#guy number 3 looks like he wants to read me poetry

[discodeviant]

Only You; Only Me

Billy/Eddie | Mature | 1.5k words California AU

Got Mungrove on my mind... It's wild to me how many times an idea can change in my head before it's done; this sort of reflects my mood for the last few days. That is to say, softer than intended but feelgood nonetheless. Anyway, Billy's whipped and folds like a lawn chair. Enjoy! <3

Made for @billyhargrovebingo!

They'd slept together a more than few times before, each a one-night stand that contradicted itself with the next. The first was a one-night stand, but the second promised another, and the third promised another after that, and soon it became a weekly practice. Important business, as Billy put it whenever Max asked why he went out so late on Monday nights, but she wasn't a kid anymore; she knew better than that. So she was left alone in their San Jose apartment, probably to leave and visit her friends in their college dorms anyway, and Billy was ready to sacrifice another night's sleep for his business partner.

He never asked for Eddie's last name or phone number, and Eddie never asked for his. They met at the same café bar on Pine and Fifth, drinks on whoever showed up first, and that night it was Eddie--but he didn't have any drinks. Nor was he inside at the bar. He was waiting by the front window with a cigarette in one hand while the other tucked under his arm, dirty white leather glowing yellow in the light. Billy snuffed out his own and jaywalked over to him, hands in his pockets and eyebrows knit closely together.

"Hey," he said, fiddling with a cluster of spare change. "Why aren't you inside? Something happen?"

"Why the hell do you care." Billy reeled back, the question like a punch to the throat and gut with both fists. "Still wanna go?"

"Do you?" Eddie sighed, spit behind him, and turned back around, head cocked like he was expecting something from Billy that didn't come. "I'll leave if you don't."

"I don't know. Seems like you had fun without me last night."

And the fists dug deep to wring Billy's guts and esophagus dry. "What?"

"If you're bored of this, speak now. I won't mind." He almost sounded bored himself, but that wasn't it.

Billy held up his hands, still in his pockets, and the corners of his jacket flipped up like wings as he spoke. "I'm here, aren't I? Of course I'm not bored. Christ." Back down they went; he wasn't going to fly away. "How the hell do you know I was out last night anyway, huh? You stalking me?" he asked with a smirk--low, sensual, a step closer to Eddie before he puffed a thick cloud of smoke between them. Billy breathed it right in.

"Buddy wanted me to go for drinks after his slam poetry reading." Eddie laughed a sad little huff. "I'd have said hi, but you were taken for the night, so I didn't bother."

"But you still came."

"Yeah, to see if you still wanted to do this. Not like I can call you." At that, Billy plucked the cigarette from Eddie's fingers and took a drag for himself. "Come on, that was my last one!"

He tossed it into oncoming traffic. "Let's go inside." Eddie glared and rolled his eyes, then led Billy into the café and bought their drinks as per the deal. Iced tea for Billy, a hot Americano for Eddie, and they were a little behind schedule, but it was okay. The music was nice, and the chairs were comfortable, and they watched their reflections in the window more than passers by on the other side.

"If it's any consolation," Billy said after a few too many silent minutes, "I didn't fuck the guy." He flattened his hands on polished wood. "I brought him into the alley and let him give me a blowie." Eddie remained silent, sliding his finger around the cup's ceramic rim, leg bouncing furiously beneath him. "Not that it's your business."

"I know it's not, asshole. Just--"

"I'll be honest, he looked more like you from far away than he did up close. Pretty disappointing." And Eddie's hand stopped, but his leg kept bouncing independently of his consciousness. Billy leaned in closer and told him softly, "Shit, if I'd known you were there, I'd have taken you home."

"You couldn't wait another day?"

Billy said, whispering, "I was really riled up, man," then sat back straight, drank his tea, and watched Eddie squirm from the shadow of his periphery. They didn't talk any more until both of their drinks were down to the grains, and Eddie returned his mug while Billy tossed his cup away. "Why don't we go home, and I'll make it up to you, hm?" Billy asked once they were outside again.

Eddie nodded.

So they walked to Eddie's place, a studio just a few blocks south with dangerously thin walls and creaky floors. But it was cozy with all of his rock-scene memorabilia, stuff that Billy had in high school that was broken by foul hands once he and Max moved out. It wouldn't have been the same to replace it; Eddie's apartment was nostalgic in that way, and Billy sank into the bed with ease once he got his boots and coat off.

Eddie followed him, still displeased, crawling onto the bed to meet Billy face-to-face. He put a hand up to Eddie's cheek and smiled fondly, rubbed a thumb over his mouth. "He wasn't good," Billy said. Eddie licked at his fingerprint.

"No?" Billy pushed further in. "His lips probably weren't as soft as mine, were they?"

"Not even close."

Big brown eyes looked up through long eyelashes: "Didn't know how to use his tongue either?" Eddie asked, pulsing a slow heartbeat into the roof of his mouth, Billy's thumb settling right in between. Billy shook his head as his thumb was pushed to the side of Eddie's cheek so he could talk more easily. The other fingers pressed into his jaw, scratched at the sideburn and two days worth of facial hair he had growing in.

"I don't think he ever had."

Eddie pushed Billy's thumb out but let his whole hand rest over his cheek, not caring about the wet spot afterwards. Billy ran it through his hair as he sank down a little lower, dejected if anything, but the head scratching seemed to help.

"Eddie."

"Hm?" His eyes were closed.

"You gotta tell me if you just want this to be an us thing. I can't read your mind."

"I thought kissing meant it was..."

Billy couldn't stand to see his moping face anymore, so he turned himself over and lay on top of Eddie, eyes deeply focused on the outline of his lips and every detail within them. "You're the only person I've kissed in years," he confessed. "You're the only one I want to kiss." And he tried to lean down further for another, but Eddie turned the tables and rolled on top of him, a challenging glare underneath the shadow of his hair.

"If you're serious," he said, pressing his knee harder into Billy's thigh, "I don't want anyone else sucking your dick either."

"No skin off my back."

"No flirting with guys at the bar."

"I won't even look at them."

Eddie softened just a bit, then let their lips meet in the empty space between them, rough enough so it was clear that he meant what he said. When he tried to pull away, his bottom lip was caught between foxy teeth, a grin when Billy finally let him go and rolled his hips against Eddie's. "And--"

Eddie shifted his jaw to the side in thought.

"And what?"

"... And I want your number. Before you go."

Billy smiled. "Only if you promise to take me out to dinner."

Eddie laughed--"You fucking brat,"--and kissed him again, hands on shirt buttons that were only fastened because of the cold October air. Billy shuddered when Eddie's rings touched his skin, freezing metal on the surface heated by a racing heart. Fingers prodded until he bruised, clothes were tossed aside, teeth bit into nipples, and tongues slid down softly sculpted muscle.

"Say it," Eddie demanded against Billy's ear, sending goosebumps so dense that Eddie felt them under his fingertips. "Come on, baby."

"Only you suck me off." His eyes were closed as Eddie stroked him with one hand. "Only you fuck me." A lone finger trailing further down to tease and promise in one fell swoop.

"And..."

In a tiny, near-silent whisper, Billy said, "Only you kiss me."

"Good boy," Eddie said, rewarding him with another bruise high enough on his neck that he'd have to cover it up in the morning. Billy searched for Eddie's lips with his own and groaned when he found them, yearning for something he hadn't ever admitted to wanting before, and maybe this was it.

"Please fuck me," he asked, begging, and Eddie laughed.

"Am I still big enough for you?"

"Yes," Billy answered. "Christ, what kinda fucking question is that--mm..."

And another kiss shut him right up as Eddie took the plunge for both of them. Something more than a twenty- or thirty-night stand because they'd long lost count, and even Billy recognized the distinct rhythm of his heart when Eddie came to mind and was around him, with him, inside of him.

Billy didn't get home until sunrise; the promise of a phone call kept him wide awake.

[onewingedsparrow]

For the WIP thing:

The Sound of My Spark (because it sounds like it might go with a personal headcanon/story idea of mine)

Shadowzoned (no explanation needed 😉)

Cortado (because it happens to be the title of a song I really like)

Operation Bumblebee Sketch (because it’s ‘Bee, and I’m hoping to get a glimpse. Lol)

I decided to ask about a few since there were so many that sounded interesting to me. 😄

Hi Nova! <3 Thanks for the ask! All righty, lol I love all this curiosity! Also, coincidentally (or not?) half of these happen to be about TFP Soundwave, so your instincts are spot on ;) This post got kinda long, but I know you won't mind. From the top:

"The Sound of My Spark" is an interesting case. It originally started out as a pre-canon one-shot exploring how TFP Soundwave met his Minicons. (Likely canon-divergent, since I still haven't read the Aligned novels. At the time I started writing (over a year ago), I didn't know Soundwave's canonical origin story, and just wanted to explore him being a gladiator in the Pits, alongside Megatron.)

I chose the title because I wanted to find a connection between TFP Soundwave and music (or soundwaves, if you will) that was different from his iterations in, say, Cyberverse or G1, where he literally had a music player built into him. Inspired by Optimus and 'Bee's connection in "The Song Forever Calling," I began to ponder a different scenario: What if individual sparks carried a song of their own? What if each bot's sparkbeat carried a unique musical voice, and Combiners (or Minicons + Soundwave) literally had to stay on beat with each other in order to move together? That's when the fic took off, gaining a very interesting aspect. I chose time signatures for writing Soundwave's POV, based on his emotions during each scene, and matched each word to that beat. It became poetry, in a way <3 It's quite fun to reread, lol. And at THAT point, after writing a certain number of interactions between Soundwave and Laserbeak, Ravage, Frenzy, Rumble, Megatron and more...I realized that the story I really wanted to write about Soundwave wasn't a fic at all. 💜 So, while this WIP has been technically abandoned, I would not call it irrelevant. It has become something greater. I do not know if the musical aspect will remain a key plot point in the newly transformed story, but it certainly runs in the background of the worldbuilding. Now I'm curious about your headcanon / story idea as well! Shadowzoned, my beloved. "Shadowzoned" was the first of my two major RiD-canon-divergent fics. I'm very displeased with how S3 treated Soundwave (I actually refuse to believe that's the same bot as TFP Soundwave. That's gotta be a dude from an AU), but if you discount all of S3 for Soundwave, that means S2's "Portals" was the last thing he got in-universe, and he was kicked right back into the Shadowzone. Poor guy. BUT Soundwave is incredibly intelligent; and even in a ghost dimension, even with his vow of silence intact, even after he DID successfully escape and was thrown back in...he has a plan. An ally. An ally who doesn't even know he's helping Soundwave, because Decepticons have to be crafty when seeking aid from humans. Especially when that human is one Soundwave has a history with. Rafael Esquivel. "Cortado" is a modern coffeeshop AU for the half-elf twins, Vex and Vax. :) The idea is somewhat silly, but it's a coffee AU, so it can get away with it. 😆 Basically, the twins don't know that they're twins, until Vax randomly visits a local café and nearly has a heart attack when he realizes the barista handing him his drink looks identical to him. Meanwhile, Vex is equally shocked, and immediately begins scheming how to figure out what's up with her mysterious doppelganger. In a chaotic, roundabout way, they eventually learn the truth. I haven't written this one in a while, but it's a nice, lighthearted piece to come back to when I need a break from heavier works. The "Operation Bumblebee sketch" is actually one I showed you before! It was my first actual success at capturing TFP Optimus, lol. It's called that because I was redrawing a screenshot from the episode Operation: Bumblebee. I'm glad you brought it up, this is a reminder for myself to finish it and post it soon. Seriously, it could have been done a year or so ago, but I got lost in perfectionism when it came to capturing all the details of the TFP designs 😅 Since that time, I've learned to embrace "finished; not perfect!" far more in my art endeavors, especially when it comes to TFP designs.

Tell you what, I'll tag you when I post it! In the meantime, here's a glimpse for you :D

[rosalindthe2nd]

Number four in the Round Table League Table! Time flies when you’re having melodramatic Victorian poetry based fun.

I read Simon Armitage’s version of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight about ten years ago so I was very much not prepared for what I got in Tennyson. Is this supposed to be the same guy?!?! Tennyson depicts him as very obviously a flighty piece, as my mum would say.

But there’s something really fun and honest about him, and I just found him oddly appealing. We haven’t got to season 3 of BBC Merlin yet but from the memes I’ve seen, they have taken a very similar approach so I’m looking forward to that!

Anyway, congrats Sir Gawain, you’re at number 4.

- Encouraging and nice to Gareth when he jousts with him, saying “Thou hast half prevailed against me” in Gareth and Lynette when Gareth is young.

- Practical. “For if you love, it will be sweet to give it. And if he love, it will be sweet to have it From your own hand; and whether he love or not, A diamond is a diamond”. Really refreshing to hear someone say something so sensible sometimes. Also quite funny which is not on the whole the strong point of the idylls as far as I can see.

- “Not often loyal to his word” apparently but it feels like he wears his faults much more on his sleeve than some others we could mention

- personally I find it understandable that he in annoyed that “the King’s command to sally forth In quest of whom he knew not” made him “leave The banquet”. Relatable to be sad about all that food.

- Very careless with a diamond and a quest and forgetful that “obedience is the courtesy due to kings”. But again in an understandable way!

- Sensibly got “awearied of the Quest” very quickly and spent the time in a silk pavilion in a field with merry maidens in it.

