. i am a middle aged queer. most of the elder queers died.

when i was growing up i didn't go to pride parades, i went to pride marches. because that's 100% what they were in the 80s and 90s.

from the absolute bottom of my heart, LEARN OUR FUCKING HISTORY. a generation was nearly wiped out so you young queers could be here. don't let that have been in vain, please.

46,764 notes - Posted May 29, 2022

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[live-the-fangirl-life]

Stolen Stamps

Aelin Galathynius x Rowan Whitethorn - Stolen Passport Oneshot

“You took me on a trip just to break up with me so I stole your passport” - Prompt from @dailyau

I don't know where this came from, it just kinda happened, enjoy! Minor Chaolaena, Rowaelin endgame

Masterlist | Read on Ao3

Warnings: Language

2494 words

*******

The faint hum of the air condition filled the meticulously organized room in the back of the post office.

“Ms. Galathynius,” A deep, accented voice addressed her.

Her gaze on the tall bookshelf in the corner jerked back to the man sitting across from her behind his desk. His hands were crossed, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows, exposing part of a tattoo that wrapped around his muscular arm. She tried not to watch as the muscles shifted as he leaned forward when he spoke to her.

“Can you please explain to me why you were trying to mail a very,” He paused, glancing at the messily-wrapped bundle on the center of his desk, “suspicious-looking package to the Adarlan embassy in Antica?”

Aelin opened her mouth to try to explain, but no words came out.

He raised a silver eyebrow and waited.

She sighed, “I swear, it’s not what it looks like.”

***

The cab ride to the airport was a blur. So was the flight, and the ride to her hotel. It wasn’t until Aelin locked the door of her hotel room and set down her bags, that the events of the day finally hit her.

Whether it was adrenaline or shock or relief, she couldn’t be sure. Aelin fell back onto the bed and rubbed her face, groaning. She thought back to that morning when everything had been fine.

Fine, not great, just fine. That’s how things always felt with Chaol, just fine.

Her brain was still working through what happened when she jolted up from the bed, eyes wide.

“Shit. What did I do?”

Aelin scrambled towards her purse and rummaged through it. She couldn’t find it; maybe she didn't take it. She turned the bag upside down over the bed and watched as her things fell out. She pushed aside her little paperback mystery novel, her lipstick, her boarding pass, she moved aside a wrinkled coupon and froze.

“Fuck.”

***

After wearing a track into the carpet with her pacing, Aelin decided to call Lysandra. It was going about as well as she expected.

“Lysandra, I did a bad thing.”

Aelin chewed her fingernail between her teeth, a bad habit she couldn’t kick when she was stressed, as she tried to tell her best friend what just happened. She was standing on the small balcony of her hotel hoping the fresh air would help clear her mind. So far, it wasn't doing a great job.

“Aelin,” Lysandra’s voice sounded amused through her phone, “This is you were talking about, you’re going to have to be a bit more specific.”

Rolling her eyes, Aelin ran a hand through her hair. “I did a petty, horrible, impulsive, really bad thing.”

There was a long pause as Lysandra seemed to realize how serious Aelin sounded.

“Okay. Now I’m getting worried.” Then a sharp gasp, “Was it illegal? Have you been arrested? Are you calling me from a foreign prison?”

“Lys—” Aelin tried cutting in, she wanted to stop the hysterics before her friend’s imagination got out of hand.

“When you told me you were going on a trip with Chaol I thought you’d be spending time on the beach, not using me as your one phone call from a dirty jail cell hundreds of miles away!”

“Lysandra!”

“And where’s Chaol? Is he there with you?”

“Lysandra, stop! I haven’t been arrested, I’m not in prison, I’m fine. Actually, I’m great.” Aelin closed her eyes and sighed, trying to scrounge up some guilt but failing. “Actually, it's because I’m feeling great that makes what I did so much worse, because I don’t really feel bad about it.”

“Don’t scare me like that.” Her friend's voice echoed in her ear. “If you’re fine, then tell me what happened and tell me why you’re calling me at,” she paused and groaned, “six in the morning.”

“Sorry,” Aelin winced, “I’m still on a different time frame.”

“Still? Where are you now? Are you not in Antica anymore?”

“Slow down, Lys.” Aelin loosed a breath and ran a hand through her hair, “I’m back in Terrasen.”

“What? When did you get back?” Lysandra sounded confused, and Aelin couldn't blame her, after all, she was supposed to be in Antica for four more days.

“Today. Less than an hour ago. I’m at a hotel, I just needed to clear my head.”

After a moment of silence, Lysandra asked again, “Where’s Chaol? Have you talked to him about whatever this is? Not that he’d help much “Lysandra muttered the last part, but Aelin still heard.

Here we go, Aelin thought, “No. We broke up.”

“What?” Lysandra was definitely awake now. “Really? Oh, honey, I’m sorry if you’re hurting, but good for you, I never really liked him.”

“Yeah, I know.” Aelin barked a wry laugh, “He dumped me, actually.”

“He dumped you?”

Aelin barked another laugh, getting angry as she told Lysandra the rest, “Get this, that bastard invited me on this trip specifically to break up with me”

“What the actual fuck?”

“Yeah, and honestly?” Aelin took a deep breath, feeling a mess of emotions as she explained. “I can’t blame him.” She amended herself quickly at Lysandra's sound of protest, “I don’t mean about taking me on a trip to do it, because that’s fucked up, but I mean the actual breaking up part. I knew it was going to happen sooner or later, it was more about who would pull the trigger first. Come on, Lys, you knew I was more excited to spend a week on the beach than to spend a week with him.”

Lysandra snorted, “Yeah, Ace, I knew that. I was hoping you realized that, too.”

“Well, I did. So, I left. I’m back in Terrasen, there was no way I was staying there with him any longer, that would’ve been too weird.”

Aelin could hear Lysandra’s coffee machine buzz to life through the phone and suddenly wished she had a cup of coffee. Once she figured this mess out, she’d go find a cafe.

“Right. Okay,” The brunette’s voice rang out, “let me get this straight, Chaol took you on a trip solely to break up with you, and now you’re back in Terrasen while he’s still on the Southern Continent. I’m still not seeing what exactly you did that’s making you freak out.”

At that, Aelin flopped back onto the bed and flung an arm over her face, groaning.

“I know breaking up with Chaol is for the best, Hellas, I feel relieved. But at that moment, I was so angry. I was furious that he’d take me on this trip instead of just doing it at home like a normal-fucking-person—I mean, who takes a break-up vacation? Anyways, when I was packing my things to leave, I, kinda, sorta, took something of his.”

“Aelin…what did you do?”

Aelin looked at the foot of the bed where the remains of her purse were strewn over the blanket. Her eyes caught on two matching little booklets with gold seals on them.

“I stole his passport.”

***

“Ms. Galathynius—”

“Aelin, please.” She cut off the silver-haired man behind the desk.

The only change in his stoic demeanor was a small twitch of his lips. “Aelin. Can you explain what exactly you’re trying to mail, that looks like that—”

‘That’ being the layers of spare newspaper she found tucked away in her hotel room haphazardly wrapped and tied with the thread from the complimentary sewing kit, also from her hotel room. She hadn’t been able to find any tape. Aelin thought if she brought it to the post office then she could re-package it with actual materials, but she’d chosen not to unwrap it before getting there. An obvious mistake.

“—to an official, protected, government Embassy?” His voice was stern and his green eyes steady.

This looked bad. Aelin could easily admit that this looked really bad.

She placed her hands on his desk and watched as his eyes tracked the movement. “I can explain. It's definitely not as bad as I’m sure you think it is.”

He remained silent, watching her expectantly.

She caught sight of the nameplate on the side of his desk. “Mr. Whitethorn—”

“Rowan, please.”

Did he sound amused?

Taking confidence from that, she sat up a little straighter and said, “Rowan,”

His mouth quirked a little higher as she said his name.

Clearing her throat, she started again, “Rowan, you can open the package, I assure you it's nothing bad. It’s just a passport.”

One of his eyebrows rose skeptically, “A passport?” He asked doubtfully.

“Yes, a passport. That’s why I was trying to send it to the embassy. It belongs to my b—ex.” She stumbled over the last word, still unused to Chaol’s new title.

He—Rowan—looked even more intrigued.

“You’re mailing your ex their passport, but decided to wrap it in the most suspicious, threatening way possible?”

Aelin winced. “I didn’t have many options.” She chuckled, remembering trying to tie the string together in the hotel bathroom’s fluorescent lights. “I thought I could fix it once I got here, but I didn’t even have a chance to ask for materials before being escorted in here.” She waved a hand vaguely and looked around his office.

Rowan was fully smirking now. He leaned back in his chair and watched her for a long moment. “It is my job to confiscate suspect packages. Especially when those packages are being sent to, say, a government building.”

Leaning forward slightly she smiled and told him, “Well, you seem to be very good at your job.”

Gods, was she flirting? She and Chaol literally just broke up. But she couldn’t deny she was attracted to Rowan. Not with the way his pine-green eyes lit up with amusement or the way the muscles in his arms flexed when he shifted in his chair. Not to mention that tattoo; she was a sucker for tattoos—and she’d never told him this, but it always disappointed Aelin that Chaol never even considered getting any ink.

Good gods, she was flirting. And not very well.

Still smirking, Rowan leaned forward and asked, “Care to tell me why you’re sending your ex their passport?”

Was it her imagination or did he say ‘ex’ like it was the most interesting word in his question.

She couldn't stop the small smile twisting her lips. “I don't see how the ‘why’ of it is any of your business.”

Rowan surveyed her and Aelin tried not to blush under his gaze. She couldn't stop herself from comparing him to Chaol, he never made her feel this flustered with just a stare. Rowan's eyes tracked her face, tracked the way her cheeks heated, and she tried with all her might to fight the blush.

She wasn’t a teenager with a crush, she was a woman who knew how good she looked and was very attracted to the man whose eyes had not stopped roaming over her. She fought down the blush and flipped her hair over her shoulder, smiling charmingly at him.

He seemed to like it and his grin widened before putting on a faux stern face.

“I try to be as thorough as possible, Aelin,” Gods, the way he said her name made her toes curl. “It would make things easier if you explained why. I could finish my paperwork quicker, get this thing sent off, and we’d both be free of this passport and your ex.”

Wow, he wasn't beating around the bush. She liked it.

He sent her a slow grin, “I’d be able to take my break at nine, and go for a cup of coffee.”

The way he said the last part left no room for guessing what he meant. He wanted to take her out for coffee.

A small part of her hesitated, she had just broken up with Chaol. But on the other hand, he took her on a fucking breakup vacation, so screw him and she could do whatever the hell she wanted. And she wanted Rowan. She wanted to go get coffee with Rowan.

So she smiled, winked at him, and said, “I’m mailing it back to him because I stole it from him.”

Rowan’s smile faltered and he blinked.

“You what?”

“I stole it from him.”

He stared at her another moment before a chuckle escaped his lips and he was shaking his head but smirking.

“You stole his passport.” He sounded very amused as he wrote a note down, most likely for the report he’d have to file.

“Yup,” Aelin’s grin turned feline, “He took me on vacation to break up with me, so I stole his passport and left him there.”

Rowan stopped writing and looked at her with raised eyebrows, “He’s still there? You have his passport, and now he’s stuck,” Rowan glanced at his notes, “in Antica?”

Aelin laughed; a loud, cheerful, sound that filled the office and pulled a small grin onto Rowan’s lips.

“Okay, I’m sure you think I’m a bit crazy,” Her grin didn't falter, “but it was impulsive and as soon as I realized what I actually did, you know, kinda leaving him stranded there, I tried to send it back to him. I couldn't remember what the hotel was, so I figured the embassy would be a good choice given it's a passport, and he is from Adarlan.”

“He’s from Adarlan, you’re not?” Rowan asked.

Aelin smirked, “That’s what you got from what I said?”

He matched her smirk, “That's what I want to know.”

“No,” Aelin shook her head and glanced out the window in his office, “I’m from here, Terrasen is in my blood.”

It seemed like that was the answer Rowan was looking for. He smiled, wrote down a final note, and looked back at her.

“I think that’s all I need right now, Aelin,” Again, the way he said her name sent butterflies flitting around her stomach.

He stood up and she did the same, pulling her purse back over her shoulder. He walked around his desk and opened the door for her.

“Aelin,” Rowan’s voice made her pause as she stood in the open doorway.

“Yes, Rowan?” she looked up at him expectantly with a small smile.

“I take my break in half an hour, there's a coffee shop just down the block, if you want to hang around or come back then, I'd like to take you out for coffee.”

Aelin smiled brightly at him and nodded, “I’d like that. I’ll come back in half an hour.”

He grinned and held her gaze another moment before she turned to leave.

“Oh, and Rowan?” She turned back to look at him but saw he already—or still—had his eyes on her.

“Yeah?”

“You don't have to use express shipping on that, it's fine if it takes a couple days.”

The sound of Rowan’s deep laughter followed her through the doors.

*****

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[honeypiehotchner]

winter love (all i want for Christmas is you) -- Hotch x Fem!Reader

Hi hi hi!! I have literally been writing this on and off since September, and now I finally get to share it!! A few quick things: this fic has very much Hallmark vibes but does have a good dose of angst too; for the sake of this fic, Aaron was born and raised in Virginia; and Jack was never born (sorry buddy!).

I listened to Michael Bublé’s songs “All I Want for Christmas Is You” and “Cold December Night” a lot while writing this, so feel free to play those while you read! xx.

(The gif is from google because once again, my gif search is broken on here because apparently this post is too long?? Rip me)

Summary: You’ve returned back to your hometown after leaving to get your education, but you didn’t expect to run into your childhood best friend (and first love). 

Word count: 9.4k

HOTCH MASTERLIST || MAIN MASTERLIST

If you told yourself a few months ago that you’d be moving back to Virginia, you would’ve scoffed and probably laughed -- loudly. Your mom, on the other hand, would’ve been elated, and swore she knew it.

Like she’s doing now.

“I’m just so excited to have you home again,” she gushes, helping you carry boxes of your clothes up to your old childhood room.

The room needs some work, like taking down all these embarrassing posters and changing the sheets to something not so cringe-worthy (thankfully, it’s a full-size bed instead of the old twin you grew up sleeping on). But it’ll be fine for the time being. It’s not like you’re going to find an apartment right before Christmas, or that you even want to. It’s been a while since you’ve spent a full Christmas season with your mom.

You’ve been studying out of state for the past six years, working to get your masters and doctorate degrees — which you’ve completed. But now you need a job and a new start, which is why you decided to come home.

You’ve missed Virginia a lot more than you’ll admit. It’s hard not to miss your hometown when you’re gone from it for so long.

“We need a Christmas tree,” you say, as you come back down the stairs. “Christmas is next week, how do you not have a tree up yet?”

“I wasn’t going to get one without you,” your mom says like the fact should’ve been obvious to you.

You laugh as you plop down next to her on the couch. “I know. We should go tomorrow.”

“Whenever you want to,” she smiles, squeezing your arm. “Have you been to your coffee shop yet?”

“My coffee shop?” You raise an eyebrow. “Since when has it been mine?”

“Since you practically lived there during high school,” your mom counters.

She has a point. “Well, no, I haven’t. I just got here.”

“You should go.”

You raise both eyebrows this time, turning your entire body to face her. “What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you trying to get me to go back there?”

“Why don’t you want to?”

You give her a look. “You know why.”

“I don’t.”

She does. She knows exactly what happened there.

“I’m not repeating it,” you mutter. “And I’ll be finding a new coffee shop, thank you very much.”

“Oh, you can’t let one bad experience stop you from going there!”

“So you do remember!”

“How could I forget? When you were a wreck for months after. I still never forgave him for that, you know.”

You shake your head, settling back against the couch pillows. “It’s been long enough now that I think forgiveness won’t hurt anyone.”

You say that, and yet you don’t want to step foot in that shop ever again.

+++

It was the summer before your junior year. Aaron was a rising senior, so there was the weight of it being his last year already hanging in the air. Especially when he was already looking at a pre-law track for college — meaning he’d be insanely busy after graduation with not much time for you.

Unfortunately, you didn’t realize that his being too busy for you would start before then.