- “A reckless and irreverent knight was he” according to Sir Percivale in the Holy Grail. But who wants to be liked by Percivale the lady- abandoner and possible necrophile?

- Tried to help Sir Pelleas when he’s stupidly not resisting Ettarre’s knights’ attack, not realising he’s a fellow KOTRT, and then treats him “kindly tho’ in scorn” (the appropriate response!) Obviously less good that he ends up hooking up with horrible Ettarre, I can’t really do much with that.

- Gets to be a ghost who goes about wailing “Hollow, hollow all delight” which is objectively cool.

[burningdarkfire]

books i read in dec 2023

[these are all short + casual reviews - feel free to ask about individual ones if u want my full thoughts or ask for my goodreads!!] 

fighting for my life this december but you know what? i ended with a great and relaxing holiday season 🎄 hope everyone also got some good reading done to close out the year!

captive prince (reread) + pet - c.s. pacat ★★★★☆ (romantasy)

i first read this series 6 years ago and can i just say that i definitely get it now. way more than i did 6 years ago. it's a fucking masterclass in the erotic. a good, slow burn romance where the tension is off the charts and the whole situation is a delicious amount of fucked up

the beak of the finch - jonathan weiner ★★★★☆ (science nonfiction)

there were some obvious gaps, and it drags in the middle chapters, but it's also beautifully written with some lovely turns of phrase

[reread] a dangerous path - erin hunter ★★★★☆ (animal fantasy)

can't believe it's 2023 and i'm still having profound feelings about fireheart and bluestar. one of my faves from the original series

overcoming unwanted intrusive thoughts - sally m. winston ★★★★☆ (psychology nonfiction)

i don't think i actually get intrusive thoughts but this was a useful read to better understand what some people close to me might have going on in their heads <3

the mystery guest - nita prose ★★★★☆ (mystery)

surprisingly really enjoyed this, the main character actually reads like a protagonist instead of a forced gimmick. the mystery itself was pretty subpar but i found the dual timeline pretty compelling

recitatif - toni morrison ★★★★☆ (historical short story)

it's more famously an exercise than it is an actual story, but the story itself is at least functionally interesting

the lottery & other stories - shirley jackson ★★★★☆ (horror short story collection)

impressively thematically coherent for a short story collection, though i think shirley jackson is one of those authors where she and i are simply concerned about different things in life

legendborn - tracy deonn ★★★☆☆ (YA contemporary fantasy)

diverse protag gives a genuinely interesting spin to an otherwise pretty standard YA that's mostly played straight

natural beauty - ling ling huang ★★★☆☆ (horror)

great concept but just didn't quite get there. definitely an interesting debut and i'll be looking for more books from this author

[reread] honeybee - trista mateer ★★★☆☆ (poetry)

reread this to see if i wanted to give it as an xmas gift (the answer was no) it is exactly the kind of middling breakup poetry i was remembering but also more gay

hallowe'en party - agatha christie ★★★☆☆ (mystery)

the actual mystery was quite good but unfortunately agatha christie obviously had uhhh some things on her mind when she wrote this one and it kept getting interrupted by what felt like essentially an unrelated political tirade

the winners - fredrik backman ★★☆☆☆ (contemporary)

the idea behind this was pretty good but unfortunately i am not convinced it needed to exist and especially not for almost 700 pages. the first book is great on its own!

our numbered days - neil hilborn ★★☆☆☆ (poetry)

some spoken word poetry simply is not meant for the page. look this guy up on youtube if you want to see his artistry. but also i think the way he wrote about his exes kind of gave me the ick

[mysteriawrites]

hi, can I please get a romantic marvel match up? im 18, and im an intp, 5w4, slytherin, true neutral, and a capricorn. I'm cisgender and my pronouns are she/her, and I'm bisexual with a heavier preference for guys. I'm 5 foot 3, fair skinned, and midsized/curvy. I also have brown curly hair just below my shoulders and light brown eyes. I'm usually wearing cuffed jeans, a shirt with some show or movie reference on it, and converse. My hobbies are writing (novels and poetry), reading (books and comics), baking, watching shows and movies, drawing/painting (even though I suck at it and it makes me upset half the time) and playing piano. I love mythology and ancient history, and I'm very interested in anthropology. I would love to work in a museum and become an author one day. I struggle with social anxiety and depression, but once I open up I ramble a lot to people I trust and I use humor a lot to cope. I'm a very loyal friend who loves to help solve problems. thanks so much if you get to mine!

Hello, thank you for the request! Sorry this took a bit longer part of it is cause I was busy the other part was that idk marvel is a bit harder for me to write for idk why but i digress…DRUMROLL PLEASE

🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁🥁

PETER PARKER!!!

Imm just say it, you two are huge nerds. And nerds are highly attracted to each other. I would know. Anyway,

You two met on a field trip, but not in the way you'd expect. You see you two actually went to different schools, however you and MJ were childhood friends and she had gotten you an internship at your local museum which they so happened to be visiting.

The students were released in groups to go explore the museum as they wished (within reason of course we don't need to be creating any more spider people in this universe). MJ, Ned, Betty, and most importantly Peter were in a group together (because of random chance aka my magical powers as the author).

MJ being MJ went off first to see what she was interested in, and to escape Ned and Betty being lovey dovey and cringe (by the power invested in me as the writer I pronounce Ned and Betty still a couple). Peter feeling awkward as the 3rd/4th wheel decided to go with her.

After a while he lost track of where she went. So, he decided to look for her in the Greek mythology section, where you just so happened to be working on your shift today.

During your time here MJ was hoping to push you towards working on your social anxiety so you could achieve your dreams. Only thing is that you usually avoid most of the patrons unless your manager asks for something specific, which they usually don't because they're quite the control freak and do everything themselves.

Anyway, when you heard there would be visitors from one of the nearby genius schools you decided to hide out in the mythology exhibits. Unluckily for you however Peter, one of the many students you were trying to avoid, had spotted you.

Peter being the actual puppy that he is decided to ask you if you had seen his friend, when he noticed your Star Wars t-shirt. Immediately he was asking you all kinds of questions about what your favorite movie in the franchise was, who your favorite character was, if you liked any of the other movies he had mentioned.

If you were being honest, it was a little overwhelming. This random boy just ran up to you and started asking you questions before you could respond, but if you were being honest it was refreshing to have someone to share interests with you. Your coworkers didn't know what you were talking about, and even though MJ was willing to listen to your ramblings she didn't really find interest in it just happy that it made you happy.

After his rambling Peter finally introduces himself. Deciding to take a leap of faith you decide to continue talking to him, and you get along swimmingly. After you two exchange numbers MJ finally shows up (she actually found you guys 5 minutes ago but didn't want to interrupt you guys) to tell peter it was time to go.

If you thought that was the last, you would see of Peter then you were dead wrong. Ever since that day Peter had been texting you every day to get to know you better. You guys would nerd out over franchises, debate about science and history, and would show off your latest works to each other (him his science experiments and you your art/writing).

After a year, Peter decided he was finally going to tell you his secret, well secrets. 1. being the fact that he was spiderman, and 2. the fact that he had a massive crush on you. So, after building up his courage he finally asked you out, and he the perfect idea for the date.

On the day in question, you got a text from him saying to come to the roof of your building. When you reached it, you saw a mop of brown hair in a red and blue suit smiling sheepishly at you. After he dropped the bomb and gave you time to process it you two headed on your date: a tour of New York from the roof tops.

He swung you all around New York from Queens, to Brooklyn, to Midtown, to Staten Island. You soared all across the city safe in the strong grip of Peter's arms and admired the view. The final stop was atop the head of the Statue of Liberty where lay a candle lit dinner for two, and the rest is history.

A word to sum up the life after would be absolutely adorkable. You two are a nerdy hopelessly romantic couple and the best of friends. Always laughing together and sharing support for each other's dreams and passions. Even as Peter's spiderman life gets hectic and his Parker luck rears his ugly head, he'll always be there for you and protect you, and you him.

Wow this turned more into a fic then a matchup, but I hope you like it.

Runners Up: Kamala Khan, Kate Bishop, Steven Grant, Scott Lang, Bruce Banner

[up-in-flames-writing]

I posted 1,073 times in 2022

That's 738 more posts than 2021!

37 posts created (3%)

1,036 posts reblogged (97%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@writting-in-blood

@bookerbluedragon

@treasures-and-beauty

@peashooter85

@insomniac-dot-ink

I tagged 1,072 of my posts in 2022

#reblog - 1,023 posts

#weapons - 324 posts

#swords - 209 posts

#about writing - 121 posts

#daggers - 106 posts

#writing advice - 82 posts

#writing memes - 80 posts

#writing inspiration - 78 posts

#writing meme - 63 posts

#poetry - 58 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#completely ignoring the fact hes a mentally disabled man whos struggling to make ends meet & atruggling to live with himself & all hes done

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Pride commissions

Happy Pride month, folks!

In lieu of the gayest month of the year, I'm opening up Pride commissions, cause I'm a broke queer who needs to pay for his pet rabbit! Yeah, ya heard me right! I'm opening up event commissions before my actual commissions! Isn't that great?

So, this is how this'll look:

If anyone wants a short story or fanfic with a theme of queerness (anything gay, bi, ace, trans, even polyam, literally anything queer) hit me up. All of them are a flat rate of £5 (not DOLLARS, pounds, do the math, don't skimp out) & all of them will be between 1k & 2k words.

If you want a short story, this is how it will work: Send me a private message through tumblr, with a screenshot proving you've tipped me 5 bucks through tumblr (I am not comfortable sharing my paypal account at this moment in time), as well as a synopsis of what you want me to write about. You can ask me for a number of fandoms, & I will let you know if it's something I can write for. And if you want a story featuring your characters, please link me to a few posts talking about said characters so that I can get a feel for their voice & how they act. You can also commission me for multiple stories, although be realistic please, I still have my own life to lead.

Here's also the link to my AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UpInFlamesWriting

At the end of June, I will post all of the fanfic commissions at once. If you asked for an original piece, I will send that to you when it's done.

And if anyone wants to request a poetry commission (Pride-themed or otherwise), my rate is £1 per line, with a minimum of 5 lines & a maximum of 20. I will let you know how long the poem is for you to tip me, & then I will send it over.

I also do flower poetry:

This is a piece I made for a friend. For poetry of this style, I will be taking a flat rate of £15, & you can choose the type of flower you want the poem to be about, & I will expect pre-payment as with the fics. If you want a different font, do let me know & I will adjust it accordingly, but for more complex fonts I will be taking an additional £10 for a £25 total. (For transparency's sake, the flower drawing is a tracing of a picture, I didn't draw it. I traced over a digital real life picture of a flower, but I do know how to draw flowers in real life)

With that said, happy Pride everyone! Stay safe, keep fighting for your rights, & never stop being proud of who you are.

22 notes - Posted June 2, 2022

#4

Slava Ukraini

I am Booker Feniks. I am a Polish writer & poet. I stand with Ukraine, & send my best wishes to everyone fighting the good fight. May the old gods watch over you all.

29 notes - Posted March 1, 2022

#3

Yo! I have a Ko-fi now! If you peeps like the work I do, please consider tipping me a coffee! Can’t say I’ll drink it, I’m more of a tea guy, but I’ll still really appreciate it!

https://ko-fi.com/upinflameswriting

40 notes - Posted January 26, 2022

#2

Trans day of Visibility 2021-2022

Happy Trans Day of Visibility! I am a trans writer, & I am making myself visible with these two poems for this special day!

48 notes - Posted March 31, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

To preface this: I am yet to watch Our Flag Means Death, but I have read the original Good Omens novel.

And, quite frankly: I am pissed at people who are comparing the two (for good reason) & then saying that OFMD is better than Good Omens because it isn't 'queerbaiting'. That because it has explicit gay rep, it is somehow better (but, quite frankly, I've only seen that being said on twitter, luckily.)

&, sure, you can be happy about explicit gay rep & funny pirates, I'm happy about it too! But to tear down Good Omens just to uplift OFMD is a horrid, acephobic thing to do.

Yes, you've heard that right, calling Good Omens queerbaiting is ace & arophobic. Because Good Omens isn't a tale of two gay men in gay love. It is a tale of two genderless & sexless beings being in love. It is a tale that is FULL of love, without the sex or the kissing. It is a tale that I, & many others who are ace &/or aro can recognise! It is love without the romance, love without the sex, but still so explicitly LOVE, even without the markers of what the heteronormative society deems as love.

All you allos are entitled pissy brats if you think Good Omens is queerbaiting. You are so stuck up each other's asses that you can't fathom a love story not have sex or even fucking kissing! Isn't this what we used to fucking fight for? To desexualise gay sex so that stuck up, self-righteous Christian bigots stopped seeing our love as something inherently sexual? & now you dare turn around & dishonour a queer love story because it is not 'explicit' enough for you. You are all pathetic, hypocritical assholes, & I am not afraid to say it. The community doesn't stop at gays & lesbians, & the A is there for a damn good reason. Do better, or shut the fuck up.

109 notes - Posted April 5, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[blizzardsuplex]

CW: mention of substance abuse, discussion of death

My fiction brain isn't doing so hot right now, so I wrote a casual (and untitled) essay instead about jazz, poetry, and professional wrestling (LOL). Thank you @mobiblackout for the conversation this afternoon that inspired me to try and write this down in the first place. <3

When it comes to jazz, I'm mainly a clarinet enjoyer (Buddy DeFranco my beloved). Today, though—totally on a whim—I put on some Bill Evans.