You were a year younger — technically almost two, but the way your birthday fell, you were only one grade younger — but that didn’t stop Aaron from being your friend. At first you thought he had ill intentions (as most older boys in high school did), but he didn’t. He genuinely enjoyed your company, and you genuinely enjoyed his.

More than genuinely. You say now that you don’t believe in love at first sight, but you know that’s because it already happened for you, and you believe it to be a one-time deal.

That one time was when Aaron sat across from you at the lunch table.

You were alone and reading a book. You were a freshman then, and being an extra year younger didn’t exactly help in the whole making friends department. Especially when a lot of your peers were already aware of your age.

But Aaron wasn’t aware, nor did he even care.

He saw that you were alone, and reading, and he decided to sit with you. He wanted to read too, anyway, but he knew he didn’t always like being alone when he read. Something told him you were the same way.

He was correct.

It took almost the entire fall semester before either of you said one word to each other. Sometimes you’d be too engrossed in the book you were reading to even notice he’d sat down in front of you. And when you would finally notice, he would be the one with his nose too deep in the book to notice.

But eventually, you started sharing book recommendations.

Which eventually turned into helping each other with homework. You were always better at math and Spanish than he was (you were already in the sophomore levels of these classes as a freshman), but he was always good with history and English. He must’ve noticed you were in freshman English and history, but he never commented on it — at least not in a way that said he was bullying you.

That winter break was when you started going to the coffee shop together. It was within walking distance of the high school, so the two of you would go at the end of the day until your parents could pick you up. Sometimes your mom would drive him home, or vice versa.

And when Aaron got his license, he’d drive you both there and drop you off at home.

The two of you were inseparable. Almost literally.

Until Aaron met Haley.

Haley was in theatre. She was everything you weren’t. Aaron’s age, pretty, funny, outgoing, and worst of all: popular.

You watched your best friend fall in love.

And that wouldn’t have hurt as bad as it did if it wasn’t Haley he was falling for.

You kept your feelings for Aaron quiet, even to your mom — though you found out later that she always knew. You had almost thought he felt the same, or that he might be beginning to, and then suddenly he was talking about some girl named Haley.

Only she wasn’t just “some girl” to him, or even to you. Everyone knew Haley Brooks.

Slowly, your lunch table conversations were less about what the two of you were going to do the coming weekend, and more about Haley. How he was going to get her to notice him (join theatre, even though he never liked theatre before her). How he was going to ask her on a date (it wouldn’t be a date at first, just dinner after theatre rehearsal, that ended up being with the entire cast, but he sat next to her). How he was going to win her over (he brought flowers to the first performance and surprised her backstage). How he was going to ask her to be his girlfriend (that was the same night as the flowers, completely unplanned, but she said yes).

How he thought he might want to marry her one day.

The last hurt most of all. He confessed it to you one night out of the blue as he was driving you home after school. You knew you could handle him being in love with someone else. Some sick part of you knew — or hoped, rather — that the relationship wouldn’t last. What high school relationship lasts longer than a few months, anyway?

But when Aaron fell for Haley, he fell completely. And hard.

He started cancelling plans with you to spend time with Haley — before they were even dating. When they were dating, he stopped making plans with you altogether.

Then came the summer before his senior year.

It had been months since you saw him last. You had a new lunch period the second half of the year because one of your favorite teachers asked for help during the period, which meant you didn’t have lunch with Aaron — but you don’t even think he noticed.

June came and went. The two of you barely saw one another, barely talked when you did. But when you did, you clung to those moments like they were your only lifeline. In a way, they were.

July finally came and he actually made plans to see you. He said he wanted to get coffee again, catch up, hang out for a few hours, sit in silence, even, whatever you wanted. You were excited.

Some part of you thought that he had broken up with Haley — wishful thinking, but you were sixteen and in love, what else were you supposed to think?

But he hadn’t broken up with her. They were very much in love. You know. You witnessed it.

Apparently, Haley didn’t like the idea of Aaron getting coffee and lunch alone with a female friend. So, she took it upon herself to tag along.

You saw them sharing a kiss through the window, Aaron’s back facing you. When they pulled away, Haley’s eyes caught yours, but she said nothing to Aaron, just pulled him back in for another kiss.

You didn’t go into the shop that day. And you haven’t since.

The last time you saw Aaron was the day before he moved to college. He was stopping by to say goodbye to you.

You were reading a book in your room, and your eyes caught the movement on the driveway. You told your mom to say you weren’t home.

You watched him leave from your bedroom window, hands stuffed in his pockets.

+++

You heard that Aaron and Haley got married. Not because you wanted to hear, but because your mom told you. She probably meant well, but you drank an entire bottle of wine that night. You weren’t even 21 yet at the time.

Of course, it’s been years since then. You’re all fine now, and you’ve got the student loan debt to prove it.

But even with three degrees, job hunting can be a bitch. Especially this time of year.

You need coffee.

You blame the fact that this coffee shop is the best one around. And the fact that it’s Christmas season, meaning they have your favorite drink again.  

Dark chocolate peppermint mocha. It’s a godsend. And you haven’t had one in years.

Well, you have. But they haven’t been from here. They haven’t had this shop’s specially made peppermint whipped cream, or the peppermint stick that can be used to stir.

You hate how much you have to psych yourself up before you walk inside. You don’t even know where Aaron is these days or what he’s doing. He could be halfway across the country for all you know.

So, with that fact in mind, you walk inside. You embrace the familiar sight and smells, remembering what it felt like the last time you were here.

You move toward the counter, falling in the short line to the register. And your stomach flips when you see a familiar face standing in front of you.

Well, his back is facing you, so you don’t see his face, but you know it’s him. There’s this thing about first loves. It doesn’t matter how long it’s been since the last time you’ve seen them. You’ll always recognize everything about them. The back of their head, their shoulders, their hands, the way they walk.

Their voice. Even if it’s deeper than the last time you heard it.

Maybe he won’t recognize me.

But what you don’t know is that no amount of time could pass to make you unrecognizable to Aaron.

Or that he saw your reflection in the glass case next to him when you got in line, and he’s been internally trying to figure out what the hell to say to you since.

If it hadn’t been for his voice, you wouldn’t have recognized Aaron at all. A black coffee? That’s it?

The barista pours it and slides it over to him before he’s even done paying. He’s at a coffee shop -- this coffee shop, and he orders a black coffee?

Who is he?

You step up to the register as he steps away, and you swear you see him looking at you through the corner of your eyes. But you must be seeing things because why would he do that?

You focus on ordering -- a medium peppermint mocha, complete with the whipped cream and peppermint stick. After paying, you step to the side to wait for your coffee.

You nearly knock right into Aaron, but you stop yourself, well aware of his presence.

Another thing about first loves: you’re always painfully aware of their presence.

“Hi,” he says, awkward and fumbling even though it’s only one word. He’s wearing a stuffy suit and tie, which seems odd, but you’re positive that’s just normal lawyer attire. He probably lives in a suit these days. His hair is shorter than it used to be and he looks older, but so do you. Despite all of this, he’s still Aaron. He’s still the same Aaron Hotchner you fell in love with at sixteen.

“Hi,” you return the awkward smile, tugging on the strap of your purse. After a beat, you nod toward his drink. “Black coffee, huh?” You try to tease. “Who hurt you?”

He laughs loudly then, shoulders and head shaking. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too, Hotchner,” you murmur, wrapping your arms around yourself.

The conversation dies for a moment, so you busy yourself by looking at the different cakes and pastries in the glass case. You probably should’ve gotten one, but maybe another time.

Another time. Fifteen minutes ago you wouldn’t be caught dead in this shop and now you’re already thinking about another time.

“Are you busy?” Aaron suddenly asks, prompting you to look at him with furrowed brows. “Do you mind if I join you?”

“Not at all,” you smile gently, knowing you might regret this later. But it’s been over a decade since you’ve seen him last. One coffee won’t hurt.

And I’m over him, you remind yourself, no matter how untrue it might be.

Once you have your peppermint mocha -- finally, you think, it’s been too long -- you walk with Aaron to find a table. A lot has changed about this shop, but one thing that hasn’t (because there isn’t much that can be changed) is the seating.

Aaron leads you to your old table. The table the two of you practically lived at.

It makes your heart warm and ache all at once. The drink you decided to order isn’t helping matters either.

“So…” You pause, shifting in your seat. “What are you up to these days?”

“You stole my question,” he jokes.

“Tough,” you smile into your drink. “I asked it first.”

He chuckles, but answers anyway. “I’m working for the BAU now.”

“The B-A-What?”

“The-- FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit.”

Your eyes widen. “Did you… Did you really just say you’re working for the FBI?”

“I think so,” he says. “I’m the unit chief.”

“You’re the-- Okay. So, you don’t work for the...the BAU, they work for you.”

“We’re a team,” he offers.

“Said every boss ever,” you quip, taking a long drink of your mocha. You take the peppermint stick in between your fingers and stir, eyebrows furrowing down at the swirl of coffee and whipped cream. “So...what do you do exactly?”

He opens his mouth to answer, then stops, hesitating. “Do you really want to know?”

You give him a look. “Of course I do.”

“It’s not great.”

“Aaron, just tell me, or I’ll start reciting my dissertation word for word.” Your statement stuns him to silence, so badly that you almost laugh. “That’s boring. Working for the FBI can’t possibly be boring.”

“Oh, it’s never boring, that’s for sure,” he mutters. “We profile serial killers.”

“You what?”

He laughs. “We look at their behaviors and crimes and build a profile, what they might look like, their age, that stuff.”

“Intriguing.”

“I can’t believe you’re interested.”

“I can’t believe you thought I wouldn’t be,” you counter. “You know I thrive off this stuff.”

“I remember,” he says quietly.

And just like that, you remember, too.

It’s so easy to forget about all the hurt he caused, all the pain he left behind. Especially because you know he never intended to hurt you. He would never do that, not to you, not on purpose. You never told him how you felt. It’s not his fault he couldn’t read your mind.

“Well, you’ve got a doctorate,” he says, shifting the conversation. “What else are you up to?”

“How did you know it’s a doctorate?” You raise an eyebrow. “Are you profiling me? Did I use that correctly?”

“Yes,” he smiles. “And no, not intentionally. You said you’d recite your dissertation. Those are normally written to get doctorate degrees. You always wanted one, I assumed you met your goal.”

“You assume correct,” you nod. “I’m back to start job and apartment hunting, but after the new year. I wanted to spend some time with my mom.”

“How is she doing?”

“She’s good, she--” You pause, shaking your head with a laugh. “She actually brought you up yesterday.”

“Me?” Aaron looks genuinely shocked.

“Yeah, you,” you knock your foot against his leg without thinking, but you pay no mind, not wanting to draw unnecessary attention to it. “She’s actually the one who put the bug in my ear to come here.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I haven’t been back here since…”

It takes him a moment, but he nods slowly. “Right.”

“Yeah,” you draw your legs closer to you on instinct. “But that was a long time ago. How are you and Haley?”

You don’t expect the way his face falls. You glance down at his left hand. No ring.

“We got a divorce a few years ago, split up about a good year before that,” Aaron explains. “She’s good, last I heard. Remarried already.”

“Wow,” you murmur, not knowing what else to say. “What-- I mean, what happened?” When he hesitates, you backpedal. “Sorry, I shouldn’t even ask, it’s probably a sensitive question.”

“It’s okay,” Aaron chuckles. “I don’t mind talking about it with you.”

That sends a dangerous flutter through your stomach. “Okay. Well I’m all ears.”

“Oh, it’s not a long story, it was just my job,” he shrugs. “I took the unit chief position and she was happy at first. But then, there was a period of time where we had what felt like case after case after case.” He shakes his head. “I was barely home, but I was barely in one state for long, anyway. It was a stressful time. We were everywhere at once.”

“That does sound stressful,” you frown. “Has it slowed down now?”

“Kind of, it has its moments,” he admits. “But being gone so much, it took a toll on her. She wanted to start a family, but said she couldn’t do that if I was never there.”

“But I mean she had to have known how your schedule would be with the new job, right?”

“Yeah,” he says, then shrugs. “It’s been so long now that I stopped trying to understand her thought process.”

“I get that,” you say sincerely. You understand not wanting to waste energy on something like that anymore. Sometimes you just have to give it up and have peace with the fact that you’ll never understand.

“What about you?” He asks suddenly, catching you off guard. “Seeing anyone?” He adds it quietly, like he’s shy.

Aaron Hotchner. Shy. Around you.

“Oh,” you nearly laugh at the prospect. “No. No, I’m not. Do you really think I would be if I was moving back in with my mom?”

He laughs, bringing his coffee to his lips. “You have a point there.”

A comforting silence settles over the two of you after that.

You shouldn’t feel slightly giddy that his and Haley’s relationship didn’t work out in the end. You’re over him by now, anyway. But something about being right has you fighting a smile. You smother the urge, though, knowing he probably doesn’t want to hear anyone, let alone you, say, “I told you so.”

You do feel bad for him, genuinely. Divorce is never easy for anyone, and you hate he went through that. Especially like that. Haley knew his work schedule would change. Why would she act supportive if she knew this in advance? Just sits uneasy with you, that’s all.

Of course, you feel that overprotective-best-friend nature coming back to you.

“What plans do you have now that you’re back?” He asks, keeping the conversation up, but you can tell he’s earnest — which makes you smile.

“Nothing, really. My mom and I are getting a Christmas tree later, but that’s all I have on my schedule.” You pause, giving him another look. “We both know you were my only friend in high school. Who do you think I’m going to see while I’m here?”

“Hopefully a lot of me,” he replies easily, smiling around his coffee.

And for once, you don’t hesitate to reply. “I hope so, too, actually. I didn’t think you were still around here. And I really didn’t expect you to be working for the FBI.”

“This might be presumptuous of me, but what are you doing this weekend?” He asks, quickly adding on, “A good friend of mine is hosting a Christmas party for the team, and I’ve basically been threatened to bring a plus one.”

“Threatened, huh?” You raise an eyebrow.

He nods seriously. “They won’t let me inside without one.”

You gasp comically, keeping up the act. “Well you can’t miss the party!”

“I know,” he sighs, propping his head in his hand.

“Well, I guess I’ll just have to come with,” you say, still deadly serious.

But Aaron’s lips split into a grin the same time yours does. “It’s this Saturday.”

“Lucky for you, I’m free.”

He doesn’t stop grinning. “I can pick you up, if you want.”

“Yeah, I’d love that,” you say. “I should probably give you my number, shouldn’t I?”

“I was going to ask,” he admits.

You roll your eyes playfully. “I figured.”

After exchanging numbers, the two of you return to your idle conversations. Only, they’re less idle than they ever have been before.

He vents about still not understanding how people can be capable of the things he sees. How he knows that everyone is capable of unspeakable things, but it’s how they do it that still makes him stumble sometimes. And you try to sympathize, though you know you can’t. But still you tell him not to try to understand.

“You’re a good man,” you say. “You’re not going to understand it because you’re not like them.”

“Thank you,” he whispers. “I know that, consciously. Sometimes it’s good to hear it from someone else.”

Then he tells you it’s your turn, and again, you don’t feel the need to hesitate.

You tell him how you weren’t planning on moving back here at all. But the job market where you were didn’t...fit you, for some reason. You never felt like you belonged, and so maybe that’s why you wanted to come back here.

Because even though you left this place heartbroken, you still felt like you belonged when you were here. You felt like you belonged when you were with him, but you don’t tell him that.

Something tells you he heard it anyway, though. Being a profiler and all. Which you still don’t quite understand, but you’re sure he’ll have plenty of time to tell you in the coming future.

+++

After an hour or two, you decide it’s time for you to head back home. Partly because you need to make some lunch for yourself, and partly because you’ve watched Aaron dismiss at least three phone calls in the last twenty minutes.

But he didn’t say a word each time, so you know he won’t tell you who it is or if he needs to go. It makes your heart warm at the thought that he wants to spend more time with you, but if it’s his job, then he needs to go.

He walks you to your car and you hug him around his neck, unashamedly taking a deep breath of his cologne when you stretch up to wrap your arms around him. He didn’t wear cologne back in high school. But this one smells good.

You mentally prepare yourself on the way home for the amount of questions your mom is no doubt going to ask.