In truth, I don't know much about the guy, save for three things: the first is that he's an incredibly influential jazz pianist. The second is that, for most of his life, he abused heroin. The third…

If you look on his Wikipedia page, there's a section in the biography labeled “After LaFaro’s death”. The very sparse first paragraph reads:

Scott LaFaro being the bassist (double bass, not bass guitar) of the original lineup of the Bill Evans Trio, alongside Evans and the drummer Paul Motian. Going to his Wikipedia page, you get (besides a note that his brief career and life still left him one of the most important jazz bassists ever) a little more about his death and its aftermath:

That second to the last sentence in particular intrigued me—not the least because it had no citation. That, plus the fact it didn't seem that many people visited his page often, meant it was fertile ground for someone to freely make stuff up. I mean, doesn't it sound like the kind of reaction to a death a novel or a biopic would have? Too poignant a tribute, too picturesque a portrait of grief, to be real: an artist willingly (“obsessively”, even) reliving a memory over and over.

Fortunately for my curiosity, and unfortunately for my world-weary mid 20s skepticism, the third to the last line had a source. Not just any random source, either, but an article published in The New Yorker about “jazz's perfect afternoon”: June 25, 1961, when the Bill Evans Trio played (and were recorded live at) the Village Vanguard club, ten days before Scott LaFaro’s fatal car accident. It looked like an interesting article, so I searched up “bill evans I loves you porgy” on YouTube, ended up finding the very version recorded over 60 years ago, and got to reading.

Ah, I thought after seeing that last paragraph, while an audience of probably mostly dead people applauded three definitely dead men. So it wasn't made up. In fact, Wikipedia did what it did almost as well as outright lying on more obscure pages: kind of understating what actually happened.

I replayed the video—it’s a great track—and began to think. ~~~

There's that line from WandaVision that made people go insane, right? “What is grief but love enduring”? A memorable quote, for sure, if (apparently) a contentious one; my older sister told me that no less than Richard Silkin weighed in on X-open parenthesis-formerly-Twitter-close parenthesis.

Being the fencesitter I am, I'm unsure what judgment to pass. On one hand, I'm usually a little wary of any blanket statements regarding experiences as diverse and personal as love or grief. On the other, the sheer number of people it resonated with is no joke; I'm not here to condemn what consoles in hard times.

And, if I had a third hand and a belly in any color but yellow, maybe I'd say grief is (for some) just the first step. Okay, so it's a feeling you're, well, feeling. Does it truly endure if it stays inside you, a mortal being, bottled up? Is it truly love if it isn't expressed—in a smile, in a word, in something you create—to a recipient beyond yourself?

~~~

I'm that person who, when discovering something new that interests me, wants to tell others and ask their thoughts about it immediately. With the internet (and making online friends who are either night owls or in closer timezones), that can be done more easily than ever—which is why I ended up outright changing the entire topic of conversation with a “lucky” friend from pro wrestling to jazz (with permission!)

Rumi/Shams coded, they told me; what, I thought, like the poet? I'd heard of him, of course, read a few translated verses here and there and liked them well enough, but I knew little about the context of his work, even less about his actual life.

My mind was nonetheless still firmly in knowledge sponge mode, and so I asked my friend to explain. Helpfully, they sent me the pertinent sections of both Jalāl al-Dīn Muḥammad Rūmī and Shams-i Tabrīzī’s Wikipedia pages:

I could see why these two had been brought to my friend's mind after I'd told them about Evans and LaFaro: another relationship that inspired great creativity; another abrupt, devastating disappearance; another piece of art in memoriam. While Bill Evans almost always played I Loves You Porgy with no accompaniment from the accident onwards, however, a call with no response, Rumi added to the world where there once was nothing:

A moment of happiness, you and I sitting on the verandah, apparently two, but one in soul, you and I. We feel the flowing water of life here, you and I, with the garden's beauty and the birds singing. The stars will be watching us, and we will show them what it is to be a thin crescent moon. You and I unselfed, will be together, indifferent to idle speculation, you and I. The parrots of heaven will be cracking sugar as we laugh together, you and I. In one form upon this earth, and in another form in a timeless sweet land.

I am a sculptor, a molder of form. In every moment I shape an idol. But then, in front of you, I melt them down I can rouse a hundred forms and fill them with spirit, but when I look into your face, I want to throw them in the fire. My souls spills into yours and is blended. Because my soul has absorbed your fragrance, I cherish it. Every drop of blood I spill informs the earth, I merge with my Beloved when I participate in love. In this house of mud and water, my heart has fallen to ruins. Enter this house, my Love, or let me leave.

When poetry hits, it really hits; knowing a little more context than I did now, I got actual goosebumps. And, after the initial emotional reaction, with the Bill Evans Trio still playing in the background, I got to thinking again.

This reminds me of a third thing, I told my friend.

~~~ To express your love is all well and good—let the people you care about know you care about them. But what if whatever, or whoever, you're expressing that love to is a hundred percent gone?

I don't necessarily mean death, but I don't mean people in the process of phasing out of your life, either. The slow decline hurts like a bitch, too, but that's not what I want to talk about here. I'm talking a sudden, violent vacating of a space in your life, once-reserved and, from this point until your last breath, never occupied in quite the same way again. In other words: an unexpected and permanent absence.

And when faced with that absence, in that tear in your world, what do you do? Ignore it? Paper over it? Neither will give you the response desired, or indeed a response. Try and fill that hole in exactly, like there was never a hole at all? As Fiona Apple sang, “nobody can replace anybody else”—and no thing can, either.