You’re supposed to be going to pick out a tree with her today, which means you were supposed to be home a little earlier than this, which means your mom probably already knows what happened and you won’t even get a chance to explain yourself.

In the end, your prediction was correct.

“How was your peppermint mocha?” You glance over to the couch and find your mom sitting there, idly reading a book.

The question is as directly indirect as they come. You raise an eyebrow and kick the front door closed (yes, she asked before you even stepped foot inside the house). “It was good,” you reply, shrugging your jacket off your shoulders. “Why?”

“Oh, you enjoyed it for almost two hours, so I was just wondering.” Your mom fights back a grin, but she’s not doing a very good job.

You sigh. “Just go ahead and ask.”

She closes her book. “Alright, fine, I will. How is Aaron?”

There it is.

“He’s good,” you answer rather pointedly, making your way into the living room. “He’s working for the FBI now.”

“Oh, I knew that already.”

You plop down next to her on the couch. “Seriously?”

“Of course!” She cries, like it should be obvious. “Small talk happens when you see someone in the store.”

“Right,” you scoff. “Anyway, thanks for not telling me him and Haley divorced.”

She grimaces.

“Yeah, exactly,” you nod at her expression. “That’s how I felt. I bet it was just awesome of me to ask about how him and his ex-wife are doing.”

“I’m sorry,” your mom says. “It completely slipped my mind. It’s been so long since those two split.”

“Why didn’t you tell me when it happened?”

“Because I didn’t want to bring him up,” she answers sincerely. “You seemed like you had really moved on. I figured it didn’t matter, and I didn’t want to make you start thinking about him again when you had finally gotten over it all.”

“Oh,” you murmur. “Well, thank you, then, but...still. I feel like an idiot.”

“Did he seem angry when you asked?”

“No, the opposite,” you sigh. “He explained what happened and I let him talk about it for a second, but he seems mostly moved on from it.”

“I don’t know how he can be,” your mom scoffs. “She’s already remarried, you know.”

“Yeah, he told me.”

Your mom shakes her head. “I should’ve shook some sense into that boy when he came to say goodbye that day.” Then she pauses, poking your leg. “And I should’ve made you say goodbye to him. I’ll never forgive myself for that.”

“I didn’t wanna talk to him,” you shrug. “We barely had all year, anyway. And one goodbye would not have stopped him from going to college and marrying Haley, you know that.”

“Yeah, I know.” She sighs. “It’s fun to think about, though.”

“Well stop thinking about it,” you mutter. “We are friends and he’s probably seeing someone by now. I don’t even know how long I’ll be here, so.”

Your mom raises her eyebrows. “I never said anything about what you guys are now.”

Damn. Caught. “I know, but I’m just...catching you before you do.”

“Mmm, more like catching yourself.”

“Shut up.”

She lightly hits you with a pillow. “Don’t say that to your mother,” she jokes. “Especially not when I’m right and you know it.”

“Yeah, yeah. Are you ready to pick out a tree?”

“Of course,” she replies. “Just let me find my shoes.”

While she’s getting ready -- because “finding her shoes” really means fixing her hair and makeup and changing outfits a couple times -- you get a text from Aaron.

Aaron: It was nice catching up with you today

You smile and type your reply. Ditto. We should do it again sometime.

He doesn’t reply, but you figure he’s busy at work, anyway. And you’ve got a tree to pick out and decorate, so you’re technically busy, too.

You try not to think too much about it.

+++

And truthfully, you don’t think much about it, until Aaron finally replies. It’s hours later when you’re decorating the freshly-cut Christmas tree in the living room, with Michael Bublé’s Christmas album playing through the stereo speakers. It’s just like when you were younger.

You check your phone and see that it’s Aaron texting you back, but you pocket it before reading the message. You’re busy.

Your mom notices the change on your face. “Everything alright?” She asks as she places a snowflake ornament on one of the smaller branches.

You nod without thinking, hating yourself for even feeling what you’re feeling right now. A glittery red ornament hangs from your index finger as you try to find the right branch to hang it on -- and while your mind wanders all over the place.

“Clearly not,” your mom replies. “But alright.” She turns and reaches into a different box, picking up one of the golden jingle bells that she always hides deep within the tree each year. When you were younger, she’d hide them without you seeing, and then on Christmas Eve you’d have to search the tree for them before you could open one present before going to sleep.

You snort a laugh, always loving her way of getting you to open up: sarcasm. “It’s just Aaron.”

“Aaron?”

“Texting me,” you explain, looking down at the glitter coating your fingertips from the ornaments.

“Aren’t you going to reply?” She asks, grabbing another jingle bell.

“Technically he’s the one replying from earlier today.”

“Okay…”

You sigh. Time to cave. “He invited me to a Christmas party this weekend.”

Your mom doesn’t even try to hide her excitement or her wide grin. “Really? That’s great!”

Is it? You want to ask, but you stop yourself. “Yeah,” you shrug. “I guess so. It’ll be nice to hang out with him more.” You pause, finally hanging the small glittery red ornament on the tree that you’ve been idly holding for the past two minutes. “Apparently a friend of his is hosting it and basically told him he wouldn’t be allowed inside without a plus one.” You chuckle quietly, knowing Aaron had to have rolled his eyes when his friend told him that.

“So it’s...a date, then?”

“What? No,” you shake your head. “No, no. Not a date. He didn’t phrase it that way.”

“Sweetheart, plus one implies date.”

“Who says?”

“Everyone!” Your mom laughs. “Bringing a plus one to a wedding is usually a casual date, if not bringing your significant other along.”

“This isn’t a wedding, it’s just a Christmas get together.”

“Same difference.”

“Well, I think you’re doing that thing again where you try to plant seeds in my brain for things that are unnecessary,” you raise an eyebrow at her when she avoids eye contact, so you know you’ve caught her red-handed. “All that aside,” you sigh. “I’m over him. It’s been so long. If something was going to happen, it would have already.”

“Whatever you say,” she shrugs indifferently, grabbing the final jingle bell to hide in the top of the tree. For a brief moment, you wish you hadn’t been watching where she hid them, so you could do the search on Christmas Eve one more time.

+++

You bump into Aaron one more time, two days later, at the same coffee shop.

“Back for more?” He teases as he slides into the seat across from you, another black coffee in his right hand.

You’re sitting at the table the two of you call home with yet another peppermint mocha sitting in front of you and your laptop. More job hunting is the task for today, even though you’re ready to give up and just pick it back up after the New Year. It’s not like your mom is making you pay rent, and you have enough in savings to help with groceries (without her knowledge, of course, because she refuses to let you pay for anything) and buy your own coffees. But, you decided to give it one last go today.

That is, until Aaron slid into the seat in front of you. Now, you close your laptop and place it back in your bag. “Just needed some fuel for more job hunting,” you grin. “What are you doing here?”

“I took off for lunch for once and thought I might find you here.”

“Oh?” You raise your eyebrows. “Were you seeking me out, Hotchner?”

“Maybe a little,” he admits with a shy smile. “Are you still good for tomorrow?”

“As long as you are,” you nod. “What time?”

“I’ll pick you up at five, if that’s good?”

“Perfect,” you smile. “Are you ready to introduce me to your friends?”

“Depends,” he exhales exasperatedly. “Are you ready to meet them?”

“They can’t be that bad.”

“They might be. If you aren’t used to them.” He pauses. “They don’t know you’re coming, by the way.”

“What?” You almost laugh. “Why not?”

“I told them I was bringing someone, but I didn’t feel like hearing it all week about who I was bringing.” He pauses again, like he’s holding something back, and then he lets it out. “They know all about you.”

You blink. “They do?”

“Yeah,” he smiles gently. “I talk about you all the time.”

“No,” you shake your head. “No you don’t. There’s no way.”

“You’ll believe it tomorrow,” he chuckles. “I’m sure they’ll try to embarrass me.”

“I-I mean...what do you even say about me?”

He shrugs. “That you were my best friend in high school and...that I missed you and wondered what you were up to these days, and how we used to hang out here.” He looks around the shop, then back to you and your bewildered expression. “What?” He laughs. “You didn’t talk to your friends about me?”

“No, I did,” you laugh quietly. But I said different things. And most of the time I was crying because I missed you, especially my first year of college when my roommate tried to get me to go on a double date with her boyfriend and his roommate, but I refused and had to confess that I wasn’t over you and that you broke my heart, and I was such a mess that she brought ice cream and chocolate back after their date.

But you don’t say any of that. Obviously.

“I just didn’t expect you to even...think about me, I guess,” you finally spit out, still shaking your head. “I mean...we haven’t talked since high school, I figured you’d forgotten or moved on, at least. Especially since you had Haley.”

Aaron’s expression softens and turns sad, quickly. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I didn’t know you thought any of that.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” you wave his worry away. “It’s years ago. Water under the bridge.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. Then, he says, “Haley was jealous of you, you know.”

You immediately look up from your mocha, your eyes wide in shock. “She was what?”

“Oh yeah,” Aaron laughs. “Devastatingly jealous of you. She swore we were dating or that I was in love with you or something.”

Or something. “Wow,” you chuckle, trying to mask your hurt as much as possible. “Why did she even think that?”

You know why. You know exactly why. Because before her, you and Aaron were attached at the hip. You sat together during lunch, walked each other home, hung out at the coffee shop, went to school functions together (well, you’d actually go with a big group, but you two always ended up together anyway), and so on and so forth. Anyone would’ve been an idiot to not assume you two were dating.

“We were so close,” he shrugs. “She said she was so surprised when I asked her to be my girlfriend because she swore I was dating you. She actually asked me that, when I gave her the flowers. She said, “What about Y/N?” And I said, “Y/N? She’s just my best friend.” And she didn’t believe me.”

“That’s so crazy,” you say, but you’re really thinking back to that day you and Aaron had decided to meet up here and hang out after so long. When Haley crashed the hangout. When she locked eyes with you and smirked before pulling him back in for another kiss.

She was jealous. She was jealous and she knew exactly what she was doing that day.

Aaron’s phone starts ringing and he sighs heavily, pulling it out. He almost declines it, but then stops himself. “It’s the boss,” he says. “My boss. I’ve gotta take this. I’ll text you later?”

“Sure,” you smile, knowing he might forget or get too busy to think about it. But that’s okay. “Good luck with the phone call.”

“Thanks,” he chuckles. “I’ll need it.” And then he brings his phone up to his ear. “Agent Hotchner,” he says, and you hate that you find it so hot.

+++

You almost cancel with Aaron a dozen times before 2p.m.

You blame the conversation the two of you had yesterday. For some reason, the thought of Haley being jealous of you had never crossed your mind. Because to you, it was so obviously the other way around. Of course, you weren’t vocal about your jealousy, but you were certain she knew. Not that it was the other way around.

Old feelings have already resurfaced, which is bad enough, but the talk about Haley and about how Aaron’s friends know all about you made things worse. Especially the latter.

Why would he talk about you so much if the two of you hadn’t spoken in years? Not even years, but like an entire decade. Why would he still talk about you and think about you that much?

You have dwelled over those questions since he left the coffee shop yesterday.

But now, you have no idea what to wear, and Aaron will be here any minute. You’re assuming the attire is casual, not fancy, since it’s just a get together with his friends -- who all happen to be his team of agents. FBI agents. Because he’s just casually the Unit Chief of the BAU.

It still baffles you. He wanted to be a lawyer. Not in the FBI. God.

He’s still your Aaron. That’s what shocks you the most. He’s experienced law school, marriage, practicing law, working for the FBI, becoming a Unit Chief, divorce, and yet he’s still the Aaron Hotchner you were best friends with in high school.

You wonder if you’re still the girl he was best friends with in high school. Or if you’ve changed so drastically that he doesn’t see you that way anymore.

You take a deep breath, going back to digging through the many boxes of clothes that you have yet to unpack. You need a sweater or something. That’s safe enough, right? It’s too cold for a dress, and frankly, you’re not in the mood for wearing one, anyway.

Finally, you find the sweater you were looking for. You tug it over your head, figuring your jeans are fine enough. You’ll wear some low heels to make it look like you put in a little more effort.

Your quick thinking is to your benefit because the doorbell rings almost as soon as you’re done doing the clasp on your second heel.

But because your mom is quicker than you, she’s already opened the door and let Aaron in before you can make it downstairs. And by the time you are coming down the stairs, Aaron is sitting on the couch with your mom, making idle conversation.

“Hey,” you smile at him, resisting the urge to glare at your mom. “Ready?”

“If you are,” he nods, standing to his feet.

When he turns, you shoot your mom a look. “We’ll be back later.”

“You’re not in high school,” your mom laughs. “You two have fun for as long as you like.”

“I know,” you say. “But I also know you’ll wait up until I get back.”

“And you can’t stop me,” she replies pointedly.

Aaron laughs at the two of you, your banter just as he remembers from all those years ago. Neither of you have changed one bit.

After a final moment of bickering, you bid your mom goodbye and leave with Aaron.

In the car, you ask, “Have you told them about me coming yet?”

From the driver’s seat, he shakes his head. “No, so prepare yourself for a lot of questions.”

“I think you’re the one that’ll be in hot water, but alright,” you chuckle. “I can hear them now. ‘Why didn’t you tell us you were bringing her!’”

He laughs loudly. “That’s not a bad impression, actually.”

“Why, thank you,” you smirk. “It’s a hidden talent of mine.”

“Oh, really?”

“Mhm.”

The two of you share a grin as he keeps driving.

+++

After some time -- long enough that you were beginning to wonder where he’s taking you -- Aaron finally turns into a subdivision. But it’s still not what you were expecting.

You assumed FBI agents must make good money, but not this good. This is a mansion. It’s massive. There has to be at least six bedrooms in there, maybe more.

“Is your friend a millionaire or something?”

Aaron chuckles, “Maybe. Probably. Maybe more.”

“More?” Your eyes widen. “Wow.” And then Aaron pulls into the driveway. “Wow.”

He puts the car in park and says, “Try not to look too surprised. Dave won’t shut up about the house if you get him started.”

“What if I want to hear everything?” You ask, scrambling out of the car to look up at the house. “Jesus Christ.” Then you whip your head around to look at Aaron exasperatedly. “Does your house look like this?”

“No, no,” he shakes his head. “No. This is too big. Dave’s crazy for buying it.”

“He’s definitely insane,” you nod. “I mean, what do you even need a house this big for?”

Aaron shrugs. “Christmas parties, I guess.” He pauses, holding out his arm for you. “Ready to face the lions?”

You roll your eyes through a laugh, loosely holding onto his arm. “Quit being so dramatic. I bet it’ll be just fine.”

“Let’s hope so,” Aaron replies. Because truthfully, he is a little worried that they might scare you off. They have a habit of doing that.

The two of you walk up to the front door, and you try your best to act like you’ve been in the general vicinity of a house this big before. Dave must be a really good friend of Aaron’s, because instead of knocking or ringing the doorbell, Aaron twists the doorknob and walks right in with you on his arm.

“Dave’s making pasta,” Aaron whispers, smelling the air. He shuts the door gently, wanting to surprise the team as much as possible.

You sniff the air, too, smiling happily. “Smells really good. Is that carbonara?”

“Good nose,” a voice says from the kitchen.

“That’s Dave,” Aaron chuckles, walking you down the hall toward the smell.

The team’s eyes all widen dramatically and comically when Aaron Hotchner steps inside the kitchen with a woman on his arm.

“Well, hello,” one of them says, sliding off the stool at the counter to saunter over to you. He’s all suave and swagger.

“Derek Morgan, this is Y/N,” Aaron introduces you quickly, knowing the reaction your name will get.

“Hold up,” Derek pauses, glancing between you and Aaron. “Y/N? As in the Y/N?”

“I don’t know about being the Y/N, but that is my name,” you laugh. “Nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Derek says, a hand over his heart to add to the sincerity. “Where have you been hiding all this time?”

“Getting a doctorate,” you shrug, only now realizing that your hand is still holding onto Aaron’s arm, but he doesn’t seem fazed by it either, so you don’t move.

“Oh, alright,” Derek chuckles. “Hey Reid, we’ve got another doctor here.”

The man in question, Reid, looks up from the book he was reading with furrowed eyebrows. “Hi.” He waves.