But, if that's the case, where does the love go?

~~~

Do you know who Plum Mariko is? I asked my friend.

Nope.

A joshi wrestler active in the 90s. Inventor of the stretch plum submission (used now by one Eddie Kingston). She died in the ring from a back bump.

Damn… they replied.

The fatal move was a Liger bomb given by Mayumi Ozaki. She'd done it a million times, and Plum knew how to take it, but this was the final straw after a bunch of wear and tear. 

They held a memorial show, I continued. The main event was Cuty Suzuki and Dynamite Kansai (two big names) versus Ozaki and…Plum Mariko. She, or rather her picture, gets an entrance, her parents are at ringside with another photo, all that.

Then the match begins. It is in essence, of course, a handicap match: Ozaki getting beat up for minutes in front of a mostly-quiet crowd, building up heat that never resolves for a partner who can't tag in. After Ozaki gets pinned and the roster gets in for the ten bell salute, everyone's stone-faced or crying. And for years, at least (I don't know if they still run it now) Ozaki’s promotion did a Plum Mariko-branded memorial show.

I don't know what to say, my friend told me after a few moments. If something similar happens right now…the other person would be crushed for life.

Yeah, I said. In my browser, the audience of the Village Vanguard clap one final time. I pray it never does. ~~~ Questions, questions—and no answers. No universal ones, anyway. As much as I'd love to say Art is love, or grief, or any other emotion immortalized, I don't think I can with a straight face. Sometimes people just want to make things. Sometimes things that are made, regardless of depth of emotion or intent, are forgotten. And is professional wrestling even art?—

So, instead of either deflecting with more questions or being brave enough to give a straight answer, here is an observation:

These are three stories about three different people from three different fields, cultures, and time periods, but they're still connected, both by great loss and getting something like closure from creative expression. Whether memorial shows, or leaving space for a killer baseline, or breaking out into spontaneous verse and song; Art may not have all the answers, but it can help. 

…or maybe it's not about what is expressed, specifically. Maybe it's simply the fact that the act of creating something is what was shared between them. Individual pieces or even whole bodies of work may fade into obscurity—but as long as jazz, or poetry, or professional wrestling, or your field, exists as a whole? So can the love you both channeled and you can still channel into it, even if the only person to recognize it is you. 

It's in Bill Evans saying fondly, five years after LaFaro’s death, that he played like “everything was bubbling over”. It's in Mayumi Ozaki, after the match, looking at Plum's ring gear and saying “if I see her costume, not before long I feel that I have to keep on persevering”. And it's in what Rumi said upon going back to Damascus and not finding Shams there:

Why should I seek? I am the same as He. His essence speaks through me. I have been looking for myself!

[voiceless-terror]

#21 and #46 for kiss prompts, maybe? I can't get enough your writing tbf

kiss on a dare- a little jonmartin season one fluff <3 All in all, this is one of Tim’s better Friday nights.

It’s been ages since Jon’s hung out with them, and never with Martin along for the ride. The Archives had been off to a messy start after the Dog Incident and Jon’s subsequent panic over the state of the place. What used to be an ‘every couple of weeks’ tradition turned into an almost-never one as the newly-assembled team got buried under more and more boxes of dusty statements. He’s pretty astounded that Jon agreed to dinner and drinks- although it’s a Friday night, Jon’s been apt to stay weekends more often than not. He figured if he arranged for it at one of theirs instead of a pub, Jon would be more likely to come. He always preferred less crowded settings.

No, the real feat was getting him to come knowing Martin was invited.

Jon’s been getting...better around him, that’s true. He was perfectly fine at his birthday party, going off about emulsifiers for a solid fifteen minutes. Tim’s always been rather fond of Jon’s infodumping, and if he’s comfortable enough to do it around Martin that must be a good sign. Despite an initial freeze-out, he now thanks Martin for his tea and saves his most pointed comments for Martin’s more egregious screw-ups (and even those have less bite than usual). Still, a colleague does not a friend make, and Jon’s never been good at opening up to people he doesn’t know all that well. However, Jon just nodded at the Martin caveat, seemingly not giving it a second thought. And Martin didn’t seem all that worried either.

Whatever, Tim’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He’s just happy they’re all here, having a good time. It’s late and Jon’s had enough wine to keep a smile on his face. He missed that. It’s nice how easily they slot together, even with all of the upheaval and a new addition. Martin himself isn’t so shy after a drink or two, more willing to engage in banter and keep the conversation going. This is what it should be like all the time, Tim thinks. Shitty archive job or not. 

It’s when they retire to the living room, drinks in hand, that he finally notices the little grin on Sasha’s face. And Tim, knowing exactly what that means, is both a little afraid and excited. Four-drink-Sasha has always been a host unto herself.

“Why don’t,” she begins, a hiccup interrupting her as she slumps into an armchair. Tim snickers and ignores the glare this earns him. “Why don’t we play one of our old games-”

Tim raises a glass in agreement as Jon, predictably, groans. Martin looks quizzically between them. Ah yes, time for your initiation, Marto! Not that they’ve played this in about a year or so, of course, but it's always fun to revisit the good old days.

“Seriously? We’re not children-”

Tim gives Jon a playful slap on the back that sends him flying forward on the couch, spilling a bit of wine on Sasha’s rug. He hopes she doesn’t notice. “C’mon, it’ll be fun, boss! Nothing like it to break the ice, and there’s definitely some ice that needs breaking.”

Martin blinks, hand tightening on his glass. He looks nervous, like he always does when he doesn’t know exactly what’s going on. Which is a shame, because he’s been so nice and open all night. Even chatting with Jon. “Sorry, what are you talking about?”

Jon rolls his eyes, giving Martin a commiserating look. “Truth or dare.”

Martin lets out a disbelieving laugh, relaxing minutely. “Wait, really?”

“Yes, really.” Jon’s foot reaches out to shove at Tim’s leg. “Tim loves pulling ridiculous stunts-”

“-Hey, you loved the karaoke idea-”

“You sing?”

“No.” Tim would dispute that, but the look on Jon’s face declares it a bad idea. “And Sasha likes to ask probing questions.”

Sasha preens, though the remark was certainly not meant as a compliment. “What can I say, I’m the Queen of Truth-”

Tim snorts. “Hacking and blackmail more like-”

“Anyway-” Sasha sings out as Tim dodges a pillow to the face. “Tim….truth or-”

“Dare, always dare.”

“You’re absolutely no fun,” Sasha pouts, though it doesn’t take long for her eyes to narrow in thought. There’s very little Tim won’t do, but that’s a dangerous look. “I dare you...to text…”

“Text? You can do better than that, Sash.”

“Text...Elias.” That’s more like it. 

Jon immediately scowls. “Tim, no-”

“I don’t have his number-”

“I do-”

“Sasha!”

“Jon, it’ll be fine! He’ll just say ‘oops, wrong number’ afterwards, no harm, no foul-”

Tim takes this time to snatch at Sasha’s phone, sitting precariously on the arm of her chair. She doesn’t notice, too busy gesturing at Jon empathically. He scrolls through her contact list.

“And then it’ll come down on me-”

Sasha rolled her eyes. “How is he going to connect it to you? It’s not like he knows we’re all together-”

“Done!” Tim tosses the phone back onto the couch with a little grin. Sasha blinks, looking down in confusion.

“Wait, that’s mine-”

The screech and smack on the arm at Tim’s hastily fired off ‘u up? ;)’ to Elias Bouchard were definitely deserved. He’s sure he’ll face consequences for that in the near future, but Jon and Martin’s immediate laughter had been well worth it. Shouldn’t dish it if you can’t take it, that’s Tim’s motto.

In the next round, Tim manages to get Martin to confess to his poetry-writing habit, an admission that has him turning an attractive shade of red. Jon just giggles quietly to himself as Martin reads through one of his poorer attempts at rhyme saved to the notes of his mobile. Tim watches the two of them; Martin keeps looking up at Jon throughout it all like he’s the only one in the room and god, his crush is so evident and yet Jon is oblivious, smiling at him like he’s not on the receiving end of some of the most loaded glances of all time. 

Martin gets Sasha to admit to her most recent perusal through confidential institute records, which turned out to be previous archival expenses (solely to find out what Elias would cover with their new jobs, of course). At first glance, there wasn’t much in the way of extravagant meals or supplies, but a bit more digging had her finding Gertrude’s extensive travel budget. For an old woman, she certainly was a globe-trotter.

“All I’m saying, Jon, is that we could definitely do with a trip to China-”

“Yes, I’ll be sure to ask Elias about Gertrude’s trip to China, something I certainly shouldn’t know about, and he’ll have to let us go.”

“Refill?” Martin’s on his feet, taking Jon’s wine glass in his hand and Tim watches as their fingers brush- go Martin!- and yet Jon just nods his thanks, completely oblivious to the seduction taking place before him. Tim’s given it some thought and honestly, he thinks they’d make a cute couple. An odd pair, for sure, but Jon’s so soft once you get to know him, and Martin’s one of the funniest, sweetest guys he knows. They could be good for each other.

“Well, I still think it’s worth a try.” Sasha’s eyes are starting to blink heavily - she’ll be out for the count tonight, for sure. “Anyway, it’s your turn. I dare you-”

“I didn’t even pick!” Jon says, though he doesn’t seem too put out by it. This is the Jon Martin should know, the easy-humored, smiling man sprawled out before him. He’s even taken his little sweater vest and tie off, looking more like the familiar friend from research Tim knows so well. It warms his heart.

“Fine. Truth or dare?”

“Dare, I suppose. Seeing as how you already have one queued up.”

“I dare you to...to...to give a little kiss to someone in this room.” She waves her glass around imperiously. “Anyone you like.”

Silence. Tim gives Sasha a warning look that she ignores. She’s well in her cups, and he supposes any sense of propriety has gone out the window along with her sobriety. He’s actually seen Jon give quite a few kisses on a particularly memorable New Years Eve, but that was a different time. He doesn’t want him to feel pressured, not when he’s just starting to open back up.

 “Jon doesn’t have to if he doesn’t want to-”

Sasha rolled her eyes. “Oh come on, you remember-”

“It doesn’t matter- Jon, you can skip this one if you like, we can think of something else-”

“Tim, it’s alright.” Jon puts a hand on his arm to stop the argument, and there’s a strange look in his eyes that can’t be attributed to liquor. It’s mock-serious, almost playful paired with his little sly smile. He thinks for a moment that Jon’s going to lean in and kiss him but instead he gets up from the sofa in a smooth motion and walks across the room to Martin, who’s just turned around with two glasses in hand. He freezes in place as Jon gets on his very tippy toes, takes his face in both hands, and kisses him. 

Jonathan Sims. Kissing Martin Blackwood. Against a kitchen counter. Martin Blackwood, who, once he’s over his surprise, puts the drinks down behind him and kisses right the hell back, arms winding around Jon’s waist like they belong there.

What. The. Fuck.

_____

“The leg bit was a nice touch.”

“Hmm?” Jon’s in Martin’s lap, sprawled out on his couch back at his own flat, eyes closed in contentment as he leans back against the other man’s chest. Martin’s got one hand in his hair, and the other entwined with Jon’s, twirling the black ring on his finger. It’s heavenly.

“Thought you were trying to climb me.”

“Well, you usually pick me up at that point, make it easier.”

“Sorry, next time.” Kissing Jon’s always fun but kissing him out in the open, in front of their friends? Was that something they could do now? “Should we tell them we’ve been dating for two months?” 

Two whole months since that night in Document Storage when Jon had finally let his guard down. When Martin had held him in his arms. Jon was very particular about keeping up appearances, though that all seemed to have crumbled tonight. Sasha rather fashioned herself a matchmaker, and Jon didn’t do anything to dissuade the fact. It’d been nice, having their relationship to themselves, the secret of it, the obliviousness of their friends who still thought Jon only tolerated him. It’s not that he wanted to keep it that way, of course, but it was nice while they were still figuring it out. 

“If you’d like. Maybe it’s time.” Jon tilts his head back, giving Martin a fond look. “Though I know how much you enjoy playing the lovesick fool-”

“There’s something so poetic about unrequited love, yknow?”

“All the more when it’s requited, I’d say.” Martin couldn’t argue with that. He leans down to give Jon’s forehead a peck. 

“Hmm. Give it a few more weeks. Act out the honeymoon phase for a bit, it’ll be fun.”

And when Jon squeezes his hand and smiles back, Martin thinks he won’t need to do much acting at all.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31318724

[shirophantomvox]

Leorio, Hisoka, Illumi, and Chrollo Head Canons #2

What’s up y’all! Thank you so much to the people who have given me feedback about what posts you all would like to see! This post will be about the “Adult Trio” and Leorio about how they would help their significant other with a subject in college. This one is a good suggestion! I’m going to incorporate fluff in this, as I am a sucker for fluff. I hope you all enjoy this! I most certainly do. This post is about 2687 words but don't worry, it's worth the read! These head canons came from my mind its a coincidence that some of these pictures match the thoughts. Portentous (old English) means wonderful or marvelous (in modern English) FYI: I am thinking about creating a discord server for both Voltron and Hunter x Hunter fans. I don’t know how to use the fancy perks of discord yet, so if you know how to and can help me out, send me a message! Alright, let’s get to it! Obviously these images are from Pinterest.

Discord Server for Voltron and HxH fans!

Leorio

“Mr. Leorio”, as we all know, is a sharp guy. He dresses in a suit, carries a suitcase, and wants to be a doctor. This man knows everything about academics, especially math and science. He will need to know these subjects to be a successful medical doctor.

Leorio received an A- in Calculus II and a B+ in Organic Chemistry. He was the only one that passed with flying colors while everyone else barely made it. He didn’t gloat in their faces but as soon as he got into the hallway he jumped for joy.

He was extremely happy about his progress and counted the days until graduation even though that was in 5 years. Wow! Don’t we love graduate school?!

He deserved the high grades because he spent countless nights studying missing parties, football games, and being with you just to make sure he was on the right track to graduating on time.

As we all know, Leorio wanted to pursue this career because he witnessed his best friend dying in front of him powerless to save him. The care for his friend would have been too expensive. Obtaining his degree was in honor of his friend; he’d save countless children, women, and men who’d all thank him for his hard work.

Leorio didn’t socialize much, but he did find himself hanging around a group of classmates that were a part of a co-ed fraternity that provided information on scholarship money for graduate school and job opportunities. This is where he met you. You didn’t want to be a doctor but instead wanted to be a computer scientist and decided to volunteer for this fraternity job fair.

As he rejoiced, his smile faded when he saw you walking down the hallway; tears falling from your face not caring who stared at you. He quickly walked up to you, put his arm around your back, and gave you a soft hug.

“What’s the matter,” he asks.

You were failing Calculus, a class you’ve been taking since the 12th grade but for some reason, you couldn’t pass it. Everyone else had A’s and B’s, while you had a D. D’s aren't accaetable in college; most make you retake the class.