“Hey,” you wave back. “What’re you reading?”

“War and Peace. In Russian, though.”

“In-- Wow, okay.”

“He’s a genius,” Morgan explains.

“I see that,” you chuckle.

Aaron finishes the introductions for you. “That’s JJ, handles the press for us because none of us want to do it.”

“He’s not wrong,” JJ replies with a laugh. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“You too,” you smile.

“You met Reid, his first name’s Spencer,” Aaron supplies, and Reid is too far gone in the book again to notice. “This is Emily Prentiss.”

“And I have been dying to meet you,” Emily says. “You are exactly how he described.”

“In a good way, I hope?” You laugh nervously.

She nods. “Definitely.”

Aaron points to the other woman at the counter. She’s dressed in all sorts of crazy colors with glasses that match her outfit. And before he can introduce her, she says, “I’m Penelope Garcia, technology extraordinaire. I keep them out of trouble.”

“And we love you for it,” Derek adds.

“And this is Dave,” Aaron finishes.

“It is very nice to finally meet you,” Dave says, and actually shakes your hand. “Do you know how to make carbonara?”

“Yes, actually,” you say, earning a surprised look from Aaron. “I went through a phase when I was younger, wanting to make anything and everything that sounded good, so I’ve made this a few times. My mom loves it.”

Dave loves the sound of that. “Would you like to help me?”

You practically light up inside and out. “Seriously? I’d love to!”

“Oh, here we go,” Derek groans. “He’s roped her in.”

You ignore him, slipping away from Aaron to grab the other apron off the hook by the entrance to the kitchen. You slide your head through the loop and tie it at the back in a matter of seconds, too excited to contain it.

“I almost went to culinary school, you know,” you say to no one in particular, but Aaron is listening, and so is Dave.

“Why didn’t you?” Aaron asks.

You shrug. “Didn’t seem practical.” Which isn’t the real answer at all. The real answer is you got your heart broken and needed to do a complete 180 in life, so you did. Culinary school was out. Getting a doctorate was in. You turn on the water in the sink and begin washing your hands. “What do you need me to do?”

For the next hour, you help Dave make the carbonara, occasionally answering any questions Aaron’s friends have for you.

Aaron pours you a glass of wine and sits at the counter, watching you cook. You look more at peace than he’s seen you since a few days ago when he first bumped into you again.

You catch him looking at you more than a handful of times. It feels good. Spending the evening with his friends, his team, with him. You’ve missed spending time with him more than anything else.

Dave serves up the carbonara, telling you to sit down since you helped so much already. You don’t make him ask twice.

+++

After dinner, everyone moves into the living room, scattering on the various couches and chairs. Reid has finished reading War and Peace, so the book sits discarded on one of the coffee tables.

You take the spot on the couch next to Aaron, careful not to spill your wine. Penelope sits on the other side of you, with Derek on her other side, which all but forces you to move closer to Aaron, and something about the look on Penelope’s face tells you it was done on purpose.

You’re not exactly complaining, though. With a full stomach and a fresh glass of wine, Aaron’s presence is even warmer than before. You pay no mind when he shifts his left arm, stretching it over the back of the couch and allowing you to scoot closer, your legs pressed against each other’s.

The conversation continues, and somehow the subject of relationships is brought up.

“Yeah, why was I the only one asked to bring someone?” Aaron asks. “I’d like to see all of you find a last minute date.”

Another warm rush goes through your body at the word date. This is a date. Alright then.

“I think you did just fine,” Dave says, nodding to you. “Don’t you?”

You shrug, not sure of what to make of it. “I’m having fun, so I guess so.”

“See?” Dave gives Aaron a look. “You did fine.”

Aaron gives his friend a tired glare. “Only because she happened to be back from getting her degrees. Otherwise, I would’ve been stuck.”

“Nah, man, you could’ve called Beth.”

You feel Aaron tense next to you, but you aren’t sure if he tensed up or if you did. Maybe both. Probably both. You weren’t aware there was someone else.

“Who’s Beth?” You ask as casually as possible, ignoring the heated glares Penelope, JJ, and Emily alike are sending Derek. Seriously, Derek would be dead three times over right now if looks could be deadly.

Aaron shrugs before answering you. “Her and I dated briefly last year.”

You nod slowly, trying not to seem hurt or upset or anything by this because it’s ridiculous of you to be fighting back tears, but you can’t help it.

It’s high school, goddamnit, it’s fucking high school all over again.

The topic of conversation shifts thanks to Reid being the endless supplier of random facts. One question about Russian from Emily and he’s taking over, washing the awkwardness away in two languages.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t work as well for you as it does for everyone else.

You set your wine glass down on the table and tell Penelope you’re going to use the bathroom. You have no clue where it is, but she doesn’t know that.

Aaron does. And Aaron hears the tone of voice you use.

He waits until you’re down the hall before he stands to follow you, foregoing any explanation to his friends. They already know what he’s doing.

Aaron’s suspicions are correct when he hears the front door close and sees your coat no longer hanging next to his on the hook by the door. He grabs his and only gets one arm through a sleeve before he’s opening the door, eyes searching the premises for you.

Thankfully, he finds you after two seconds, and his racing heart slows a little. You’re standing by the reindeer lights on Dave’s front lawn. Your coat is only hanging on your shoulders, something you’ve always done since high school when you were upset.

“It feels more like a blanket,” you had told him one day. “Blankets are more comforting than jackets.”

He doesn’t see the difference, but you do, and that was enough for him.

He has both arms through the sleeves by the time he’s next to you. He gently touches your arm to get your attention, adding a soft, “Hey,” for good measure.

You turn your head at the sound, having already known he was coming because you heard the front door open. In the back of your mind, you had wanted him to follow you out here, but now that he’s done it, you aren’t so sure this is what you wanted.

You wanted to ignore the feeling. Get it to disappear on its own. Survive the night, then never talk to him again. You were heartbroken, but it was better when you weren’t speaking to him. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

“I’m sorry,” Aaron says softly. “Beth and I haven’t spoken since our last date a year ago. It was only three dates. We weren’t serious at all.” He pauses. “I have no idea why Derek said that. He doesn’t think before he speaks sometimes.”

You nod, not having it in you to laugh at Aaron’s small jab, even though he is entirely correct. Derek is a quick thinker with a sharp wit, but you can see how it might backfire sometimes. Like tonight.

You believe Aaron, you really do. But it’s so hard. “Did you love her?”

Aaron is stunned for a moment, but says, “No. I don’t think I did.”

“Okay.” You shake your head, looking down at the grass. “I’m just trying to figure out why Derek would’ve brought her up if...if you guys dated so briefly.”

Aaron sighs. “I don’t know.”

“And is this a date?” You blurt, finally finding the courage to get that one out. “Because if it is, I…I don’t know.”

“Don’t know what?”

You shake your head again, trying to find the right words, but they always seem out of reach. “Just...tell me this won’t be like high school.”

This time Aaron is too stunned to form a real answer. “What?”

“Please,” you sound like you’re about to cry and you feel so pathetic that you wish you had never agreed to come tonight. But you’re here anyway. “I was in love with you then, and I’m still in love with you now, but I can’t do that again. So if this is a just friends thing and always will be, I need you to tell me before I hurt myself all over again.”

Aaron can’t believe his ears. He swears he heard you wrong. He must have. “You were in love with me in high school, too?”

“Yes-- Wait, too? What do you mean too?” Now you’re looking at him, eyes wide in confusion, shock, every emotion possible. “Too?”

“I was in love with you, Y/N,” he chuckles, reaching for your hands. “I thought you just saw me as an older brother. That’s why I never...said anything.”

“What?” You breathe, letting him thread his fingers through yours. “Are you serious? You better not be pulling my leg, Hotchner. Don’t do that to me.” You tug on his hands for emphasis, giving him a stern look.

“I’m not joking,” he says, taking a step closer. “I wouldn’t joke about this.”

“Oh my god,” you say, disbelief a powerful thief of words. “I can’t believe… So you went after Haley because…”

“Because I heard from one of her friends that she had a crush on me,” he admits. “I did love her, but not as much as I loved you. Never as much as I loved you.”

You don’t know what else to do or say. He looks so beautiful in this light that it hurts, and now he’s saying words you never thought you’d ever hear.

“Do you forgive me?” He asks. “For breaking your heart?”

“Only if you forgive me for breaking yours,” you whisper.

He shakes his head. “I broke my own. I should’ve told you how I felt.” He pauses. “I even talked to you about Haley all the time. Is that why you didn’t say goodbye to me?”

You nod. “It sounds so stupid now, but I was so hurt.”

“I’m an idiot,” he laughs. “I’m the dumbest fool to ever walk the Earth.”

“We both are,” you correct him, taking a step closer. It’s cold out here, but he’s warm. He’s always been so warm. Like home.

And you-- you’ve always been who Aaron thinks of when he thinks about being happy. It’s always been you. A moment like this, and a thousand others. He wants them all. And to think, you do too.

His lips meet yours in a long-awaited kiss, cold noses bumping against one another, his warm hands holding your face, your chilled fingers finding their home on his neck, stealing his warmth.

From the window, the team watches, and Emily exchanges money with Derek.

[supportingfire]

              so here’s a fucking vent idk where else to put but as a floridian STILL riding out this shit, i’ve been seeing a lot of gross shit on social media regarding SW florida and the people still there. 

“why didn’t you evacuate?”

“you should have listened. this will be a lesson for you.”

“you had plenty of time.”

             FIRST AND FUCKING FOREMOST these people who say shit like this , i can guarantee, more than 90% of them have never lived in a major hurricane state, much less florida, because they wouldn’t say shit like this. there is so much that goes into the decision to up and leave, and this is coming from someone who evacuated way back when we were slammed by four hurricanes within a month in ‘04. we stayed for charley, and my mom didn’t think our house would last another one right after, so we left. she cried in the car as we crossed over into georgia, while i held my two cats with my brother in the backseat. we were LUCKY ENOUGH to have a vehicle to get us out, and money to make arrangements elsewhere. but we almost didn’t. 

            you have to have a lot of resources available to be able to just up and leave. you never know how long you’re gonna have to stay away, first of all, not to mention you don’t have guaranteed availability ANYWHERE (hotels book up quicker than graduation weekend at your local college) and even if you do find accommodations, a lot of them don’t cater to pets or disabled guests. my grandmother is at an ALF nearby and thankfully we felt safe enough for her to stay there, consider the elderly and disabled who don’t have that luxury. are they expected to just up and leave, too? and if they didn’t do they deserve the ten feet of water destroying their lives, or worse, fucking actual death? you need a means of transportation, money, and somewhere to go. having access to all three of these is a privlidge. 

“you had a week. you knew it was coming.”

            when you live somewhere where hurricanes happen so often it’s literally a season, like fucking winter and summer, you treat these kinds of things a little differently. yes, we knew ian was brewing, yes we knew it had potential, but there was no actual guarantee where and when it would hit. imagine going to your boss and saying “i need two weeks off because of a potential.” right now, as i type this at 11:30 on thursday DAY OF, we got hit with the eyewall TWO HOURS AGO, and i am still expected to clock in and work remotely “if i am avaialble to do so.” and i have the luxury of being able to do remote work. a lot of middle class people do not. they stayed to work. they stayed to keep the lights on, and they stayed to see what was going to happen. the trajectory of this hurricane changed within hours, and fort myers had no chance. naples had no chance. to assume you know better than the people who actually live and work and die here, shame on you. not to mention, when you issue “mandatory evacuation” and offer NO HELP to facilitate it, that’s basically the state going “well, we’re not going to take responsibility, we told you to leave.” its desantis and florida absolving themselves of responsibility for the outcome of it’s people. “just go to a shelter” ALSO A FUCKING ABLEIST THING TO SAY. 

            when evac orders started to roll in, it was almost too late. twelve hours might seem like a long time to you but when you’re on a peninsula, it feels like there’s one way out, and there kind of is. it’s north. some people took a gamble and went south to miami, and even miami got some severe rain and wind. people evac’d tampa TO FORT MYERS thinking they’d be a little bit better off, only for ian to take a fucking right turn and go south and slam fort myers FIRST. this happened within six hours. 

            and finally, yES there are assholes and idiots who go by the mentality that “floridians are built different” and “we’ll be fine, lets have a party!” and they stayed, and they got far more than they were expecting. they got a very, very harsh lesson about taking weather warnings seriously. i have a great uncle who was one of them, and there’s a good chance he didn’t make it through this, no one’s heard from him. does that mean they deserve having their entire lives destroyed? do they deserve to die for being cocky and stupid? the utter lack of compassion from other people blows my fucking mind. SW florida is going to be feeling this one for a long fucking time. death tolls haven’t come out yet because WE’RE STILL DEALING WITH IT. 

            i’m so fucking livid, being on tiktok trying to find updates. there’s a woman on a literal pool float in HER OWN LIVING ROOM as water rises, only for the comments to be “should have left” or “dumb for staying.” how fucking dare you. 

           fuck this man. if you can help, please help, whether it be monetarily or just spreading some sort of compassion. below is a twit thread i found of some reputable organizations providing help on the ground. we’re doing alright in orlando, downtown flooded a lot and i imagine roads will be closed a few days, but southwest florida is literally underwater. please be kind and please be compassionate. 

https://twitter.com/ChelseaClinton/status/1575232946860331008

https://www.newsnationnow.com/weather/hurricane-ian-latest/hurricane-ian-florida-heres-how-you-can-help/ <-- a news article advising how to help

[redrobin-detective]

The 101 Deaths of Danny Phantom

AO3 link

One of the first things people learned about dealing with ghosts, other than not to try and date them, is to never asks about their death or obsessions. That doesn’t mean the citizens of Amity Park aren’t curious though, especially about their resident ghostly hero and the confusing and concerning comments he sometimes makes.

“Are you okay?” Phantom asked Maisie as she shook and tried to hold back tears after that car had almost slammed into her. She sometimes joked about getting hit crossing the street of her college campus to pay her obnoxious loans but it was another thing entirely to almost experience it herself. Maisie was nearly twenty, she shouldn’t be comforted by someone younger than her little step sister but here she was, shaking like a lead and leaning into Phantom’s comforting, chilly touch. 

“Sorry,” she stuttered, “thank you, I’m sorry I’m just-”

“Hey, it’s okay to be upset that was very scary. The thought of dying is very scary.” Through her adrenaline and her tears, she took in the ghost’s unnatural glow, his faded, barely visible appearance and the fact that he was floating a foot off the ground. Maisie knows this ghost, this boy, knows more than she ever could about death. 

“And getting run over by a car sure is a bad way to go,” the ghost kid chuckled awkwardly, taking his cold hand off her shoulder to scratch at the back of his neck. “You should see how my dad drives or my mom or my sister if she’s running late enough,” Phantom paused in thought. “No one in my family should have a license now that I think about it. Anyway,” he dismissed with a wave. 

“My sister and I were getting ready to head out to school and my dad was backing out of driveway too fast and didn’t see us and uh, luckily I got my sister out of the way in time haha,” Phantom trailed off awkwardly. Was it because of the uncomfortable conversation or because he noticed her dawning horror.

Her best friend ran the community college’s Phan club so Maisie was a member by default. Phantom’s death was sometimes talked about late at night, everything from wrongful murder to a freak accident. She never in her worst nightmares imagined being him being runover in front of his own house by parental ignorance. It was so normal, a quick mistake and a life lost.

“Oh my god,” he said with an adorable little green blush. “Why am I babbling about that? You almost got hit by a car, I’m probably retraumatizing you or something. I should probably go get the jerk who almost hit you,” he said before disappearing into thin air. 

“Tia is not going to believe this,” she whispered to no one. All she knew is that for the rest of her damned life she was going to look both ways when crossing the street. She’d seen first hand what a single moment of reckless driving could cause.

XxX

Matthew, not Matt or Matty or Hughie, Matthew shivered from the cold. He was only in his boxers with little Pacman on them. It had been fine when he’d gone to bed considering it was mid-August but Phantom and this stupid flaming mecha ghost had tussled outside the summer camp he was working at. He could see some of the kids snickering at his state of undress though he was just extremely glad they were alive enough to disrespect him like this.