“Don’t worry. I’ve just passed my midterm. I can help you study. You’ll pass; trust me.”

Later on that evening, he kept his promise but gave it a unique twist. He kept the lights off and lit 4 Yankee-sized candles in the room that smelled like Lavender. In the background, he had piano jazz playing on his speaker. You felt confused for a moment. You and Leorio weren’t necessarily dating but you both flirted with each other here and there. He wasn’t a social butterfly, but he felt comfortable talking to you.

“Um...what’s the music for?”

“It helps me concentrate. Believe it or not, it helps my brain flow. You like it don’t you?”

“No, actually I don’t.” Truth be told you loved it but you wanted to pull his strings a little. He looked up with a confused look.

“Ok. I’ll turn it off.”

“I'm kidding! It’s great!”

Whenever he cannot solve a Calculus question, he reviews similar problems from Algebra II. He applies this knowledge to your problem.

“Perform the indicated function evaluations for f(x)=3−5x−2x^2 . I’ll solve the first part for an example: f(6+t) simply means you will exchange “x” for 6+t. It will look like f(6+t)=3-5(6+t)-2(6+t)^2=-49 . You’d distribute -5 and -2 to the numbers inside of the brackets in which they are next to.”

Wow, that was easy! Wait, not he must think you’re stupid.

“You must think I’m stupid, don’t you?”

“Of course not! It took me a while to understand it too. You’ll apply the same knowledge for the rest.”

After what seemed like 4 hours (which was 2), you finally finished your homework! It was probably wrong but at least you made it past the 1st question! As you blew out the candles and turned on your LED lights instead, you see Leorio sleeping on your couch. Something about his soft face made you smile and place your hand over your heart.

“My little doctor,” you whispered to yourself.

“Well, come give this doctor some company then. I’m freezing over here!”

The throw blanket was large enough for you both. Snuggling on the couch was a great end to a stressful day.

Chrollo

To everyone else Chrollo was “Boss” or “Boss Man” but to you, he was Chrollo. Big C was known for his love for poetry and language.

He read poetry any chance he had at lunch and even dinner. It had gotten so bad that you had to tell him for the millionth time “No books at the table!”

Given his past, he always read at least 2 hours a day or one book a week. Reading is what got him through the day.

He was staying in your dorm for the day to relax because he had taken and passed his midterms to. The young thief thought about hiding in the closet but he didn’t because he sensed that you’d be tense because of midterms.

As you walked through the door, you looked angry, so angry that you could punch a wall. He immediately rose to his feet, threw his arms straight out in front of him, and motioned for you to stop. You just stared at him blankly.

“Come here,” he said like you, on cue, melted in his arms. He was warm and the deepness of his cooing voice vibrated against your neck. “What’s the problem?”

“I’m failing this stupid Shakespeare class!”

“Really?”

“Yes and if I don’t pass this midterm I’m going to fail the class for the 3rd time. I want to drop out! Who needs this scam anyway?!”

Chrollo held you a bit longer until you were ready to sit down and get to business. You pulled out your college’s book about Shakespeare plays and how he used Old English. Chrollo was the perfect man for the job! He’s read Macbeth and Romeo and Juliet several times!

Chrollo read a few stanzas and explained them. He then had you read some on your own and explain them...still you can’t.

He notices the problem immediately. He catches you snuggling comfortably against his toned arm, nearly falling asleep.

Chrollo laid at the very corner of the couch as you lay horizontally placing your head against his chest. You were comfortable but you weren’t able to focus. He notices this and slightly demands that you go sit at the table. When it came to academics, he was serious.

For as long as he had been reading, he has an arsenal of vocabulary words ready to be of use. He created flashcards for you and had you flip them over for nearly an hour. You start to memorize the words!

But you’re not done yet.

“Say the word ‘portentous’.”

“Por-ten-trious…?”

“No. Por-ten-tas.”

“Tias…?”

He moved his chair next to you, just an inch away from your face. He cups your mouth and moves it as he speaks again. This wasn’t a hard clutch, it was soft and he wasn’t irritated but he could sense that you were becoming irritated.

“Por-ten-tas,” he said again.

Instead of letting your cheeks go, his eyes diverted to your lips. They were moist and plump, ready to be met by his.

“Your lips are gorgeous. Kisseth me quite quaint.”

Oh no. Look at the monster you’ve created.

Chrollo created a reward system. Whenever he did things right as a child, he was rewarded with money and jewels. For every word you pronounced and defined correctly, he kissed you once. For each word you got correct in a row, he’d kiss you twice.

Soon enough he had kissed you so much that you couldn’t see straight!

The kisses worked because you passed your midterm! Each kiss placed a stain in your brain that made you remember the definition and how to pronounce it.

You and Chrollo celebrated by drinking champagne and listened to him read Sonnet 23 and 57.

Hisoka

As unusual as it seems, Hisoka is gifted when it comes to Chemistry specifically. That is why you two work well together...there is some chemistry going on between you two.

His hair down and his glasses were his alter ego, it was something that made him act completely different than what you were used to.

When you all were freshmen, he would skip class, attend parties, and would be hungover almost every week but once he was called into the Dean’s office, he changed.

You slightly missed that edgy side of him, but you enjoyed having a serious beau.

Hisoka is a social butterfly and is the life of the conversation and you loved him for it but sometimes it was awkward.

While he was chatting away about Calcium (Ca) and Iron (Fe), you stood there nodding like an idiot. You had NO IDEA about what he was talking about and that is why you were going to drop your chemistry class.

“I saw an imbecile put aluminum foil in the microwave and it burst into flames. How did they not know that Microwaves are the radio waves falling under frequency around 2500 megahertz? Any metallic object detected by radio waves inside the microwave acts as a reflector of radio waves.”

You shove his arm hard. He was acting arrogant in front of his friends. You were used to this but it got on your nerves. You made mistakes, everyone does!...even those that almost burn down the entire dorm room.

You two leave the party and head to his dorm room. Once you were settled, you released a can of anger and threw it all over your boyfriend.

“Hisoka? You just humiliated me.”

“Oh? No one knows that I was talking about you, my dear.”

“Don’t ‘my dear’ me! I asked for your help and you’re ignoring me. I don’t appreciate that. I didn’t ignore you when you sprained your ankle, did I?”

“No, you didn’t, dear. I supposed I have a few hours to kill. What do you need help with?”

Hisoka’s way of studying was much different from other students. He exercises like crazy before he opens his textbook.

He listens to EDM instrumentals while on the treadmill and when he lifts weights. You weren’t standing there like a trophy, he made you lift too.

“Being healthy will help your brain flow more easily. Lift this dumbbell as heavy as you can.”

He ran a mile on the track upstairs. Sweat dripped from his face like he had been standing outside in the rain.

By the time you returned to his dorm, you were beyond tired. You laid your head on his pillow but just as you closed your eyes, he pulled you up on your feet.”

“Not on my watch,” he tutted. “It’s chemistry time.”

You were having trouble memorizing Chemical Formulas and this by far was the most difficult concept you had come across.

To make you stay awake, he turned on a bright LED light and faced it towards the table. The bright light nearly made your head fall off from the pain it reflected in your eyes.

Hisoka grabbed his book and began to write down the major chemicals on the periodic table and their charges.

“Pay attention to the following abbreviations and charges: Calcium is Ca, Chloride is Cl+2, Carbide is C+2, and Carbon Dioxide is CO+2. Read these over and I’ll test you again.”

He did just that but you still weren’t understanding. You were ready to give up.

Stupid scam. Why do I need a piece of paper to determine what I can do? You thought to yourself. Well, it’s obvious. If you can’t do the work now, what makes you think you can do it at a job? Harsh, I know.

“Let me try this,” He said. He carried you to his bedroom and gently placed you on it. He took off his shirt and removed his glasses. “Aluminum has a charge of +3 and Oxygen has -2. If there were three of me and two of my clones disappeared, how many of me are left?”

“Just you, right? One”

“Correct! Excellent.”

Wow, everything started making sense once he took his shirt off.

From then, he just inserted himself into the equation and then it started to make sense! He apologized for running his mouth earlier and promised to keep any more secrets between you two. The night ended with you sleeping in his bed wrapped in a cotton blanket just cuddling and that was it. And bam! You slept as sound.

Illumi

Dating the “hot” quiet history buff was a flex of its own. Sure Illumi didn’t talk to anyone besides you, but it didn’t matter. People swooned if he looked in their direction.

History was a popular major during your era. People were not like their grandparents; they wanted to learn about other cultures besides their own. Illumi’s specialty was in world history and civilizations. The class was very interesting to you but there was so much information, you could barely process it.

Illumi often wrote his essays in one day proofread and all! He often charged people to look their essays over.

One time he made $500 in one year!

Glancing at your transcripts, he notices that you have a C- and offers to help.

“Why are you looking through my stuff?”

Hey, he’s your boyfriend! But still, he should ask.

“Sorry. It was up on the screen,” he said, throwing his hands in the air.

You began to blush in embarrassment. The hottest smartest man in the building now knew that you were failing one of the easiest classes on campus.

Placing his thumb under your chin, he lifted your head to meet his gaze. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I can help you.”

“How? I am so behind! I zoned out after chapter 2!”

“We’ll watch a movie.”

“Oh, God! Not one from PBS is it?!”

“Yes. How else are you supposed to learn?”

He turns on the movie and allows you to lay your head on his shoulder but not too much. He is aware of your tricks and he wants you to pay attention.

Every 15 minutes, he pauses the movie and asks you checkpoint questions. If you got them wrong, you had to stand up with your underclothes on (t-shirt and shorts) in the cool room for 10 minutes. If you got the questions right, he allows you to lay more comfortably. You were already in your underclothes but you were under the blanket.

He made you write down key definitions and the embarrassment of each section.

After the movie, he blindfolds you and reads out a term. Surprisingly, you got them all correct!

As a reward for your past midterm, he takes you to dinner at a restaurant where he slips a promise ring on your finger containing your birthstone.

[andiatas]

Hi! I haven't read Benedict's book yet, I just know the general outline and summary, are there any special hints and little easter eggs they could drop this season like they did for Anthony and Kate with the lines about tulips, mallet of death and that speech about not falling in love in s1? Do you think we could get any "oh? 👀" moments that will be more meaningful after getting s3?

Hi Nonnie!

Sorry for taking so long to answer this, I'm blaming uni studies & my current research project. Anyway, you should definitely read An Offer From a Gentleman! It's really good & my favourite, shocker I know 😱

So Benni boy easter eggs we could potentially see in season 2 which will make sense in season 3:

Season 1 ended with a bee, I want season 2 to end with a shot of a mask or an invite to the masquerade. It's subtle, so casual viewers will go huh??? whilst us who have read the books will go NUTS

Said it before & I'll say it again - Emo Ben! Not so much an easter egg but I think it's important that we see him grow more & more frustrated & emo during season 2 so the viewer understands where he is at the beginning of season 3. Also members of the Ton talking about him as "number 2" or being dissapointed when they realise it's him & not Anthony.

I know a lot of people want to see flashbacks of him collecting stones with Edmund, I can see why & it would be lovely, though... personally I kind of want that to be saved so we'll have that flashback in season 3 😬

Maybe we could hear a mention of Benedict & cottage in the same sentence? 🤔 Either him being at it & holding Frannie hostage or having just arrived home from it

I would love for scenes of Violet being like "boys you need to think about marriage" & then some comment about how she will support her children no matter who they fall in love with - all whilst both Ben & Colin try to flee the room 😂

Hyacinth talking about how she wants to learn French, or reminding Ben about "you're supposed to help me with my calculations!"

We already know we'll be getting "a round of fencing" so do I have to mention that?

This one is a reach but Ben & poetry... just so that we'll understand that Ben really doesn't care for it at all & just wants Sophie to stay with him 😇

So these are some from the top of my head! Looking towards @silverhallow, @sophiamariabeckett & @fact-fictionx do you guys have any more to add?

[lulu-zodiac]

Title: Green Jasmine 

Prompt: “Barista Cas flirts with Dean by writing his number on a napkin, Dean smears it on his face, and Cas has to fess up” (for @winchester-reload​’s prompt roulette)

Summary: Cas has never liked anyone enough to even contemplate going through the social agony of asking them out. But Dean – Dean is different.

Note: I’ve had quite a few people asking me about a tag list for my fics, so if that’s something you’d like to be a part of then pls let me know <3

Cas hates his job. Admittedly, the prospect of serving coffee for eight hours a day in a busy campus coffee shop probably isn’t any introvert’s idea of fun. But it’s not the constant noise and bustle which bothers Cas the most about working at the Moose & Squirrel. It’s not even the fact he has to wear an apron covered in tiny bumblebees, or that the cappuccino machine breaks and spitefully spits hot foam everywhere on a pretty much hourly basis. The thing that makes Cas hate his job is how invisible it makes him feel (no mean feat for a grown man wearing a bumblebee apron and covered in hot foam).

Every day after his morning lectures, he spends from 2pm to 8pm talking to customers, taking orders, serving food. He knows all the regulars, could pick them out of a line up; the timid, bespectacled professor with hunched shoulders and a battered briefcase who sits at the window table every afternoon reading textbooks on phenomenology and religion; the three girls in blazers and ties who come in most days after school and order milkshakes with as many sugary toppings as possible; the mother and chubby-cheeked toddler who stop in every Thursday afternoon. Cas notices things about the one-time customers too; whether they look tense or distracted, if they look longingly at the cakes but then order a fruit salad, how they relate with whoever’s with them. He knows none of them, not really, but he feels like he does. And yet none of them look at him, really see him. They don’t notice what mood he’s in that day or what book he’s got stashed behind the counter to read whenever it’s quiet, they don’t notice if his smile is real or not. He’s just the person who serves their coffee.

Cas doesn’t know why it grates on him so much. It’s not like he ever wanted to be the centre of attention; he hates the spotlight. Maybe what really bothers him is that it’s not just the coffee shop where he feels unseen. Like no one really cares about knowing him. Working at the Moose & Squirrel is just an eight-hour-a-day reminder of how invisible he is.

Monday is particularly bad. By the end of his shift, Cas is exhausted and bad-tempered, and just wants to go home and curl up under his duvet before he has to do the whole thing all over again tomorrow. It’s ten minutes to closing and the café is finally empty. He’s just finished wiping down the display and has switched off the quarrelsome cappuccino machine. Drained, he retreats behind the pages of his Plath poetry book, silently praying no one else comes in before Meg finishes in the kitchen and they have the chance to lock up.