“Oh man, I’m sorry,” the ghost kid said with big, sad eyes that looked so human despite the fact that they were literally glowing. He looked around at all the snow and ice left over from his fight. “Jeez you guys must be freezing, I wish I could warm you all up but all I can do is make things colder.”

“S’okay,” Matthew said through his chattering teeth. “Teaching the kids how to start a fire was supposed to be next week but we can get a jump on it.” That got a smile out of the ghost and within a half hour, the other counselors were distributing blankets and hot beverages to the kids clustered around multiple fires. They didn’t seem particularly upset by the potentially fatal attack, Matthew will breakdown about that at a later time when he was alone. For now, he just smiled as the children chattered happily with the ghost while he cleaned up as much of the damage as possible.

“So you spend all day fighting ghosts?” Zoe asked with stars in her eyes.

“A lot of the nights too,” Phantom nodded, “I do other stuff but yeah it seems ghost fighting takes up most of my time.”

“Where’d you learn those cool powers?” Zuri asked, miming a punch.

“Comes with being a ghost,” Phantom shrugged, “my ice powers came in later though so I still struggle a bit with them but I’m getting better every day.”

“Why ice though?” Morris said with his cocked curiously to the side. “I see some ghosts use fire or shadows, why do you have ice?”

“Ah that’s a little personal,” Phantom chuckled but his posture was easy despite the invasive question. “Specialty powers like my ice require special circumstances and a certain uh connection to the ghost. Someone like me couldn’t use fire or electricity or plants, ice is in my soul, it’s who I am.”

Matthew paused in drinking his lukewarm coffee as a horrible thought came to mind. He’s been an outdoorsman all his life, practically from the time he could walk. He’d been a deep woods camping guide for a decade before switching to working at summer camps. But the years working in the relative comfort of a stable camp didn’t erase his knowledge of how unforgiving and deadly the woods in the winter could be. A grown man, much less a young teen, would freeze to death in 20 minutes if it was cold enough. 

It made sense for ghosts to develop powers related to their deaths. Had Phantom been one of the dozens of unfortunate kids he read about every year who ran away in the middle of winter only to found later as a frozen corpse. He eyed the boy’s snow white hair and frigid aura he exuded with mournful trepidation. God, what a horrible way to die. 

“I’d get chilly with ice powers,” Tabby said with a shudder, she held out her cup of cocoa. “You want some of my cocoa to warm you up?”

“No thanks,” Phantom said with a soft smile that was warm despite everything. “The cold hasn’t bothered me for a while.”

XxX

Ghost attacks may be the norm but, if there was one good thing that came out of whole mess it was the fact that violent human crimes went down drastically. So when the rare murder did happen, the shock and fear rippled through the whole town. 

Stanford Newton had only been sheriff of Amity Park for eight months after the last guy had gone gray overnight and moved to Florida the next day. It was a daunting position but one he bore proudly. This wouldn’t be his first murder investigation having initially cut his teeth as a beat cop in Chicago but it would be the first in Amity. And it certainly was the first in which the dead served in an active capacity.

“Amanda Chastain, 27. Officially she was a waitress down at Spengler’s Diner but she’s been picked up for prostitution twice in the last year,” Stan said calmly, ignoring the cold, angry presence over his shoulder. “History of polysubstance abuse as well, not that either of those things mean she deserved this.” Used, beaten to death and then dumped in the trash like yesterday’s paper. 

He wondered if she’d come back a ghost or if she’d finally get some peace this world hadn’t offered her. “We don’t have many leads right now, I’m afraid. Acting illegally as they are, there’s not a lot of resources these poor girls have to turn to.”

“I’ll find them,” The Phantom said with blazing conviction, his voice thick and sharp as ice. “I’ll find and bring them to justice and make sure no one else is hurt again.”

“I believe you,” Stan nodded, shutting his notebook as he finally turned to face the teenage superhero haunting his town. He can’t say he liked what he saw. The Phantom looked even less human than usual, his aura flaring and flickering like the foggy mist before a heavy snowstorm. His unnatural green eyes glowered, painting his too young face in a terrifying light. 

The kid looked furious, clearly taking this death to heart. He’d read the Fenton’s memos about obsessions and such but this seemed beyond that. “But don’t hurt anyone to do it, or yourself while you’re at it.”

“I won’t, I’ll make sure they’ll face human justice and don’t worry,” Phantom gave a snarling smile. “No mortal can hurt me, not like this,” he growled causing the hairs on Stan’s arms and neck to stand on end. He flew off after that, presumably to track down Amanda’s killer.

“Not like this,” Stan mumbled to him, pulling out his handkerchief and wiping his brow where a cold sweat had broken out. “Jesus Christ that poor kid.” Stan had seen plenty of murdered and mutilated bodies in his lifetime, some of them even kids. He just never got to talk to them after they’d had their life forcibly snatched away. It would explain the ghost’s near fanatical determination to save others, why he took a stranger’s murder so personally. 

“I hope your own murderer is behind bars,” Stan said as he tucked his handkerchief back into his coat pocket. “Or even six feet under, for killing a good kid like you.” Stan made his way back to his squad car so he could head back to the station and move forward with the official investigation. But he’d eat his hat if there wasn’t a stammering lowlife there by tomorrow ready to turn themselves in.

 Maybe after all this was settled down, he’d delve into some of the cold cases stacked in the cellar. Maybe in there he’ll find a picture of a smiling, carefree teen who’d disappeared and returned with the power now to ensure no one else suffered as he had.

XxX

“Yes, I know about the Phantom,” Luis Oliveira will say to anyone who so much as brings up the ghost kid. Locals know better by now but the tourists eat it up every time. He twists his finely combed mustache and gestures to the floor where his audience is standing. “He died right there oh ten or eleven years ago.”

Luis has worked his way all across the the United States since he emigrated from Brazil in the 70s. He finally settled in Amity Park about twelve years ago. He’d never intended to stay in the small Midwest town but the fatal shooting of a young customer kept his little corner market open.

“He was a nice kid, always said hi to me and paid in exact change. Was big fan of the snacks I made, would stop by after school and take half my inventory. He had big brown eyes and a crooked nose,” Luis would smile at the memory before closing his eyes and frowning sadly. “One day, he came late. His teacher made him stay after to go over a failed test, I remember he complained. He was pulling out his money when robber burst in, demanding my money. I fumbled for the register key, dropped it. I bent down to grab it and I hear shots going off. Two over my head, another right into the boy’s throat.”

Luis will hear the sound of that sweet boy’s guttural choking sounds as he drowned in his own blood until the day he himself died. The robber left after the shot, Luis called the police and held the young man’s hand as he died. The would be thief were never found and Luis never did learn anything about the boy who’d died on his floor for getting hungry after school.

“As soon as I saw Phantom on the TV,” Luis would say, perking up after his moment of somber grief, “I knew it was that boy come back. Those kind eyes, I’d recognize them anywhere. He’s never come here but one day he will and I will be able to pass on my regret on not being able to save his life that day.”

XxX

“I think he killed himself,” Mikey whispered to Lester during lunch period, angling his voice low. “The jocks may love Phantom for his powers but I just know he was one of us, an unwanted nerd. I’ve seen him chatting up a ghost I’m pretty sure is Poindexter, Casper’s suicide kid. They’re probably bonding over their similar deaths and the circumstances that led to it.”

“That’s pretty dark,” Lester whispered back. “I also get unpopular vibes from him but I don’t think he’s the time do uh do that to himself; he’s too stubborn and protective. But I bet he was the victim of a prank gone wrong. Dash locked Fenton in the Janitor’s closet last Wednesday, he got out okay somehow but maybe something like that happened to Phantom. He always looks kind of annoyed at the A-listers, maybe they remind him of old bullies.”

“Nuh-uh,” Clara said, pushing up her glasses with her middle finger. “The ghost kid totally got electrocuted or something. He was fighting that weather ghost and he sent lightning bolts his way and Phantom flinched. He fought the Ghost King and yet a little electricity scares him? It might not’ve even been a lightning strike but something manmade like a machine backfiring or something.”

“Get real,” Mikey scoffed, sipping his milk with an eyeroll. “I’m sure we’d have heard about some poor kid getting zapped to death; this town isn’t that big.”

“We’d have heard about a suicide too,” Lester noted with a wry grin.

“Shut up Mr. I base my theories around Fenton who’s a known weirdo”.

XxX

“I’m telling you, the ghost kid died of some debilitating illness,” Abbie McMillian, retired school teacher and three year reigning champ at the Tristate area’s Daylily Competition. She sipped her tea and spoke with as much confidence as she had back in the day wrangling Amity’s impressionable youths. “The superhero thing is clear wish childhood fulfillment, a chance to live and be free like he never got to in life. You see how happy and carefree that young man looks while flying? Clearly he spent his formative years sick and weak.”

“No way,” Greta von Martin frowned as she aggressively stirred her own tea to show her displeasure. “I worked in a hospital for close to 30 years and I know what chronically sick kids look like and Phantom doesn’t fit the bill. I will agree he’s carefree when he’s not battling spooks but he acts like a stupid teen. I’m telling you, the boy got into his parent’s liquor cabinet or took a few too many of whatever pill was going around his school. Tragic but something that happens every day.”

“Greta, dearie,” Abbie said with a pinched frown. “We’ve been friends since grade school and I love you like a sister but you are wrong and until you admit it, I won’t share anymore of my recipes.”

“You’re just being stubborn because you can’t see what’s right in front of you even after working with kids half of your life, Abbie, love,” Greta sniffed. “And you can kiss my grandson’s help weeding you garden goodbye until you relent.”

XxX

Perhaps one of the most human traits is curiosity, especially about what comes after death. Now the good people of Amity Park know a great deal about the dead so the lives before is what attracts their attention and none so more than the ghost boy. Maybe it’s because he’s their hero or maybe it’s because he’s so young. Or perhaps it’s because Phantom is such a mess of contradictions that it’s very hard to guess how the unfortunate boy met his end. But everyone has their own theories, from the mundane to the fantastic, some with evidence backing them up and others pure poppycock. 

But for all their curiosity, as much as it burns them to know, they’ll never ask. They don’t want to risk the powerful ghost’s wrath but, moreover, it seemed in poor taste. The boy risked his afterlife to keep them safe, they couldn’t ask what traumatic and miserable circumstances had led to this point.

And besides, it was so much more fun to look up at ghostly figure as he sped through the skies and wonder.

[leon-scott-kennedy]

Distrail

Chreon, Rated-T

Read on Ao3

For a price, anyone could check into a seedy motel, even three people covered in blood, guts, and grime, no questions asked, especially with the ashes of Raccoon City still cooling 100 miles away. So the horizon still held a faint glow of destruction when Leon and Claire stumbled, barely conscious, through the front door of the Tadpole motel at 2 PM October 1st, using each other as support and Sherry clinging to Leon’s back like a koala if a koala drooled and snored.

Two other motels along the highway turned the odd couple away, rumours already flying about Raccoon City, zombies, and a nuclear cover-up. But at the right price, triple the going rate, Claire managed to convince the manager to let them bunk down, courtesy of Leon’s stressed credit card.

The fact Leon’s credit card worked, or that he even still had his credit card, was a miracle. His wallet hadn’t exactly been a priority, and honestly, they could sleep in a cockroach-infested basement, and Leon would be happy because they were dead on their feet after hiking on foot what Leon estimated to be a good 30 miles of rough terrain to get to the nearest town. The sun barely peeked over the horizon when the sky behind them exploded.

Raccoon City was gone. The people Leon had sworn to defend were gone. Sherry and Claire were all he managed to protect, and he’d be damned if he failed now.

The motel room wasn’t terrible; two double beds, a small tube TV, and a leaky faucet. It wasn’t good, but it wasn’t something out of a horrible nightmare. They’d left that behind them.

“I’m glad we don’t have a blacklight,” Claire joked, but her tone fell flat.

Leon nudged the bed farthest from the door suspiciously with his boot, dragged back the yellow duvet, and inspected the mattress before he lay Sherry down and tucked her in. He even let Claire shower first, insisted, while he watched Sherry sleep, tossing and turning and whimpering from reliving the horrors in her dreams until Claire emerged from the bathroom, hair still damp, and crawled into bed beside Sherry.

By the time Leon scrubbed his skin raw, the water was cold, and Claire had passed out cold with Sherry cuddled up beside her, little hand tangled in the front of Claire’s dirty tank top like a lifeline. Leon passed out face first on the other bed. He couldn’t even muster the energy to get under the covers.

Movement woke Leon. He jolted awake, reaching for his gun on the bedside table, only to find Claire, fully dressed, perched on the end of his bed and tugging one of her boots. She smiled sadly at the gun levelled at her head.

Leon lowered Matilda, gasping for air. His arm fell limply to his side. “Claire?”

“Hey.” Claire pulled on her second boot. “Sorry.”

Leon blinked at the sleep crusting his eyes. “What... what are you doing?”

Claire sighed and set her foot back down solidly on the ground, hands grasping her thighs. “I need to find Chris. I need... I need to know he’s okay.”

“Now?” Leon glanced at the clock. The bright red numbers read 7:46. The setting sun outside glowed faintly behind the curtains.

“If you ever need me...”

“Forget me. What about Sherry?” Leon snapped, somewhat mollified when Claire winced.

“I know you’ll take good care of her.” Claire’s attention briefly snapped to the sleeping 12-year-old that had survived literal hell. “Leon... if I didn’t have to.”

“Yeah. Yeah, whatever,” Leon scoffed, then rolled over. His heart thundered in his chest. He heard Claire briefly wake up Sherry to say goodbye, promising they’d be in touch, that if Sherry ever needed her, all she needed to do was call.

The door creaked open. Leon clenched his eyes shut, willing down the panic swelling in his chest until it ached. This was it. He was all Sherry had left. They were on their own.

“Take care of our girl for me.” Claire’s voice was barely a whisper.

Leon’s hands trembled, buried in the sheets and pillows, he struggled to suck down air, and his hearing fuzzed. Claire was gone.

For hours, Leon faded in and out of consciousness, barely able to keep the crush of dread at bay. Finally, at some point around 3 AM, he gave up all pretense to sleep and kept a vigilant guard. He jumped at a car alarm, tensed at the slam of a door, and clenched Matilda tightly when soft footfalls passed their door. Eventually, Sherry climbed into his bed to watch early morning cartoons with him.

“Is Claire going to be okay?” Sherry asked softly. She hugged Leon’s arm, cuddling into his side like he used to with his grandma.

“Yeah. Don’t worry about her,” Leon said. He slumped to the side, gently resting his head on top of Sherry’s. “She’ll be fine, kiddo.”

When the sun rose, Leon and Sherry trekked down to the front office to extend their stay another night, then hiked into town searching for clothes and sustenance. Being out in public, surrounded by people, set both Leon and Sherry on edge. They jumped at the slightest sound, and Sherry refused to release Leon’s hand for anything less than going to the bathroom, and even then, he had to stand guard outside the stall. Thank god he had pissed before they left the motel because Sherry was clinging to the back of his jacket while he tried seemed ridiculous.

Their shopping trip was quick. They grabbed what they could, Sherry setting a brisk pace through the little thrift store they found, dragging Leon from rack to rack. They scrounged up a few changes of clothes, socks, underwear, which Leon was a little uncertain of, a jacket that fits over his side holster since he had a license to carry, and a backpack that they filled with snacks and a deck of cards from a little corner store. It turns out Leon’s palette was similar to a twelve-year-old.

The tenuous credit limit finally crapped out on Leon when he tried to buy a six-pack at a shady liquor store on the way back to the motel.

“No job. No money. Just great,” Leon sighed.

For the rest of the day, they holed up in their room munching on junk food, watching terrible daytime TV, and playing Go Fish until Leon made the brilliant decision to teach Sherry how to play poker, and she fleeced him for all the Cheetos.

Leon had no plan beyond survive, and he hadn’t even planned for that. His body ached from being tossed by mutated monsters and shot. His wrapped shoulder twinged.

“Shit,” Leon cursed and clutched his wound. They needed help. He needed help. Taking care of a kid without any resources would be impossible; never mind, he’d never taken care of a person in his life. He had no siblings, no parents. His grandma died when he was nine.

Leon smiled at Sherry in reassurance when she questioned him. This little girl couldn’t be another statistic of the system. He could fix that. He would fix that.