He’s only four lines into Tulips when the chime of the door makes his heart sink. But whatever irritation Cas is feeling fades the moment he looks up, eyes settling on the person who’s just walked through the door.

It’s a guy not much younger than him, so strikingly beautiful it kind of punches the breath out of Cas’s lungs. The guy looks like he’s just walked off the pages of a magazine spread – only he’s a little too rough around the edges, like maybe he had to fend for himself more than he should growing up. He’s wearing a beat-up old leather jacket and a Led Zeppelin t-shirt, and there’s a cigarette tucked carelessly behind one ear. He catches Cas’s eye and grins easily, all dirty charm. It’s the smile of someone used to the impact he has on people, but it still makes Cas’s stomach somersault involuntarily.

“Hey,” the guy’s voice is low and a little rough, understatedly sexual in a way that makes Cas swallow. He watches helplessly as the guy saunters up to the counter and leans casually against it, gazing up at the drinks’ menu. He drums his fingers restlessly against the freshly polished glass, and instead of being annoyed that he’s going to have to clean it again, all Cas can wonder is what beat he’s moving them to. A Zeppelin track seems too obvious. Perhaps something similar, classic rock ‘n’ roll bands that Cas has never been cool enough to listen to. Or maybe nothing at all, maybe it’s just a nervous habit. Although Cas can’t imagine this guy being anything but careless, casual.

“What would you recommend?” his gaze falls on Cas suddenly, deep, complex green flecked with quiet hues of honey and hazel, so striking it takes Cas’s breath away all over again.

Cas swallows, realises he’s been caught staring. “Um –” he stammers, trying in vain to stop the head flooding his cheeks. “Our London Fog is quite popular at the moment, and the special this week is the pumpkin spice latte. Or we have cold drinks. Local raspberry and vanilla cordial or ice cream milkshakes. Sparkling water. Uh - it depends what you like, really,” he finishes lamely, internally cursing the way he can feel his cheeks burning.

“Lots of things,” the guy grins wider, and leans closer into Cas’s space. He smells of faintly of mint and smoke and warm skin, like he’s spent all day in the sun. “I’m not fussy.”

Read more on Ao3

[emialawliet]

The mysteries of Wonder Egg Priority and some interesting things I found in it

Oh hi Acca. Wait is that a crack on your right lens?

One of the great things about WEP is that it is an original anime wherein we do not have any source material to check on its story thus we do not have a clue on what’s gonna happen next besides the things that happen in each episode. These are one of those animes which are fun to observe.

Plot Summary: Ai scores a “Wonder Egg” from a gachapon machine at a deserted arcade. But now when Ai falls asleep a girl emerges from her Wonder Egg, the worlds of dreams and reality begin to collide. And it’s all connected.

From the first episode, we have been given a huge amount of symbolism. Aside from the main subject of bullying and Ai’s guilt by pretending not to see it that cost her bestfriend’s life, there are a lot of other things that I noticed that seem to have a deeper meaning behind them or could be a hint to something. I’ll list these things one by one from the first 2 episodes..

This post is going to be quite a long one, so I’ll keep it minimal enough to just tickle your thoughts. And believe me, things got clearer to me as I am making this post.

The anime starts in a sort of a dream world.. or is it?

1) The firefly

In some cultures firefly may not have a positive reputation. But in Japan, where they are called "hotaru," they are beloved – a metaphor for passionate love in poetry since Man'you-shu (the 8th century anthology). -Namiko Abe @ thoughtco.com

Ai can be seen looking at a dead firefly. She seems caring for it and she even gave it a proper burial. Could this symbolize someone dear to her? Now let’s proceed..

2) person in the car

Is this a clue? I’ll remember that hair for some reason..

3) Ai’s conversation with the firefly and the Special Gacha Machine

firefly: What are you doing in a place like this?

Ai: Walking.

F: This late at night?

After burying the firefly, it suddenly came out the soil and spoke to Ai with a male voice. Their conversation seems to me like a suspicious man talking to an innocent girl in a place where a young one like her isn’t supposed to be..

F: The first time’s free. Next time bring your wallet.

This is one of the things commonly used to convince someone to try something they are usually not willing to for the first time. Like a free trial..

..and was then led somewhere underground where the “Special Gacha Machine” is located.

That’s a lotta eggs. What could this underground facility be? And here’s the Gacha Machine:

So that’s the thing in the poster.

Weird huh? But the next morning, Ai wakes up with the egg beside her..

4) The dream

..Or is it not entirely a dream? I mean the egg appearing beside her is one thing although it could be that the egg is just in her mind. But the thing that complicates things is the injuries she gets in real life, to the point where she and even Neiru needs to get hospitalized.

Ai asked why this (the whole dream she’s in) is happening to her and this is what Kurumi said:

“Nothing costs more than a free gift huh?” Indeed, life is priceless. But in this story, it is only free the first time. The second night, Ai paid a huge price. Could those injuries mean this?

“This is a dream to you, but to me it is reality.” -Kurumi Saijo

Ai will not die in this dream, as long as her eyes and heart are okay.

Did she really sneak at night twice? Since getting the Wonder Egg to saving Kurumi? In this scene we also see the teacher in full for the first time and I dunno about you guys but I think that hair is familiar..

The firefly even asked her this. We’ve seen Ai sneaking out at night but the things that follow are strange enough to happen in real life. Is it possible that what we're seeing is a mixture of Ai’s imagination and reality?

Something caused these injuries. Or is it Ai herself? Let us find out..

After saving Kurumi, a mysterious male voice said “Too bad, you only get saved. But you have to cheer up if you want your bestfriend back.”

She then asked this:

..but got no clear response. Of course we know the answer, Koito is not going back to life. but why does the voice demand her to do that? Not even the firefly could answer her clearly. But she continued to believe that this will get her bestfriend back. 

“If you can’t protect them, you won’t make it either.” -Firefly

“There’s no point going to save someone if she gets herself killed.” -Ura-Acca

Does they mean the guilt might kill her too? Does this imply suicide? Could this be a hint where Ai gets her injuries?

And Neiru asked her who she is fighting for.. Ai firmly said it was for Koito.

“You don’t like yourself now, so you go. You want to change the self you hate.” Well this could also be true for herself despite saying it’s for her sister whom she let die. How? We’ll soon know more about this I guess.. At the moment, we know that Neiru loves her current self. 

Ai hates herself for betraying her bestfriend. The first friend she ever had.

Koito probably asked her to film the bullying as evidence, but Ai was too scared of being left out. She wasn’t able to get a good shot, but Koito only smiled at her and knew she did her best.

5) The egg

From the title itself, the egg is a very prominent object in this anime. We still do not have a clear answer as to what it really represents, but according to the speaking firefly and Kurumi, it contains what a person wants the most, and in Ai’s case, it is a friend. She denies this to both of them but they both know it is the truth.

The eggs appear in different colors, with letters, numbers and symbols printed on them. Once cracked, it reveals a person. This is where we can relate the egg’s symbolism of life and creation. 

A mysterious male voice angrily told Ai to break the egg, and this is what he said afterwards:

Ai is “good” at it, huh. What could he probably mean I wonder..

It was later revealed that Kurumi is another sculpture, a “captured maiden” in a different world like Ai’s bestfriend Koito. This confirms that Kurumi is also dead, which leads me to think that the eggs are the souls of those who died from suicide or abuse. 

They couldn’t pass on unless the guilt of their friends stop holding them back. And this I think is also what’s happening to our MC Ai and Koito’s soul.

6) Kurumi Saijo

She wears a different uniform than Ai’s. A victim of bullying by 3 girls.

Like Ai, she also said she did not have any friends, just superficial ones.

And this could be hinting at the reason why she was bullied by those girls. She does have the looks. But these looks might be the reason why she had no real friends. And a boyfriend of this fake friend probably liked her and broke up with her fake friend which started the bullying. I smell jealousy.

In this dream, she found her resolve while saving Kurumi.

I gotta say though, the animation is impressive from start to finish. That button popping off has me goin “whoa they even thought of adding that bit.” And the explosion that followed.. oof.

After being saved by Ai, she asked Ai to not forget her and disappeared into dust. Was Kurumi able to finally pass on?

) Minami Suzuhara

Seriously, in this anime, adorable girls have no friends.

Damn her “trauma” is a ridiculous boob monster. 

She could have died due to over fatigue and stress from her coach’s verbal abuse.

Ai had another injury the following day.

) Ai’s enemies

The Seenoevils, a disorderly mob. In real life, they are the ones that pretend not to see the bullying, letting it happen and thus contribute to the damage being dealt to thee victim. And the form of the egg’s “traumas”, the Wonder Killer, which are the main cause who led the victims to their deaths. In the dream world, they do not attack Ai. But they can damage her, only for the effects to appear outside the dream.

Ai uses Kurumi’s pen as her first weapon, and Minami’s ribbon wand as the second.

Like Kurumi, after she was saved she also asked Ai to remember her before disappearing into dust.

) The teacher

Ai’s teacher seems really nice, going as far as to visit her and deliver the week’s print outs to their home. Ai must not be attending school for weeks..

We now know that Ai’s location is nearby their teacher’s home. Could he be the guy in the car then? We don’t have enough evidence of that as of yet.

In the second episode, Ai’s teacher visited again.

Now we see his face. He’s got a mole huh.

But why this question teach? 

So that’s his name. And why the special treatment?

Here we see him walk behind Koito and she follows..

) Acca & Ura-Akka

The most intriguing thing I found in the first ep..

After discovering the truth about Kurumi, Ai was led to the end of the underground tunnel and found these two strange dolls playing Go, a japanese traditional board game. One looks like a professional, and the other just casual. They introduced themselves as Acca and Ura-Acca.

Judging by that definition, these two dolls could be the same person. Let’s watch out for that.. Who could this person be? And what is his connection to Ai?

“Haste makes waste.” These two are worried about Neiru. They strongly advise on taking the process slow or else she might die. Is this person a therapist?

) Neiru Aonuma

Did I read that right.. VICE PRESIDENT?? I get the feeling her sister died caused by neglect from their parents because they were more focused on this Neiru who “loves herself”. She also seems to me like a foreigner. She speaks english quite well and we see the mom with a nice cute afro.

She was too greedy to get multiple eggs at once. She could have fought through an intense battle. Probably why she was put in the intensive care unit. 

She also does not know the fun of being in a friendship. But then she agrees on being friends with AI :) I am glad how Ai is starting to change too.

I am looking forward for these two’s friendship <3

And that’s about all the curious things I’ve gathered in the first 2 episodes.

I am definitely going to continue watching this series and witness the truth unfold. Until the next egg time!

[sisterspooky1013]

Only One Choice, Part 2, Chapter 10

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

From: dscully@fbi.gov

Sent: April 28, 1997 10:46am

To: mreyes@fbi.gov

Subject: Coffee?

Hi Monica,

It’s Dana, from pathology. I was wondering if you’d like to get coffee tomorrow around lunchtime? I have a break in classes from 11-2, so anywhere in there would be fine.

I hope things are going well with VICAP.

-Dana

From: dscully@fbi.gov

Sent: April 28, 1997 10:48am

To: fmulder@fbi.gov

Subject: Wednesday/Thursday

Hi,

I’m mildly shocked that you hadn’t already emailed me before I got in today. Are you alive?

If you’d like to meet up for lunch or coffee this week, I can do Wednesday or Thursday, sometime in the 11-3 timeframe. Let me know which works for you and I’ll block the time out so nothing else ends up on my schedule.

From: mreyes@fbi.gov

Sent: April 28, 1997 11:12am

To: dscully@fbi.gov

Subject: RE:Coffee?

Hi Dana,

I’m so glad you reached out. I’d love to get coffee tomorrow; I can meet you just outside the autopsy bay at 1pm, if that works?

I look forward to it.

-Monica

From: fmulder@fbi.gov

Sent: April 28th, 1997 12:16pm

To: dscully@fbi.gov

Subject: RE:Wednesday/Thursday

Hi Scully,

I see that my exceptional self control has paid off in spades. I am alive, and have resisted emailing you this morning through a combination of sheer will and a two-hour budget meeting.

Wednesday sounds perfect, I’ll be there at noon. Don’t ask me how many hours that is from now because I haven’t calculated it and I have no idea.

———

About an hour after returning from her coffee date with Monica, which was very pleasant and is something she hopes to repeat, she starts to feel just a little bit achy. She pushes through the rest of her work for the day and by the time she slumps through her apartment door at six, there’s no denying that she’s sick. She takes some Tylenol and goes to bed, hoping it will have passed in the morning, but when she wakes up it’s even worse. She calls in sick to work and goes back to sleep.

When she wakes again, the phone is ringing. She ignores it, only for it to start ringing again the moment the machine picks up. Dragging herself out of bed with a pained moan, she trudges to the hallway, retrieving the cordless phone and walking back to her bedroom as she answers.

“Hello?”

“Scully! Are you okay?”

“What? Yes. Mulder?” She burrows herself back under the covers with the phone tucked against her ear.

“Yes, it’s me, you didn’t answer my emails all morning and never showed up for our coffee date. I was worried.”

“Shit, Mulder, I’m sorry. I came down with something yesterday and called out sick. I totally forgot we were having coffee today.”

“You’re sick?” he asks, clear concern in his voice.

“Yes, just a virus or something, I’ll be fine.”

“Can I bring you something? Soup? Juice? Bad movies?”

She chuckles a little. “No, you don’t need to do that.”

“Who's gonna take care of you?”

“Mulder, I’m a grown adult with a cold, I can take care of myself.”

“Are you sure?” She can tell by his tone that he wants to do this more for himself than for her.

“Yes, I’m sure. I don’t want you to see me all sick and disgusting, Mulder. It’s too soon to ruin your image of me,” she says somewhat sarcastically.

“Seeing you sick is not going to change how I feel about you, Scully,” he says very tenderly, and she knows he means it. Still, she doesn’t like the idea.

“I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? Sorry to make you drive an hour for nothing. Rain check?”

He sighs noisily. “Okay, fine. I think you inadvertently left ‘stubborn’ off your list of flaws, though.”

“Well, I didn’t want to ruin all the surprises,” she replies with a smile.

He reluctantly says goodbye, and as soon as he hangs up, she calls the first number on her speed dial.

“Hello,” calls Missy in her typical singsong greeting.

“Missy, can you come over?” she whines, little sister mode in full effect, “I’m sick.”

Missy arrives forty five minutes later and fusses around, gathering a glass of water, Tylenol, and the thermometer that is buried in the bottom of a bathroom drawer. Dana has relocated to the couch, and makes a face around the thermometer propped under her tongue when Missy sets four crystals of different shapes and colors on the coffee table, along with two herb-filled capsules. The thermometer beeps angrily and Missy plucks it out of her mouth, shaking her head.

“One hundred and two,” she says with a frown, “here, take these,” she holds out two Tylenol and two of the herb capsules with a glass of water.

Dana takes the Tylenol and leaves the others.

“Whatever those are, I’m not taking them. And you can pack up your crystals,” she says to Missy as she pops the Tylenol and chases them with a big gulp of water.

“They’re just echinacea, Sis, they won't kill you. And neither will the crystals.”

“But they also won’t help,” Dana says dryly, setting her water on the coffee table and burrowing back under her blanket.

“Well, I’ll just leave them right here,” Missy says, standing and going to the kitchen. “Why’d you call me, anyway? Shouldn’t playing sick maid be Mulder’s job now?” She’s looking through cupboards, pulling out a pot and a can of soup.

“It’s too soon for him to see me all congested and disgusting,” Dana replies, stifling a shiver. “He wanted to come over, but I told him not to.”

There’s a knock at the door. Dana sits up, exchanging confused looks with Missy.

“Did you order food?” Dana asks, and Missy shakes her head, moving to the door.

Dana watches from the couch as Missy opens the door to find no one on the other side. She looks at the floor, then down the hall one direction and the other. She stoops down and picks something up, then walks back to the couch with a paper bag.

“What is that?” Dana asks, and Missy shrugs, setting it on the coffee table and sitting at Dana’s feet. There’s a sheet of paper stapled to the bag, and Missy plucks it off, opening it while Dana explores the contents; a carton of tom kah gai soup.

Missy’s face is a mask of confusion as she reads whatever is written on the paper.

“What does it say?” Dana asks, and Missy hands it to her.

Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own: in pain and sickness it would still be dear. Your mind is my treasure, and if it were broken, it would be my treasure still.

Dana’s chin puckers as her bottom lip sticks out in a pout. “Oh my god,” she gushes, “it’s Mulder.”

“What the hell does this mean?” Missy asks, taking the paper back and reading it again. “Does he write poetry or something?”

“No,” Dana answers, pulling the lid off the container and breathing in the spicy coconut smell, “it’s a quote from Jane Eyre.”

“Oh my god,” Missy says with a disgusted look, “you two really are meant for each other. This is sickening, Dana, you realize that, right?”

Dana is smiling, taking sips of the hot Thai chicken soup that he somehow knew she needed. “Yes, he’s also a giant nerd, if that’s what you’re saying. But beyond that, I don’t think we have much of anything in common, actually.”

“You both work for the FBI,” Missy offers.

“Yes, but in totally different areas. And he’s an atheist, and believes in unverifiable phenomena like aliens and spontaneous human combustion. And he’s impulsive and easy going, and he makes decisions with his gut,” Dana lists off Mulder’s attributes like she’s describing the trim level on a car. He’s cute, and he has a leather interior.

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t use any of those words to describe you,” Missy says pointedly, setting the note on the table, where Dana plucks it back up and reads it again. “But there’s something to be said for being with someone who’s different from you.”

“I don’t really buy into the idea of ‘opposites attract,’” Dana says flatly. “I think that’s just a lie people tell themselves to justify horribly mismatched partnerships.”

“I think ‘opposites attract’ implies that your qualities clash, like the odd couple. One is messy and the other is clean,” Missy replies, propping her elbow on the back of the couch. “But I heard about this idea of ‘perfect opposites’ which is more like someone who complements you, or helps kind of level you out. So perhaps you lean to the extreme in some areas where Mulder leans to the other extreme, and you learn to meet somewhere in the middle.”

Dana gives her a doubtful look. “What is the middle between believing wholeheartedly that Bigfoot exists, and knowing that he doesn’t?”

Missy takes this under serious consideration. “I think,” she says without a hint of sarcasm, “that the medium would be accepting that it’s possible that he exists, and possible he doesn’t, but there's no way to know for sure.”

“So a Bigfoot agnostic?” Dana asks, and Missy nods in confirmation.

Dana shakes her head. “Maybe you should have gone out with him, I think you two might be better suited.”

“Don’t give me any ideas,” Missy says with a coy smile. “Speaking of which, does he have any single friends?”

Dana shrugs around a gulp of soup. “I don’t know, I haven’t met any of his friends.”

“Well, when you do, keep an eye out would ya? Now that I’ve lost my single buddy, I may as well get back out there. God knows it’s torture enough hearing your lurid tales from the bedroom.”

“Missy, I haven’t told you a single lurid tale,” Dana chastises.

“I know, what’s up with that?” Missy retorts in mock offense, “speaking of, what happened when he took you out to dinner Sunday night?”

Dana shakes her head.

“Oh come on, Dana. I have no life, let me live vicariously,” Missy whines.

Dana shakes her head again. “The only thing I’ll say is; maybe don’t eat off the kitchen counter,” she says before giving Missy a guilty look.

Missy’s mouth drops open.

“Wow, I’m not sure if I’m more grossed out or jealous,” she says as she stands, “I’m gonna get out of here, if you’re good. I think I need to go pick up a guy at a bar for some meaningless sex.”

“Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks for coming by. If you need a condom there are some in the bathroom,” she adds with a sarcastic smile, and Missy sneers at her.

“Ha, ha,” Missy replies as she slips on her shoes and opens the door, “last time I checked, you can’t get pregnant from a vibrator.”

Dana gives her a sympathetic pout and Missy pulls the door closed behind her.

———

It’s a quarter past eight when the phone rings, and he pushes Priscilla onto the floor to retrieve it from his desk.

“Hello?”

“I can’t find it,” says a garbled voice.

“Hello?” he asks again, “who is this?”

“It’s really cold. It’s also too hot,” the voice says around a sound like fabric moving over the mouthpiece.

“Scully?”

“Yes?”

“Are you okay?”

There’s a pause. “Mulder?”

“Yeah, I’m here. Are you okay?”

“Mulder, where are you?”

“I’m at home. You called me at home. Is Missy there?”

“No, she had to take her vibrator to a bar,” she answers, and it’s clear that she’s completely delirious.

“Scully, I’m coming over,” he says, standing up to find his shoes and wallet. “Hey, Scully, I need you to do something for me, okay?”

“Hmmm?”

“Can you stand up, and walk to your front door?”

She sighs. “That’s very far.”

“I know it is, but I need you to unlock the door so I can get in. I don’t think your super would be very happy if I broke it down.”

He hears her groan and her voice becomes quieter, then disappears. He waits, and just when he thinks she may have hung up, she picks the phone back up.

“Hello?”

“Hey, did you unlock the door?”

“Mulder?”

“Yes, it’s me.”

“Mulder, where are you?”

He snickers a little. “I’m on my way over, did you unlock the door?”

“I...I don’t remember,” she says, and she sounds exhausted.

“That’s okay, go back to bed. I’ll figure it out. See you soon, okay?”

“Okay, bye, Mulder.”

He waits but the line doesn’t go dead. He hears her shuffle around a bit and then it’s quiet for a long time. Setting the phone on its cradle, he drives over to her apartment.

The door is, thankfully, unlocked, and all the lights are off.

“Scully?” he calls out, not wanting to scare her. “Scully, are you awake?”

When he gets no response, he slips off his shoes and makes his way to her bedroom, calling out her name intermittently. He finds her twisted up in her sheets, and one touch to her forehead has him jerk his hand away with how hot she is. He strips the blankets off of her, finding her in only a T-shirt and panties underneath. Next he finds a washcloth in the bathroom and soaks it with cold water, then grabs two Tylenol and a glass of water. When he returns to the bedroom and drapes the cloth over her forehead, she starts and opens her eyes momentarily, but then closes them again.

“Scully,” he says softly, shaking her shoulder, “I need you to wake up, honey. I need you to take these.”

Her eyes open slowly and she blinks at him with heavy lids.

“Mulder?” she asks groggily, and he gives her a sympathetic smile.

“I’m here. Can you sit up and take these?”

He helps her prop herself up just enough to swallow the Tylenol and a sip of water before she collapses back against the pillows.

“I feel like shit,” she complains, but her eyes are already closed and she’s on her way back to sleep.

“I know. Get some rest. I’ll be here.”

———

She wakes up to harsh beams of sun pouring directly through her eyelids. Her first thought is that Ethan forgot to close the blinds again, but then she remembers that she and Ethan aren't together anymore and he doesn’t live here, so she must have forgotten to close them. She moves to roll out of bed and is met with the shock of aching muscles, and remembers that she had been raging with fever last night. She probably shouldn’t have let Missy leave, but thankfully the fever seems to have broken during the night. She rolls away from the window, no longer motivated to get up and close the blinds, and finds herself nose to nose with a sleeping Mulder.

“What the hell?” she says out loud, and he opens his eyes and smiles at her.

“Hi,” he says softly, “how do you feel?”

She gives him a perplexed expression. “Confused. How long have you been here?”

He chuckles “I knew you were out of it, but I didn’t think you were that far gone. You don’t remember?”

She shakes her head ruefully.

Mulder rolls to his back and stretches, then turns back to face her. “You called me last night, totally out of it, and I came over to make sure you were okay.”

“How did you get in?” she asks skeptically.

“You let me in.”

Her eyes widen.

“You were burning up, I just force fed you some Tylenol and kept an eye on you. Around 3am you started shivering, so I think that’s when the fever broke.”

She is quiet for a moment, taking in her surroundings. “Mulder...am I not wearing pants?”

He holds up his hands in self defense. “That’s how I found you, Scully, Scout’s honor.”

“What time is it?” she asks, feeling disoriented.

He peeks at his watch. “A little after nine.”

She sits up too quickly and gets dizzy. “I’m late for work,” she says, one hand to her head.

“Scully you were delirious with fever six hours ago, you’re not going to work. I called for you,” he says, sitting up too.

She gives him an incredulous look. “You called out sick to work for me?”

He nods.

She sighs and looks away from him. “I got the soup, and the note,” she says, “thank you.”

“Of course,” he answers, rubbing a palm over her back.

She looks back at him, taking in his sleep rumpled hair and second day stubble. She furrows her brow, a slight scowl on her mouth.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“You’re my boyfriend, aren’t you?” she says with a defeated tone, and he laughs.

“I’d sure like to be, if you’ll have me.”

She groans and slumps against him, sighing as he wraps his arms around her, petting her hair.

“Okay, fine,” she says flatly.

“Well don’t sound so excited about it,” he teases, and she pulls back and smiles at him.

“Thanks for taking care of me,” she says softly.

“Thanks for letting me,” he replies.

[deathbidean]

my destiel fic recs pt.3

no one asked for this but I am determined to force my favourite fics on y’all

And This, Your Living Kiss - opal_bullets : Only a very few people in the world know that the celebrated and reclusive poet Jack Allen is just Kansas mechanic Dean Winchester, a high school dropout with a few bucks to his name. Not that it matters anymore; life has left him so wrung out he never wants to pick up another pen.Until, that is, a string of coincidences leads Dean to auditing a poetry course with one Dr. Castiel Novak. The professor is wildly intelligent, devastatingly handsome...and just so happens to be academia's foremost expert on the poetry of Jack Allen. holy shit. this. THIS. it’s amazing. it’s so beautiful. your heart will break for poor Dean. this is definetly a favourite of mine!!

Andrew Lloyd Webber Gets a Pass - delicious-irony, opal_bullets : In which Castiel's manner is vague and aloof, Dean Winchester doesn't care for a cuddle, and there's no doing anything about it.Or, Dean and Castiel attempt to survive rehearsals for a new production of Cats, and each other. I’M TELLING YOU NOW. IF YOU FAINT FOR ENEMIES TO LOVERS,,, THIS WILL KILL YOU. y’all,, honestly this fic ended me it’s so goddamn good

15x14 coda : it’s a date - contemplativepancakes : “So… How was your date?” “Really, Dean? That’s what you're concerned about? After we all almost died?” Dean waggles his eyebrows. “Well, yeah. Just looking out for my little brother.” The bunker door clangs open, and Sam shoves Dean towards it. “Maybe worry about yourself.”Sam and Eileen had a date, so it's only fair that Dean and Cas do, too, right? so so sweet. just pure tooth-rotting fluff that will make your heart ache

Starstruck - peanutbutterjelly-pie (Aleakim) : From the outside Castiel Novak looks like a regular guy: a good job, two teenage kids, a nice house and a crappy car he’s way too attached to.But there’s one thing no one knows about him: that, over twenty years ago, he used to live next to none other than Dean Winchester – back then a brash and loud-mouthed boy and nowadays a huge movie star and Hollywood’s sweetheart.Castiel never bothered to tell anyone about his childhood friend because frankly, who would believe him? Probably even Dean himself already forgot about his former awkward and weird neighbor, so Castiel seriously doesn’t see any point in mentioning the whole thing ever.But then an interview on national TV happens where Dean reveals way more about his past than ever before … and Castiel - as well as the rest of the world - suddenly realizes that he left a much bigger impact on Dean’s life than he originally thought. y’all,,,,, this is still being updated and when I tell you i’m living for each one,,,,,,,, it’s so goddamn good!!! and sweet!!! and just ughhhhh!!! highly recommend!!

Shot Through The Heart - peanutbutterjelly-pie (Aleakim) : Dean is a hunter. Castiel is a Man of Letters. And even though they have to work together on a regular basis, there is not much sympathy between them. Castiel thinks Dean too brash and reckless while Dean in return sees nothing more in the other man than a rude asshole with an obsessive love for books and a truly terrible fashion sense. But fate clearly has a funny way of throwing those two together over and over again. And somewhere along the way feelings change into something neither of them would have expected.  nah nah, y’all don’t understand,,, this fic is amazing!! again; ENEMIES TO LOVERS!!!! it doesn’t get better than that, am i right?

ours is the fire, all the warmth we can find - xylodemon : Sam brings it up as they're driving back from the steakhouse in Mankato.Dean cuts him a sharp, sideways glance. "You think I should what?""I think you should try journaling.""Why the hell would I wanna do that?" very sad and very beautifully written grieving Dean. just exactly what i needed after the finale and very much patched up the hole in my heart

Be My Boyfriend : Dean and Cas keep having to pretend to be dating to discourage other potential suitors. Things get a little out of hand. i actually read this first on tumblr and loved it so much i had to find it on ao3!! it’s such sweet and silly fluff!!!!

Holiday Homies - tricia_16 : Best friends Dean and Cas are sick and tired of the stress the holidays put on anybody not already in a relationship. The endless plus one invitations to fill for New Year's Eve and Valentine's Day (and this year, Sam and Jess's wedding on top of everything else) never freaking stop. So on Halloween night, Dean and Cas come up with a plan to be each other's plus ones from Thanksgiving to the 4th Of July. They'll fake a relationship, get their parents off of their backs, actually enjoy the holidays for once... and maybe wring a few orgasms out of each other while they’re at it.What could go wrong? you want two dumbasses in love?? you want friends with benefits who are very much in love with each other?? you want to cry in frustration over their idiocy?? this is the fic for you

fifteen flares - microcomets : When Dean finally comes home, the knots in his shoulders aching and his skin still layered in dust, he finds Cas waiting up for him at the kitchen table. Without a word, Cas nudges the vacant chair out with his foot, sliding an unopened beer across the counter in a silent invitation. (post-13.06 coda.) y’all this is so sweet and cute and just wholesome. i absolutely adore confession pre-canon and this is no exceptiion