Covered in orange Cheeto dust, Sherry crashed around 8 in the evening. The glow of the sun behind the curtain reminded Leon of the mushroom cloud that had enveloped the sky 36 hours ago. Leon’s stomach twisted in knots. Every creak, every thump, every squeaky break, Leon tensed, waiting for something to crash through the door and disrupt the precarious peace.

Leon hunkered down on his bed, the one closest to the door and any potential threat that came for them, and prepared for another sleepless night on edge.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Around one in the morning, his eyes beginning to droop, Leon nearly fell off the bed in his mad scramble for his gun when someone knocked heavily on the door. Checking his clip, Leon cautiously crept to the door, motioning for now very awake Sherry to stay out of sight.

“Who is it,” Leon called.

“Hi. Look, I’m sorry to bother you. My name is Chris Redfield. I’m looking for my sister Claire.”

Leon blinked and glanced back at Sherry, whose head had popped out of the blanket at the sound of Claire’s name. Then, double-checking he had bolted the chain, Leon opened the door a crack to peek out.

A man a little taller than Leon stood under the flickering light outside the door, his hair cut short and a 5 o’clock shadow. Chris Redfield, decorated member of the Racoon City Stars Division. Leon recognized him from the old photo Claire had shown him, but also the records he’d run across during his frantic hunt through the Police Department.

“Chris?” Leon said, astonished it was actually him. He slammed the door, unbolted the chain, and flung the door open again. “What the- Claire’s looking for you. What are you doing here?”

Chris, who eyed the gun uncertainly, brightened at the mention of his sister. “Is she here? The manager at the front recognized her. Said she was here with some guy and a kid.” Chris glanced past Leon into the room to Sherry curled up in the other bed peering out with curious fear from under the blankets.

Leon shook his head, eyes scanning the parking lot. “She’s not here. She left this morning to find you.”

“Fuck.” Chris winced and glanced at Sherry again. “Shit, sorry.”

Sherry giggled into her hands, and Leon rolled his eyes. “I think she’s dealt with worse.” Like the apocalypse.

“But she’s okay. She’s alive?” Chris asked.

“Who? Claire? Yeah. Yeah, she’s fine. Saved my ass more than a few times.” Leon smiled wistfully and then frowned. So Claire had left, and now, here, her brother was trying to track her down. It must be nice to have someone that gave a damn about you.

“Oh, thank god.” Then, finally, all the tension and stiffness in Chris’ posture melted. “I got her message, and...”

Leon scanned the dark parking lot again for any sign of life, then gestured into the motel room. “You should come in.”

“No.” Chris waved off the invitation. “No, I need to find her.” But the fatigue in his voice threatened to topple him, and that would definitely fell Leon if he tried to catch him.

“Dude, you’re dead on your feet,” Leon said. “It’s the middle of the night. Crash for a few hours.”

“Yeah!” Sherry chimed in, bouncing on her bed. “Stay!”

Chris shook his head. “I can’t.”

Leon pursed his lips. “Look, I don’t know you, man. But I do know that if you pass out behind the wheel and wrap yourself around a pole, you’re pretty damn useless to her.”

Chris opened his mouth to argue, and Leon sighed, tilting his head to the side, ready to give up when Chris snapped his mouth closed and cleared his throat. He studied Leon closely, scrutinizing him like he would a suspect, but Chris must have been satisfied with what he found - weakness, terror, immaturity - because he finally said, “just a few hours.” And the anxiety squeezing the life out of Leon eased, just a tiny bit. Enough that he could breathe.

Chris excused himself to run and grab his go-bag, and Leon cursed his stupidity because nothing was stopping Chris from running. That tightness immediately returned, but a few minutes later, another sharp knock sounded at the door.

Leon smiled tiredly and welcomed Chris into the room, relieved to have the company, someone who knew what they were doing; an adult. Leon grew up fast, but he’d never been an adult in his life. Racoon City was supposed to be a fresh start, and now, he was back to square one. Not even. He was in the basement of square one—the root cellar.

Leon finally caught a good look at Sherry with the lights on, still covered in orange dust, her fingers and cheeks stained. “Jesus. Did you eat the Cheetos or roll in them?”

Sherry laughed. “Leon taught me to play poker, and then I won all the cheezies,” she said to Chris, who grinned.

“Nice job.” Chris offered her a high-five, which she eagerly accepted. The hero worship was already forming.

“He gets a little wrinkle right here when he lies,” Sherry said, pointing a small finger between her eyebrows.

“Okay,” Leon said, scooping Sherry off the bed and carrying her off under one arm. “Let’s get you cleaned up and back in bed, munchkin.”

Cheeto dust proved a formidable adversary, but they managed. When they walked back into the room, Chris was standing exactly where they had left him, his bag still slung over his shoulder and his boots laced.

Getting Sherry tucked back into bed became a struggle now that the brand new company hyped her up; no hesitation whatsoever. She liked Chris. She even made Chris put her to bed, Leon faking offence at being disregarded for the new guy, but there was something about seeing a six-foot boulder of a man coax a tiny twelve-year-old back to sleep that made Leon’s chest ache. Especially when Chris told the story of how Claire was convinced that if she left fake teeth under her pillow, she could trick the tooth fairy into giving her more money. It never worked. The tooth fairy left chocolate coins instead. Fake money for a fake tooth.

Leon watched perched on the edge of the other bed, a little envious of Chris’ skill with kids. He double-checked the safety on his handgun, then the clip. Chris eyed Leon as he set his weapon back down on the bedside table, and Leon couldn’t muster the energy to be self-conscious about his paranoia.

Chris may be Claire’s sister and a fellow survivor of Raccoon City, but Leon didn’t actually know him. For all he knew, he was a traitor like Irons or Wesker. Maybe he wasn’t the man Claire believed him to be. What the hell had he been thinking? Inviting a stranger to stay with them?

With Sherry asleep again, Leon and Chris were left to settle in for the remainder of the night. For Chris, that meant shedding his bulky jacket and combat boots.

“It’s Leon, right?” Chris said. He stood awkwardly beside the bed, watching Leon click off the light and climb under the blankets, tucking himself up against the edge of the mattress as close as he possibly could without toppling off. “Claire mentioned you in one of her messages.”

Leon almost facepalmed. He hadn’t introduced himself. He really was doing everything backwards. “Yeah. That’s me. Leon S. Kennedy.” He curled up into a small ball.

“Jesus Christ.” Chris swiped his palm across his mouth. “You’re the new rookie.”

Leon chuckled humourlessly, his hands tightening into fists around the sheets pulled up to his neck. “Was a hell of a first day.”

Chris picked up real quick that Leon didn’t want to talk about it. So instead, he climbed into his side of the bed, the one closest to the door. The mattress dipped under his weight, and Leon tensed. Where else would Chris have slept? The floor? The last person Leon shared a bed with was his ex, who had seemingly saved his life. If she hadn’t broken up with him, if he hadn’t gotten drunk, if he hadn’t slept in hungover as hell, he would have arrived right in the middle of the initial panic, and who knows if he would have survived that. No one else in the department had.

What would it have been like? The screams, the moans, the pleas for help- the sounds still played on repeat in Leon’s head. Lieutenant Marvin Branagh, mouth agape, stumbling towards him with his hands out. Leon had put two bullets between his eyes.

The first indications of a panic attack slammed into Leon. Abruptly, his throat closed. He couldn’t breathe, his vision slid out of focus, and his chest compressed. Like someone reached into his chest and squeezed his heart in a vice. His entire body shook.

Suddenly, a warm voice murmured in his ear, the soothing tone talking him down, calming him. Leon wasn’t alone. He wasn’t trapped in the police station battling endless waves of the undead, the people of Raccoon City he’d taken an oath to serve and protect.

“Leon, kid, you need to breathe,” Chris said. His presence was a solid wall behind Leon. “I’m going to touch you, okay?”

Leon focused on Chris’ voice. His vision began to swim back into focus, his hearing rushed back in a sudden wall of familiar night noises like the drip of the faucet in the bathroom or the lonely car that passed on the highway. He nodded, not fully understanding what Chris was saying. An arm slid around his waist and pulled him back into a firm chest. Leon flailed, seconds from panic again when Chris’ voice rumbled in his ear.

“You’re going to be okay. I got you.”

Leon grasped Chris’ arm, his grip probably tight enough to leave bruises, and he choked on a shuddering sob.

“It’s okay, Leon. You’re going to be okay.”

Gasping for air, Leon rolled over and buried his face in Chris’ chest, and Chris let him. Leon’s sobs were muffled in Chris’ arms, not wanting to disturb Sherry in the next bed. He felt every subtle muscle flex when Chris tightened his grip or shifted them into a more comfortable position. That’s how Leon passed out, wrapped in the reassuring embrace of a complete stranger, one who understood the hell he’d lived through and the fear and uncertainty he felt in his soul.

Morning came quickly. Leon woke up still curled into Chris’ chest with a death grip on the other man’s faded t-shirt. Chris’ nose was buried in Leon’s hair, each soft snore ruffling his hair, but his embrace hadn’t lessened overnight.

The warmth of embarrassment burning, Leon snuck out of bed, anxiously loosening Chris’ hold and dashing for the safety and solitude of the bathroom, horrified at his complete lack of control the night before. No one had held him like that before, at least not since he was a child and his grandma would sit up with him after a nightmare. But, sadly, this was another type of nightmare, a waking one.

When Leon finally mustered the courage to wander back into the room, Chris was up, sitting on the edge of the bed with his elbows on his knees.

“You okay?” Chris asked the same time Leon burst out, “I’m sorry!”

Chris sighed. “You didn’t do anything wrong. When I showed up on your doorstep last night, I saw right away that you were barely holding it together.”

Leon’s fists clenched at his side. He couldn’t meet Chris’ gentle gaze.

Chris crossed the room in two enormous strides and considerately grasped Leon by the shoulders. “It was the shock finally hitting you. It happened to me too, but I was alone,” Chris admitted. “Hey. Hey, come on. Look at me.”

Leon bit his lower lip, but he slowly looked up, eyes stinging. “I don’t know what to do.”

Telegraphing his movements, Chris gently pulled Leon into a tight hug. “You’re not alone. We’re going to do this together. I want to take Umbrella down, but first, I wanna make sure you’re okay.”

Leon jerked back so fast Chris stumbled. “I want to help. I want to make those sons of bitches pay.”

Chris smiled. “Good. But first, I have a safe house.”

Together, they set the plans. Leon and Sherry would meet Chris in two days, hopefully with Claire in tow, at Chris’ new safehouse three states over. Sherry and Leon could catch a bus a couple miles down the highway to get them most of the way. The trick would be getting up the mountain to the cabin. But they were in this together. Hope simmered once again.

Armed with a freshly drawn map on motel stationery, Leon watched Chris pack. Umbrella wouldn’t know what hit them.

“Here. Take it.”Chris handed Leon two rumpled twenties, a five, and a few ones he dug out of his wallet. “It’s all the cash I have on me, but it should be enough to get you there. I’ll drop you off-”

“No.” Leon took the cash, but waved off Chris’ offer to give him and Sherry a lift to the bus station. “It’s in the opposite direction. We’ll be fine.”

“Two days,” Chris promised. Sherry had climbed out of bed and now clung to Chris’ arm as if he couldn’t leave as long as she was attached. He ruffled her hair. “With or without Claire, I’ll be there and we’ll go from there.” Chris grabbed Leon by the back of the neck and dragged him into a gruff hug, their foreheads lightly pressed together. “It’s gonna be okay, kid.”

And Leon believed him. That is, until two hours later when an unmarked vehicle pulled up on Leon and Sherry hiking down the side of the road, hand in hand. They never made it to the rendezvous.

[silhouetteofacedar]

Fox Mulder, Closet Romantic Ch. 25: Prima Materia

Previous Chapter - AO3 - MSR, rated E

Five Months Later

Friday, November 13th, 1998

“I can’t believe you,” Scully hisses as they exit Skinner’s office. “We’ve discussed this, Mulder. Multiple, no, countless times. You can’t just accuse someone of being a supernatural entity based off a… a wild hunch!”

“A hunch? Scully, we have concrete evidence. It’s literally documented in the folder you’re holding right now.”

“That ‘evidence’ is obviously subject to interpretation,” Scully retorts, stomping down the hall in an attempt to keep pace with Mulder’s long strides. “An interpretation I thought we’d agreed upon before going into that meeting. And I don’t appreciate you abandoning a solid hypothesis, that we discussed at length, in favor of whatever the hell that just was.”

Mulder stops outside the elevator, turning to her. “That was the truth, Scully. It’s out there, if you would just open your mind a little and accept that there are things science still can’t explain.”

“But science can-” She reaches out and punches the button for the elevator, “-explain it. You just like the sound of your own theories and ideas better than fact. Fox Mulder, the champion of truth, the only man willing to consider the extreme.”

“You know you like it,” he says in a low tone.

Scully’s eyes go wide, and she grabs his elbow. “Do not-”

The elevator doors open, and they scurry into the lift. Mulder presses the button for the basement.

“Do not use my weaknesses against me at work, Mulder, that’s not fair,” she says as the doors slide closed.

“Weaknesses?” Mulder asks casually. “Am I your weakness, Dr. Scully?”

“I’m serious. We’ve have a few close calls in the past few months; if we’re not careful, we’re going to be found out.”

“How, by arguing? We did that before we started fu-”

She gives him an imploring look.

“-working after hours,” he corrects. “Besides,” he continues, angling his chin downwards to reach her ear, “I happen to know arguing turns you on.”

Scully licks her upper lip. “I’m just saying we have to be more careful,” she insists, staring straight ahead.

“Then I guess this isn’t the best time to invite you out for a drink,” Mulder says.

Scully glances at him out of the corner of her eye. “It’s Friday the thirteenth,” she notes with a twinge of a smile. “Don’t you think it’s a little risky?”

Mulder shrugs as the elevator doors open into the basement. “Historically, the thirteenth is my lucky day.”

-

“You know, it’s been nine months since our first date,” Mulder says conversationally. They’d walked to Casey’s Bar from the Bureau and are now perched on stools at the far end of the counter, nursing a beer each.

Scully furrows her brow, obviously doing some quick mental math. “February… that was a date?” she says, somewhat amused. “You should have told me at the time. I wouldn’t have waited so long to put out.”

Mulder raises his eyebrows. “Dana,” he says in mock surprise. “I thought you were a good church girl.”

“What gave you that idea, my penchant for kneeling?” she mutters into her glass.

Fuck, she’s good.

They’ve been together for six months now, and it’s surprising how little has actually changed between them, in the practical sense. They’ve been pretty good at keeping their relationship a secret, Mulder thinks. It helps that everyone in the Bureau already thought they were crazy, codependent, and tanking their respective careers. Apparently, bad reputations make the best cover.

He and Scully arrive at the Hoover building in separate vehicles, squabble over conflicting viewpoints, have lunch together almost every day. He rests a hand on her back, guiding her through the halls, and she gives him withering glances and dramatic eye rolls when appropriate. From the outside, they’re still the same Mulder and Scully.

And then they go home to one of their respective apartments and tear each other’s clothes off.

Well, they usually make it home. That quickie in the office annex was an outlier.

Nine months seems significant somehow. The length of human gestation, Mulder thinks absently. It seems like a length of time worth celebrating.

“Would it be terribly corny of me to propose a toast?” he asks.

“A toast to what?”

He’s suddenly shy. “Us,” he says softly. “How far we’ve come. And how much,” he adds, giving her a nudge with his elbow. She rolls her eyes at him, and it feels overtly fond.

Scully lifts her glass. “To us,” she says warmly. “And to spooky shit.��

“You remember,” Mulder says as they clink glasses, recalling that first toast in Casey’s all those months ago.

“Mm,” she replies, sipping her beer. “I do. It was a… notable evening.”

“What made it notable for you?” he asks.

“We had an actual conversation, for one,” Scully muses. “About our personal lives, attraction, about how we relate to the outside world; and by extension, how we relate to each other. I remember very clearly feeling like we were close to something.”

“So did I,” Mulder admits. “So what happened, on your end?”

“I don’t know,” she sighs. “The spell wore off, maybe? When I got home that night I remembered all the reasons it would be a mistake to let myself feel. And then Mark happened, and you know the rest of that story.” She turns on her stool to face him more fully. “What happened for you?”

“I took you on a very cold, very dark picnic,” Mulder reminds her.

“Which was wonderful,” she offers.

Mulder nods. “But then when I asked you out again, you had a date. I don’t know, maybe I was going too slow, being too subtle. But when you started going out with that jackass it felt like… in a way, you were saying that what I had to give wasn’t enough.”

Scully doesn’t say anything, just stares down at her glass.

“And I realize that it’s selfish of me to project that onto you,” he amends. “Your choices aren’t about me. But fuck, I wished they were.”

“You’d be surprised how many of my choices actually were about you,” she says softly. “I surprise even myself. You told me before that you didn’t think I’d last a full year working with you, remember? There was validity in that. This job… it’s the most difficult thing I’ve ever done. So much is at stake for us, so much has been taken. But I chose to continue because I believed in you, and in our work. We have different methods and come to different conclusions, but we’re working towards the same thing. That’s what I believe.”

He reaches over beneath the cover of the countertop and takes her hand, clasping it atop his knee. They sit in silence for awhile, taking sips of their drinks, palms pressed together.

The truth hides in many places, Mulder is learning. Places more secret and sacred than dusty file folders or abandoned warehouses, more mundane than the locked rooms of the Pentagon or trapped beneath thousands of years of ice. The greatest truths are scattered pieces he stumbles upon every day; reflected in his bathroom mirror, scribbled on post-it notes in their office, hidden under Scully’s warm tongue. He knows he’s an obsessed man, prone to irrationality and impulse; but in quiet moments with his partner, he finds small fragments of peace he never thought he could reach.

“Where are you?” Scully says softly, drawing him back into the present. A dim barroom, a sweating glass, her soft hand in his. He wonders if the day will come when his mind wanders too far for her to follow.

“I-I know how crazy this is going to sound, Scully but bear with me… do you ever think that we’re… that we’re bonded somehow? Like we were always supposed to end up here. Together.”

“Like here, here? In this bar?”

“Maybe. Maybe less specifically this bar and more generally this time and place on earth. This universe, this dimension. With each other.”

She shakes her head gently, smiling. “Mulder, it’s been a long week. If we’re going to talk about the metaphysical I need to either have more to drink or be under the influence of a postcoital surge of oxytocin.”

He leans closer to her. “Do you have a preference as to which, because I’d gladly provide either.”

Scully pushes her half-empty glass away from her, eyes dark and soft. “Take me home, Mulder,” she whispers.

His heart squeezes. “Will you stay?” The night, the rest of our lives, until our boat drifts over the edge of the earth?

She nods, and another piece of the truth slides into place.

[watchmegetobsessed]

VALERIE - Part IV. (Harry Styles)

hello loves!! thank you so much for the feedbacks on the previous part, i love to see your thoughts at reactions so please keep them coming for the upcoming parts as well! i was informed that the posts weren’t showing up under the hashtags bc i had an extrernal link to the spotify playlist, so that won’t be available in the next parts, but you’ll always be able to find it in the masterpost if you’d like to give it a listen! those were the songs i listened to while writing the story! now, i dont want to keep you up any longer, here is part 4, one of my personal favs, and im excitedly waiting for your feedbacks on the post! have a wonderful reading!

word count: 4.5k

SERIES MASTERPOST

masterlist

Valerie is curiously watching her dad work on the portable bed they’ve brought over for the night, her little hands clutching onto Rosa’s shirt as she is telling you all about the list she has made for you. It’s not a long one, but you try to focus on every word she says, making sure you won’t mess anything up.

“I put an X behind the important ones,” she explains pointing at the paper and you nod, eyes roaming down on the few X’s on the list. “The other ones are just suggestions, things I thought you should know.

“Got it,” you nod again, biting into your bottom lip. Bath time, feeding, sleep time, everything is covered in the list and you’re happy she even mentioned the smallest details. Some things might be natural for her as she’s been doing it for months, but it’s your first time completely alone with a baby. You surely don’t want to mess this up, especially because you want her to trust you and let you look after Valerie more often. They deserve a break now and then.

Steven finishes the bed and backs out a few stuffed animals along with two blankets into it, making it look cozy and familiar for Val.

“But most importantly,” Rosa starts and you look her in the eyes. “Call us anytime if you need help or want us to take her home, and I mean it.”

“Not gonna happen,” you shake your head, earning a sigh from your sister.

“Y/N, I’m serious. We are thankful for the help, but it’s not your duty, alright? Just call us anytime, really.”

Nodding your head you flash a smile at her, knowing well nothing on Earth is gonna make you call them tonight. Okay, maybe there are some cases when you would call, but those are quite unlikely to happen.

She hands Valerie over who curiously eyes you before grabbing a handful of your shirt and making herself busy with the fabric.

“It’s gonna be fine. Have a great night, you deserve it,” you smile at them. Steven straightens up and curls an arm around Rosa’s waist as they watch Val in awe, clearly a little worried they are gonna spend an entire night without her, but you can tell they also can’t wait for some alone time.

“Alright, we should get going,” Rosa sighs and stepping closer she kisses Valerie’s head and then your cheek as well. “Have fun with your aunty! We’ll be back for you in the morning, Sweetie.”

She runs her hand over her little head and Valerie smiles at her happily, completely oblivious to what’s really happening. The joys of being just a baby!

Steven says goodbye to her as well and you all head to the door. 

“So, we’ll be here around eight, she is usually up by six. Do you want us to pick her up sooner?” Rosa asks standing at the front door.

“Sooner? I was about to tell you to sleep a little longer, you don’t have to come so early.”

“But we don’t want to take away your whole day, you need to rest too,” Steven explains, worry all over his face.

“Stop worrying about me, I’ll be fine. Just enjoy your night off! Come on, I’m throwing you guys out, time for the sleepover to start,” you tell them, shushing them out the door. 

It takes some time to finally get them to leave, but they eventually do. Then it’s just the two of you, alone for the first time.

“Ready for your first sleepover, Val?” you ask her, standing in the hallway of your apartment. She just stares back at you, saliva drooling from her mouth but even that looks cute on her. “Alright, let’s do this.”

You braced yourself for the worst. Thought about all the possibilities how the evening would go, but you hoped they wouldn't become reality. Unfortunately, baby Valerie had different plans for the two of you.

The first hour goes by fine. You feed her, have a little play time, reading her favorite book to her, but slowly, you notice her losing interest in anything and everything. Soon enough, you see her face distort into a grimace and a few moments later she starts crying and it’s straight downhill from there. 

Nothing can get her to stop. No food, no toy, absolutely nothing. You clown around, trying everything that pops into your mind that would calm her down, but it doesn’t seem like she is about to stop anytime soon. 

You start to panic. Rosa told you how fussy she is because of her teeth coming, but you didn’t think it would be this bad. When she’s been crying for an entire hour straight, for a split second, you think about calling Rosa. 

“No, not gonna do that,” you say, while Val is still screaming in your arms. “Valerie, what do you want? Tell me and I’ll give it to you, I promise! Just please stop crying!” you whine desperately, but, no surprise, no answer comes from the screaming babe in your arms, just more tears, puffy eyes and red cheeks from all the crying she’s been doing.

Trying to rock her into calmness you are moving around in the apartment when you hear your phone ringing. You instantly think it’s gonna be Rosa, wanting to check in on you, but how are you gonna answer the call when Valeries is screaming from the top of her lungs? She’ll come to pick her up straight away, no doubt about that.

Rushing into the kitchen you are relieved to see that it’s just Harry calling you.

“It’s not the best of times, Styles,” you sigh as you answer the call and put him on the speaker, leaving the phone on the countertop, so you have both your hands free for Valerie.

“Hey, I was just-- what the fuck is happening?” he asks hearing the deadly cries of Val through the line. “Is that Valerie?”

“It is! I’m looking after her so Rosa and Steven can celebrate their anniversary, but she just wouldn’t stop crying! I don’t know what to do!” 

You’re absolutely desperate. It’s so bad you can feel your throat closing up, nearing the edge of your patience, tears threatening to roll down your cheeks, but you tell yourself only one of you can cry at a time and Val has taken that spot quite some time ago, not even giving you a moment to let loose.

“Text me your address, I’m leaving now,” he orders and you snap your head towards the phone.

“What? No, Harry--”

“Just text me the damn address, Y/N!” he barks and the line cuts off right away. 

Your desperation pairs with shock now, not knowing what to think about this short, but quite eventful conversation you just had with him. It takes you a few moments to collect your thoughts, but you end up sending him your address. 

Nothing changes in the twenty minutes while you are waiting to hear anything from Harry following your text to him. Valerie keeps crying with three seconds of pauses when she takes a few deep breaths only to start screaming once again. Aside from the headache she is causing you, it’s becoming pretty impressive how long she’s been doing it. You probably would have fainted by now, but it seems like Valerie is running on an endless battery.

“You are really making it hard for me to be a cool aunt, Val,” you mumble, the baby still in your arms as the tears keep rolling down her face. Your light grey shirt is now soaking wet, both from her tears and your sweat from the anxiety she is giving you, mixed with some other things you choose to ignore where they came from.

The doorbell makes you jump, but Valerie doesn’t even bat an eye at the sound, she just keeps going.

“You need to teach me how to have this much energy,” you mumble under your breath as you walk over to the door. 

Opening it you find yourself staring up at Harry who is wearing a brown coat, dark jeans and a black hoodie. If you had to guess what he was doing on this weekend evening you would have said he was out with friends somewhere, picking up girls, but he surely doesn’t look like he was anywhere else than his home, the clothes are hanging messily on his frame, like he just threw them on in a rush.

His green eyes look straight at you at first before moving over to the crying child in your arms. You fully expect him to say something along the lines of “this is the kind of effect you have on others” comment, but it seems like he notices the fear and despair in your eyes and he keeps his mouth shut.

“I honestly have no idea what to do,” you choke out and the tears start flowing from your eyes as well, making Harry have to deal with now two crying human beings.

“Oh my, please don’t cry, I can’t take two crying women at once,” Harry begs as he steps inside and shuts the door behind him. Turning to face you he reaches for Valerie, you hand her over to him, hoping she would magically stop the crying, but she clearly couldn’t care less.

“Why, can you take one?” you ask with a bitter chuckle as you wipe your cheeks.

“Not really,” he admits, making you smile. “So what have you tried?” he asks as he starts swaying and rocking Valerie in hopes of getting her to stop, but not even Harry’s charm stands a chance with her right now. Deep down you’re happy you weren’t the reason she got so fussy and upset, would have been pretty awkward if she stopped the moment Harry took her into his arms. 

“Literally everything,” you huff, shoulders falling forward. “I went over the list Rosa gave me, tried everything, but she wouldn’t stop. She’s teething, but this is… It seems like there might be something else maybe?” you tell him worried that something serious might be behind her behavior. You really don’t want to call and bother Rosa, but you are nearing the point where you’ll give up and ask for help.

“Maybe she needs to be changed?” Harry suggests holding her up, giving her butt a sniff, but you roll your eyes at him.

“You don’t think that was one of the first things I did? She is as clean as she could be. Maybe I should just call Rosa,” you sigh in defeat reaching for your phone but Harry snaps at you.

“No! Don’t, we can figure this out. Steven has been so excited to have a night off, we can’t ruin this for them. Come on, we have to have the slightest parenting skills and solve this without them.”

Nodding you agree with him, but you’ve completely run out of ideas.

“So what do you suggest?”

You can see the gears turning in Harry’s head as he is trying to come up with a plan, but it’s not like either of you have any experience with babies. The idea of calling Rosa is starting to burn in the back of your head, fear of failing this challenge taking over your thoughts.

Then Harry looks at you with a look that screams that he has an idea. You’re just about to ask what came into his mind when all of a sudden he starts to sing.

“Well, sometimes I go out by myself and I look across the water, and I think of all the things what you’re doing and in my head I paint a picture…”

You instantly recognize Amy Whinehouse’s iconic song, the one that’s also behind Valerie’s name, you know that for sure. Rosa was obsessed with the song growing up, she would sing it on the way to school, in the shower or while making dinner. You weren’t surprised she chose this name for her first daughter.

What surprises you that Harry sings like a literal angel. He hits the notes perfectly, nailing the lines like not many can and you listen to him with parted lips, eyebrows raised. This was the last thing you expected from him, but then again, it’s not the first time Harry has surprised you through the years of knowing him.

Valerie stops for a moment, her hiccups shaking through her body as her tear-filled eyes look up to Harry, and you both think this is gonna be the moment when she finally calms down, but he doesn’t even reach the chorus before she starts crying again, a defeated sigh erupting from him.

“Maybe she wants it instrumental,” you suggest and Harry gives you one of those ‘are you fucking kidding me?’ looks as you leave to run down the hallway, right into your bedroom.

“How am I supposed to make it instru-- what the hell, Y/N?!” He gives you a weirded out look when you return with a guitar in your hands. “Since when do you play the guitar?” 

“Since like… eighth grade,” you tell him as you sit on the couch and holding the guitar on your lap you try to find the right accords. “I told you, you know nothing about me.”

Harry nods with a surprised but amazed look on his face as your fingers strum against the chords. It takes a few minutes but you figure it out and glancing up you give a questioning look to Harry.

“From the start?” you ask and he nods his head, continuously bouncing up and down to try to calm Val down.

You start playing the song and soon enough Harry joins you with the singing, the two of you perfectly nailing it even without any practice.

“Stop makin’ a fool out of me, why don’t you come on over, Valerie?”

Maybe it’s the guitar, maybe it’s the singing or maybe the fact that the song has her name in it, but by the time you reach the halfway point in the song Valerie’s crying slowly starts to fade. You instantly share a look with Harry, but don’t stop, fearing that she might start again if the music stops. 

Her tear soaked cheeks smooth out as she is not screaming anymore and you can actually see her irises finally, her long lashes are sticking together from the salty tears and you know it’s gonna take some time for her to regain her normal state, but at least the crying has stopped. 

“‘Cause since I’ve come on home, well, my body’s been a mess. And I’ve missed your ginger hair and the way you like to dress…”

You tear your eyes off Valerie for a second, letting yourself wander over Harry’s features as he sings. He slightly furrows his eyebrows focusing on the lines, so his forehead has a few creases on it. His lips form the words so clearly and elegantly, you wonder how often he sings. Is it something he only does when he is on his own or he likes to perform as well? 

The only time when you heard him sing was at the bar when the two of you slayed the karaoke machine with that Avril Lavigne song. You were smashed by then, you remember that he had a nice voice but it was the last thing you paid attention to. Besides, he was kind of equally drunk as you, it was all for just fun, but now is a completely different situation. 

It’s no surprise Valerie finds his voice soothing, you’d probably stop whatever you were doing if you heard him sing. There are people with a good voice and then there are the ones that not just have a good voice but also that small something, that extra magic in them that makes you melt as their voice caress your ears. Harry is definitely the second case, for a moment you forget where you are or why he is there singing. It’s just his voice and the gentle strumming of your fingers on the chords. 

At the end of the song he starts repeating Valerie as the song slowly fades into nothing and you both stare at the little girl in his arms, clearly afraid she might start crying again. Unfortunately, your reservations become valid when you see the corners of her mouth curls down and you and Harry share a shocked look immediately.

“What else can you play?” he urges as Val whimpers in his arms, letting you know she does not appreciate that the singing has stopped. 

“Shit, shit! Um, something from ABBA?” you propose and Harry nods quickly, not even asking which song you know, so you take it as a sign that he probably knows all of them.

The first song that comes to your mind is Andante, Andante and you don’t hesitate to start playing again, just in time. Valerie was just about to start crying again, but as soon as the melody hit her little ears she calmed down and listened to it with tired looking eyes.

“Take it easy with me, please. Touch me gently like a summer evening breeze…” Harry sings the words and you can’t hold a smile back as he, once again, hits the notes just perfectly without missing a beat.

You’re convinced there’s not one person on Earth who has never heard a single Abba song, most of the population knows them by heart, but somehow you couldn’t really imagine Harry to be a person who knows the lyrics to the songs as well. But he does and sings it without messing it up even just once. It’s hard to imagine a younger version of Harry singing ABBA songs when they come on the radio, but the more you think about it the more the picture paints itself in your mind.

Valerie lays her head to Harry’s chest, stuffing her thumb into her mouth as she listens to the performance. She is probably enjoying the vibrance of his voice shaking through his chest and maybe this is what brings her the peace she’s been looking for all this time. Your heart skips a beat at the sight of them.

Harry glances at you, eyes so soft you melt under his gaze. However nerve wrecking it was to have Valerie scream for hours, she is still the cutest little thing ever as she rests her head on his chest, her long blinks giving it away she has definitely lost most of her energy. 

You don’t dare to stop the singing and playing. When you near the end of a song you quickly think of something else and whisper it over to Harry, who then gives his feedback on it with either a nod or a shake of his head. Most of the time he knows the songs you suggest so the show continues without a stop. 

Half an hour passes by when you see her eyes slowly closing. You still don’t stop though, only when Harry tries to listen to her breathing and he realizes that it was completely slowed down. She is out.

“Holy shit,” you breathe out quietly, your fingers feeling numb from the playing. You haven’t had a guitar in your hands for this long in a while, probably for years. Harry shares your relief, his throat has completely dried out and he is happy to finally breathe evenly, not just sneak a few breaths in between lines. 

“And now what?” he mouths as he is still gently swaying around with the sleeping Valerie in his arms. You put the guitar aside and check if she is for real asleep. Her long lashes are spread out on her puffy cheeks, gently snoozing into Harry’s chest as if she weren’t screaming for dear life just an hour ago. 

“Let’s put her down,” you whisper and nod at him to follow you. 

Reaching your bedroom you only switch your bedside lamp on so the light doesn’t wake her up. Pushing the stuffed animals to the side you grab the blankets and let Harry do the critical job. Leaning down he oh so slowly starts to pull her away from his chest, careful not to move too suddenly, it all feels like in those action movies when they are trying to get through the lasers without triggering the alarm. One bad move and the screaming threatens to start again and that’s the last thing you want, after all you’ve done to calm her down. 

You don’t even realize it but as you watch her little head reach the mattress you hold your breath, almost wincing upon seeing Harry’s hands slide out from under her sleeping frame. As if you wait for something to go wrong, both of you freeze for a moment, expecting her to start moving around and wake up, but she stays still. 

Eyes snapping up to Harry, you exchange a look and then you both head to the door, careful not to make any noise that can possibly shake Valerie up from her dreams.

“This was more tiring than running a marathon,” he huffs, throwing himself to the couch and you do the same next to him. 

“Have you ever run a marathon?”

“No,” he confidently answers and you look over at him with a puzzled look. “But I can imagine how tiring it is.”

You let out a chuckle, letting your eyes close for just a little bit. You haven’t even had the chance to realize how much this whole struggle with Val sucked the energy out of you, but now that you’re half lying on the couch it hits you all at once.

“I should get going,” you hear Harry mumble, clearly just as tired as you are, but he doesn’t move. 

“Mhm,” you hum, feeling yourself drift to sleep.

Neither of you moves and it doesn’t take a whole five minutes for the both of you to completely doze off.

The next time you wake up you feel an arm curled around your waist and someone is definitely pressed up against you while your back is against the back of the couch. It takes you a couple of moments and some blinking to realize it’s Harry you are all snuggled up to and the reason why you woke up is because Valerie is crying again. 

“Shit,” you mumble to yourself, mind still groggy from the sleep as you push yourself up on the couch. Just moments later Harry’s eyes flush open and you’re not sure it’s because of the crying or because you moved next to him. His arm slides off you as he looks around a little confused about his surroundings.

You don’t have the chance to think about how the two of you ended up cuddling on the couch, though it lingers in the back of your mind. Basically crawling over Harry you rush into your bedroom where Valerie is lying in her bed crying. It’s a different kind of cry, not like the one you were stuck with for hours before and you know she must be hungry.

“Ah, come on, little girl. It’s alright,” you coo at her scooping her into your arms. She immediately cuddles to your chest hiccupping against it, her little hands fisting your shirt. You leave to go to the kitchen and feed her, but just as you’re about to step out of the room you bump into Harry.

You bounce back from his chest, but his hand immediately reaches for you and grabs your arm, holding you in case you might fall back.

“Sorry,” you breathe out, thoughts still foggy a little. “She’s… hungry,” you explain, but he is standing so close to you, you can feel his body’s warmth and it instantly ignites the memory of being pressed against his side on the couch just moments ago and you can’t stop yourself from inhaling a shaky breath. 

“Let me help,” he croaks out and the two of you walk into the kitchen. Putting on her bib you hand her over to Harry who sits with her on his lap on a stoop as you get the baby food, warm it a little before joining the two of them and you slowly start feeding her.

“What time is it?” you ask realizing you have no idea how long you two have been asleep on the couch.

“It’s three am,” Harry answers before smiling down at Val. “Good job, Val!” he hums watching her take the spoon into her mouth.

You finish up feeding her, then give a try at burping her even though Rosa said it’s not necessary anymore. She just hums to herself so you head back to the bedroom, her eyes already threatening to close. By the time you put her back to the bed she is out again, so no private show is needed this time.

Walking out of the room you see Harry putting on his shoes and coat. For a split second you feel disappointed that he is leaving, but then your rational side puts you to your place. Of course he is leaving! Val is fine now, there’s no other reason for him to stay, right?

“Harry,” you softly say and he looks at you. “Can you please not tell Rosa and Steven that I needed help with Val?” you quietly ask, though there’s no doubt your eyes are practically begging him.

“No way I’ll ever admit to Steven that I sang ABBA to his child, so don’t worry about it,” he chuckles making you smile as well. 

“Thank you. And for helping me as well. I was really close to giving it up,” you admit folding your arms on your chest as Harry stands at the front door, hand on the door knob as he is looking back at you.

“No problem. Now you owe me one,” he smirks and you can’t hold yourself back from rolling your eyes.

“Sure,” you say with an airy chuckle. “Good night, Harry.”

“Good night, Y/N,” he smiles at you sweetly before opening the door and walking out. 

You take his place at the door and watch him walk down the eerily quiet hallway. He turns back to you one last time waving in your way and you nod back smiling before he disappears around the corner.

Closing the door you lean your back against it, taking a deep breath. Your eyes wander over to the couch where you and Harry were sleeping not so long ago. The feeling of his arm around you is still burned into your mind and you breathe in shakily as a memory snaps into your head of the exact same thing, only years earlier.

You lied almost exactly like that in his hotel room that night. His strong arms wrapped around you as you had your head laid on his chest, listening to his heartbeat that was slightly faster than the normal. Though you were still quite drunk, this feeling imprinted into your memories, because you felt so safe with him. Like nothing could ever hurt you if he was there with you.

Unfortunately, that feeling faded into nothing when you woke up in the morning quite fast. But this time, instead of disappointment and disgust, the only thing you still feel is the emptiness at the lack of his touch. 

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Roommates Part 3: KO

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Word count: 2k

Warnings: drunk reader, Santiago is a bad influence, drink responsibly kids! That’s all I think?

A/N: I know it’s been a long wait but the next part is finally here! Thank you for your patience and I hope you enjoy it!

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Frankie had been gone for a while. He had excused himself to go to the bathroom almost twenty minutes ago and Benny was bound to go on soon. You didn’t want him to miss the fight and get in trouble is what you’d excused the nag in your gut urging you to seek him out as when you were about to go looking for him. You knew he would get an earful if he missed even a second because you were the one in the hot seat last time when you missed a whole fight after being called into work last minute. 

Pope seemed to find you first, shoving a drink in your hand as you peered over his shoulder, expecting Frankie to be close in tow. “You don’t have to sound quite so disappointed you got me instead.” Santiago teased you when you not so subtly asked where he was.

“You know that’s not what I meant.” You assured him with a roll of your eyes, giving him a nudge to the shoulder and a thank you for the drink. But if you were being honest, you’d been with Pope all day and had hardly seen Frankie all week. You were beginning to wonder if something was wrong. “He’s right over there. Ran into an old high school classmate and they’re catching up by the bar.” Santiago said with a directed nod of his head and you followed his line of sight over to where you could see the familiar silhouette, corduroy jacket and baseball cap and all, stooped a little with his arms folded over his chest and talking to some woman you’d never seen before. 

You weren’t sure what the feeling that twisted in your stomach was or why it decided to rear its head right now but you found yourself feeling slightly defensive when you turned back to Santiago with eyebrows raised. For some reason, you hadn’t been expecting a she and you couldn’t tell why that threw you off so much. Frankie could talk to whoever he pleased, it was none of your business but you still found yourself downing just about half your drink in one go to try and drown whatever feeling it was that had begun growing in your belly.

“That was fast.” Santiago remarked, giving you a skeptical look as he glanced between you and the almost empty cup in your hand, “You alright?” He asked.

“Yeah, fine! It’s just been a while since I let loose. Thought I might let myself have some fun tonight.” You shrugged.

He glanced back up in Frankie’s direction and eyed you for a second, taking a moment to consider it, “Can’t argue with that,” he nodded before downing his own drink as though it were a challenge. 

You had lost track of how many beers you and Santiago had snuck behind Will’s back who was too busy to play baby sitter tonight as he usually did. Drinking with him had certainly done its job to distract you. You had almost forgotten all about the fact that your best friend had decided to spend the evening talking to some stranger instead of you. God what had gotten into you? You were not the jealous type and you didn’t like how it felt-

Thud.

You didn’t have time to consider that thought any further before you had run straight into the man of the hour himself on your way back from the bar.

“Shit, sorry- Oh hey!” You exclaimed, having miraculously avoiding throwing your drinks all over both of you with those dumb plastic cups they gave you here.

“Woah, you alright there?” Frankie asks, throwing an arm out to stabilize you. “I swear, I left you alone for ten min- okay an hour and a half and- how many of those have you had?” He asks, noticing the slight wobble to your balance and slur to your speech as you introduced yourself and shook the hand of the woman he had been talking to.

“Uhhh good question,” you ponder for a moment before shrugging “Santi and I found out that if you’re a girl alone at an MMA fight you can get a lot of free drinks so we’ve made it our mission to find out exactly how many.” You explain, shooting a wink and a slight salute over to Pope who was still standing, waiting by your seats.

“And have you gotten an answer yet?” Frankie asks, slightly amused but also positive that he would be making sure this was your last drink of the night when you stumbled slightly over nothing and he had to wrap an arm around you for support.

“It appears there is no limit.” You say proudly, missing the fond look in his eye when he shakes his head with a soft and slightly disbelieving smile.

“Cheryl, this is my uh, roommate.” Frankie says gesturing towards you.

“What, are you embarrassed of me or something’? I’d say we’re a little bit more than that.” You interject. You had meant friends but from the look on her face she appeared to have taken it another way and for some reason or another you felt no need to correct her.

“Oh well uh, it’s nice to meet you.” She says politely although clearly thrown slightly by your quite obvious inebriation. 

“Nice to meet you too, Carol!” You declare happily and you mean it, it’s interesting to see the kinds of people Frankie went to high school with but you really weren’t in much state to be particularly conversational at the moment.

“From Red Feather Lakes, Colorado, standing six foot three, weighing in at a hundred and ninety five pounds, I bring you… Ben Miller!” The announcer blares over the booming speakers, pulling you from your conversation. You and Frankie are quick to give Benny your support, you perhaps a little more enthusiastically in your less inhibited state as he and Will walked into the arena and the crowd roared to life.

“Well we should get back. I’ll never hear the end of it if I miss any of this and I’ve gotta make sure these two don’t get into any more trouble,” Frankie explains, “But it was nice catching up with you.” He says and Carol- Cheryl? One of those- nods.

“Yeah, I hope to see you around again sometime.” She says. She’s hardly turned to walk away before you’re wiggling your eyebrows suggestively at Frankie on your way over to Pope and Will.

“You realize she was hitting on you, right?” You asked when Frankie turned back to you, a teasing smile on your lips despite the rising feeling of inadequacy you felt from having stood within a two-meter radius of the gorgeous woman. 

“What? No! She was just-” Frankie cuts himself off after considering it for a moment. “...huh.” He says, eyebrows rising in slight surprise when he looks over his shoulder at the woman who he had already lost in the throngs of people. “I’m sure she was just being polite.”

“You’re too hard on yourself! She was checking you out!” You exclaim defensively, more for his own self esteem than anything else.

“...Me?” He gives you a skeptical look. 

“Yeah, why not you? You’ve got this sort of je ne ce quoi about you. The ladies dig it.” You say with a goofy grin and Frankie can’t help but burst out laughing. 

“That so? What about you?” He asks. For a millisecond your heart stops in your chest. Could he read your mind? Did he know about the thoughts that had just slipped to the forefront? The jealousy? The little bit of longing? It was the alcohol talking you were sure. You would never want to jeopardize your friendship by allowing yourself to picture him as anything more than that but for a flash of a second it hadn’t seemed like such a bad idea.

“Oh, I dig it too.” You say, nudging him in the gut teasingly. What you didn’t see was the way Frankie’s breath had hitched at the slightest inkling of you expressing interest in him, even if he knew you were just joking around. “I bet if you asked you could get her number.” You say and he’s snapped quite violently out of his trance. 

He didn’t want her number. He wanted you.

“Nah, she’s not really my type.” Is the response he settles for, his attention resettling on the fight in an attempt to drown out the feeling of disappointment he wasn’t sure he knew how to hide. He knew it wasn’t fair on you but the slightest hint of jealousy might have been nice to hear and instead you were giving him a rousing endorsement to go after someone he didn’t even like all that much.

“Are you kidding? Pardon the pun, but she was a knockout!” You exclaim just in time to watch Benny take a rather jarring blow to the jaw.

“Meh,” Frankie shrugs and you can’t help the yelp of surprise that escapes you.

“If she’s ‘meh’ then what am I?” You exclaim and Frankie’s jaw just about hits the ground at the fact that you could even think to ask him such a question. You were just about perfect to him in every way imaginable.

He doesn’t get the chance to tell you when the crowd roars to life as Benny finds himself making a comeback and you’re practically jumping out of your seat to bolster your support for your friend.

“You should go get her number.” You suggest when you sit back down, a little confused as to why. Perhaps you were overcompensating for your wave of jealousy earlier but there was still something in you screaming for you to stop acting like you were so okay with it. Because if the way you had reacted earlier and your current state of inebriation was any inclination, you clearly weren’t, but your mind was in no place to put those pieces together at the moment.

“Why is everyone trying to set me up all of a sudden?” Frankie scoffs playfully trying to shrug off your suggestion. “First Pope, now you,” He stops himself hoping you haven’t realized he’s probably said too much.

“Who was Santiago trying to set you up with?” You ask. Just the question he didn’t want to answer, especially not right now, not like this. He’s quite literally saved by the bell announcing the end of the match and when you look up Benny’s opponent is unconscious in front of him. A KO and you’d both missed it. You wouldn’t be getting out of that one too easily. You’re whisked away in post win festivities before you can even think to get an answer from Frankie.

He thinks you’ve forgotten about the conversation completely until he’s gotten you and Pope both wrangled into the car on your way back to the apartment and you pipe up from where he thought you had passed out the moment he had you strapped in. 

“So what’s Francisco Morales’ type?” you ask groggily, clearly not ready to give him a break yet and he laughs as he peers into the rearview to make sure Pope is still asleep before he even considers giving you an answer. 

“What makes you think I have a type?” He counters fruitlessly in hopes that he can at least attempt finding a suitable answer.

“Well you said Carol-”

“Cheryl-”

“-wasn’t your type so I’m assuming that means you have a type.” You prod him, your eyes still shut as you leaned back in the passenger seat.

“Well… I’d say my type would be someone who is smart, funny, supportive, all those wonderful things,” He explains, feeling a little more at ease when he looks over to see your breaths have shallowed slightly and your head has lulled against the window. “Has a good sense of humour, makes me smile, is fiercely loyal to her friends,” he goes on, “can be a complete dork if she wants to be, has no idea how beautiful she is,” he adds “and has me completely and utterly wrapped around her finger.” He mutters to himself when he looks back up at the road with a sigh.

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