Wanna Bet? - bendingsignpost : “I bet you... that I can get laid tonight before you can get a single kiss. We pick each other’s targets.”Dean bites his lip in the vain attempt to not burst out laughing. “Uh-huh,” he says. “Sure, Sammy. Someone single and actually attractive, sure.”“Deal?” Sam says. “A kiss on the mouth, no cheating.”Still pushing down a laugh, Dean offers his hand across the table. They shake. “Deal. Okay, who am I going for?”Sam smiles wider than the devil that once possessed him, and answers: “Cas.”  pure Dean dumbassery and intervening Sam AND IT’S SO SO GOOD!! my heart aches

Four Letter Word for Intercourse - bendingsignpost : As a grease monkey turned college freshman, Dean's constantly three seconds away from being stressed out of his mind. It hardly helps that he's finally figuring out his sexuality in his thirties. What might help with that stress is a little phone number (and a big credit card bill). If he can't figure out how to be bisexual in person, he can at least give it a go over the phone, right? (It's probably a bad idea, but he really can't help himself.) okay,,, so,,, this fic may have awakened certain things in me,,,,,,, but GOD DAMN!!!! genuinely,,,, one of the best fics i’ve read; it’s just so goddamn good! i don’t think i can adequately express how much i love this fic!!

and on that note, i shall end your suffering for the time being. but seriously, these fics are genuinely well written, well thought out and executed!! they deserve to be read by everyone who will enjoy them!!

pt.1 , pt.2

[incorrectbandofbrothersquotes]

You Better, You Better, You Bet - Chapter 9

As Long as You’re Mine

Ron Speirs x Juliet Fletcher

Summary: Juliet Fletcher reaches a breaking point in her life. When she is at her absolute lowest, she meets Ron Speirs, and something happens between them that neither of them will ever forget.

Word Count: 4.1K

Tag List: @vintagelavenderskies @how-are-those-nuts-sarge @iilovemusic12us @hesbuckcompton-baby @tvserie-s-world @whovian45810 @50svibes @cagzzz107 @evelynshelby @piano-isnt-my-forte​ If you’d like to be added, let me know!

A/N: Hope you guys enjoy this update!

Warning(s): None :)

Chapter 1  Chapter 2  Chapter 3  Chapter 4  Chapter 5  Chapter 6  Chapter 7  Chapter 8

AO3 link

Chapter 9 let’s go!!!

“Okay, how does this sound?” Juliet asked Ron, who sat on her bed as she put together her story of the trial. He was careful not to recline, lest he disturb her pages of notes carefully organized atop the quilt. “Meredith Fisher confessed to the murder of six-year-old Peggy Lee in front of the courtroom before her trial began. Mrs. Fisher was arrested and charged with the murder in September of last year. Her lawyer, Mr. Harvey Cooper, originally planned to plead not guilty, but in a shocking turn of events, Mrs. Fisher herself admitted to the jury she killed Peggy Lee before even opening arguments could be made.” 

“I’d read that,” Ron replied. 

Juliet huffed and looked around her room at the Blue Boar. Papers littered the floor, pens were nowhere to be found, and her typewriter was mocking her. Now that the trial was finished - with such a dramatic twist - she was hard at work, trying to ensure she reported it just right. An impossible task, it felt like.

“Okay, but would you read it because I’m your girlfriend or because of the writing?” she asked. 

“The writing,” he told her. “It’s simple, it explains everything.” 

“It feels a bit long for the lead,” she said. “Perhaps I should put the bit about her arrest in the nut graph.” 

“That does feel more like background information,” he agreed. 

She pulled a pencil from behind her ear, scratched out the sentence, and began again. “So, it’d go like this - Meredith Fisher confessed to the murder of six-year-old Peggy Lee in front of the courtroom before her trial began. Her lawyer - I’m gonna take out his name and have that later - so, Her lawyer originally planned to plead not guilty, but in a shocking turn of events, Mrs. Fisher admitted to the jury she killed Peggy Lee before even opening arguments could be made. Then I’ll go into when she was arrested, the details of the murder, then the evidence the prosecution had prepared, and finish with her sentencing date. How’s that?” 

“I think it’s perfect,” he said. 

She chewed her lip. “Should I use the word shocking? I don’t want to tell the readers how to feel.” 

“When she confessed, what was the first thing you heard?” he asked. 

“Gasps,” she answered. 

“There’s your shock,” he said. 

Juliet had to concede that point. Ron almost didn’t believe her when she told him the story. The judge had barely gotten the words “How do you plead?” out before Meredith let out a wail like wounded animal and confessed to the whole gruesome thing. She sobbed that she was sorry, but she knew she had to be punished. She wasn’t safe. And truthfully, Juliet felt bad for her. It was truly one of the most pitiful things she’d ever witnessed. 

But the one thing Juliet could never forget, the image that would stick with her for all her days, was the look on Peggy Lee’s parents’ faces. The Lees watched, dignified, proud, yet misty eyed as the person who killed their daughter begged for mercy. Their grief was profoundly felt, despite their stately manner. They said nothing. They did nothing. And they spoke to no one upon their exit from the courtroom. 

“Jules?” 

Ron’s voice brought her back to the present, his hand on her shoulder making her turn to look at him. 

“Sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “Just...it’s so unfair. If anyone had a right to be screaming and crying it was the parents.”

“They must be very English,” he said. 

“Oh, they were proper English,” she agreed. “Stiff upper lips and all. The mother did at one point hide her face in the father’s arm, but other than that, they were stoic.” 

“Thinking about including that in your story?” he wondered. 

“God, no,” she replied. “I’ll mention that they were there and offered no comments, but this isn’t that kind of article.” 

“Just the facts, huh?” 

“As usual.” 

“Juliet.”

“Yeah?”

“The article’s gonna be great,” he said.  

“How can you be so sure?” she asked. 

“Because you care this much,” he said. He accentuated the point with a kiss to the top of her head. “I’ve got a staff meeting. Are you alright here?” 

She nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks for being so patient with me.” 

He kissed her again. “I’ll see you tonight.” 

“See you later, Ron,” she returned. 

With that, he left. Juliet started trying to condense the lead again, still feeling like it was too long. There had to be a better summary. But it was a lot to try and fit into one sentence, so she resigned herself to making it more than one line. She hadn’t chosen a headline yet, either, but she usually liked to write the article first. That way she could pick out the singular most newsworthy part and headline with that. As she organized further, the phone rang. 

“Hello?” she answered. 

“Juliet, it’s Lottie.” 

“Hey, Lottie, how are you?” Juliet asked. 

“Fine, same as usual,” Lottie returned. “Otis just rang and told me about the trial. I hope you’re hard at work.” 

“Absolutely,” Juliet assured her. “I’ve nearly got the lead down. I’ve just got to get the facts organized. I’m thinking of doing a follow up story about the shortcomings of Operation Pied Piper, since Cooper’s little tidbit did prove to be true.” 

Sad as it was, Harvey Cooper was right. There was no process for vetting the families agreeing to take the children. The committee had been in such a hurry to evacuate, they had not even considered that some children could end up in more danger than they were at home in the cities. Juliet found the whole thing fascinating, and it could open up a conversation about war time protocol - be meticulous or swift? 

“I think that’ll be fine,” Lottie said. “But have you gotten any war news? I know I wasn’t enthusiastic about it initially, but you’re the only reporter I’ve got with the Airborne.” 

Juliet bit her lip. While the prospect of war news had originally driven her to accept the Peggy Lee story, she found herself conflicted about it now. Her relationship with Ron threw a wrench in it. 

“I think it’s a conflict of interest for me to cover the Airborne,” she said. 

She could practically hear Lottie’s eyes roll. “Oh, come on, Juliet, don’t be absurd.” 

“It isn’t right, Lottie!” Juliet insisted. “I’m in an intimate relationship with one of the soldiers, there’s no freeing me from bias there.” 

“You could use it to your advantage,” Lottie said. “Obviously, you can’t use him as a source, but couldn’t he lead you to the right person?” 

“I can’t ask that of him,” Juliet said. “I don’t want him to get the wrong idea.” 

“What wrong idea?” 

It was something Juliet had already put a lot of thought into. As badly as she wanted to cover the war - and it did seem like things were ramping up even more in Aldbourne - she was hesitant. She had actually considered asking Ron for a source and then immediately hated herself for it. She would not use her relationship to get ahead in her job. She couldn’t. It just wasn’t right, simple as that.

“That I’m using him,” Juliet explained. “If I ask him to get me a source, he might worry that it’s the reason I entered the relationship, and that’s not the case.” 

Lottie sighed. “So, you just want to give up on covering the war?” 

“I didn’t say that,” Juliet returned. “I’d be happy to cover something else once I get back to London, but-”

“Forget it,” Lottie cut across her. “Just focus on the trial for now and then Pied Piper, if that’s what you want.” 

“Lottie -” 

“Good afternoon, Juliet,” Lottie said harshly, hanging up before Juliet could protest any further. 

She sighed, hanging up as well, and sitting back in her chair. She had a feeling the conversation wasn’t quite over, but she’d hear more about it on her next trip home. For now, she wanted to focus on what happened at the trial. The sentencing would be in another few weeks, so she needed to get this done. 

***

Ron was right of course. The article was published and the London Pursuit sold the most copies it had in years. It surprised Juliet a little, but perhaps people were tired of war news and what better than a dramatic murder trial for a change of pace? It was morbid, sure, but Juliet knew she’d handled it as well as she could. 

Lottie called, absolutely elated by the circulation numbers. And honestly, Juliet was thrilled too. She found Ron later that day and leapt into his arms as a display of her unmitigated excitement. She’d done it, and done it well! It was cause for celebration. So they went to London for the weekend - staying with Nancy of course, since she would have had a fit at missing an opportunity to see Ron - and they went to a nice dinner, champagne and everything. Juliet could hardly believe her luck. Everything was going so perfectly. 

And that night, as they lay together in the afterglow, she looked at his face and knew she loved him. The kind of love she read about in books and poetry. The kind that crooners sang about on the radio. She’d found it. It was scary enough to admit to herself, but she determined that she would - one day soon if the opportunity presented itself - admit it to him. 

He caught her gazing at him. 

“What is it?” he asked. 

“Nothing,” she replied. “I’m just happy you’re mine.” 

***

The sentencing hearing was not as interesting as the trial itself, but Juliet was relieved to report that Meredith Fisher was going to prison for life. There would be no chance for parole, either. So justice was served. 

However, Juliet couldn’t help but notice the look on Mr. Lee’s face. Mrs. Lee had not come for the sentencing, so it was just father. When the judge announced Meredith’s fate, Mr. Lee only closed his eyes and let out a long breath. He nodded, put a hand over his heart, and inhaled again. A single tear rolled down his cheek. It made Juliet look away so that he could have that moment for himself. To take in whatever feelings came to him. To remember Peggy and take some solace in that her killer was going away. 

“I thought I’d be happier,” Juliet told Ron as they prepared for bed that night back at the Blue Boar. “But it still just feels...rotten.” 

“Nothing can bring the girl back,” he said matter-of-factly. 

“I know,” she replied. “But I just....I suppose you’re right. What else could anyone have hoped for in this situation?” 

“Right,” he agreed. 

“I’m also grateful we didn’t have to hear that lawyer make that ridiculous argument in a courtroom,” she said. “I don’t think I could bear the looks on the parents’ faces at that.”  

“That would have been awful,” he said. 

“Even so, it feels rather anticlimactic,” she said. “Especially for the prosecution who spent months putting everything together.”

“They still got the result they wanted,” he pointed out. “So what does it matter?  

She shrugged at that. She still felt unsatisfied, as if there was something more to be done. Even though logically, she knew there wasn’t. She would write an update for the paper, and that would really be the end of it. That was when it hit her. What was really upsetting her was that now that this was over, there was no more reason for her to be in Aldbourne. Especially now that she didn’t want to cover the Airborne. It meant that she would go home to London, in turn reducing her time with Ron significantly. And that was a dreadful thought. 

***

“What do you mean you aren’t coming back to London?” Lottie cried through the phone. “What about the Pied Piper story?”

“I reckon it can wait,” Juliet said, entirely unconvincing, but she hoped Lottie was buying it. Her reasons for remaining in Aldbourne had nothing to do with her job and everything to do with the man she was in love with. “And maybe with some time, I can find my own sources on war news.” 

Lottie remained silent for several minutes. “So, you’ve just changed your mind all of a sudden about covering the Airborne?” 

“Not completely,” Juliet lied. “I...I’m just not sure I’m quite finished here. And what if there’s something else about the Peggy Lee story that comes up? I could -” 

“Give it a rest, Juliet,” Lottie groaned. “I know you want to stay for your boyfriend.”

“That’s not -” 

Lottie cut across her protests. “Please do not insult my intelligence by suggesting otherwise. You want to be near him.” 

“You don’t sound quite as sympathetic as I hoped,” Juliet said, giving in. 

“You have a life in London, Juliet!” Lottie reminded her harshly. “You have a job to do, your mother is here, and you want to put everything on hold for some man?” 

“He’s not just some man!” Juliet argued indignantly. “He’s...different from any man I’ve ever known. And what we have means more to me than anything I’ve ever known.” 

She glanced down at the necklace that sparkled against her skin. A constant reminder of how much she meant to him as well. 

“Oh, come off of your cloud, will you?” Lottie snapped. 

“Lottie,” Juliet said seriously. “The whole time I was with Arthur, did you ever know me to put him before work? Or my family?”

“No, so why is this Ron fellow -”

“Because it is different,” Juliet emphasized. “This is it, Lottie. He’s the one.” 

That seemed to stump her. “Has he...proposed?”

“No, he hasn’t,” Juliet said. “I don’t even care if he does.”

Lottie scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous, you can’t just carry on living in sin.” 

Juliet rolled her eyes. “Could you please pay attention to what's important here? There’s a man in my life who I genuinely see a happy future with and I just...I want to focus on that. Is that so wrong?” 

“I suppose not,” Lottie sighed, and Juliet inwardly celebrated a moment of victory. “But I can’t pay you if you aren’t working. At least be making the proper phone calls to follow this Pied Piper story. Conduct interviews of other families there who have taken in children from the cities. Part of the story is there if you know where to look.” 

“No problem,” Juliet said. “You’ll be glad to know I’ve already begun. I’ve got an interview with the Barnes family next week, who are housing a little girl. I’ll ask them about how the process went for them.” 

“Perfect,” Lottie said. She paused for a beat. “And, Juliet?”

“Yes?” 

“I really am happy for you.” 

Juliet smiled softly. “Thank you, Lottie.” 

***

Spring fully thawed the winter out by the time April arrived. Aldbourne was rather charming in bloom. But Juliet wasn’t sure if it was the flowers or that she was in love. She found herself humming a lot more than she used to - these days she didn’t even need food to start a merry tune in the back of her throat. She had more energy, despite spending rather long nights in Ron’s arms. And she found her enthusiasm for work - even though her priority shifted - a great deal easier to come by as well. 

The interview with the Barnes family went splendidly. They were also housing a couple of lieutenants from the Airborne, though they were not in Ron’s company. Juliet only exchanged brief greetings with them, as they were heading to work just as she was entering the house. She nearly melted at the connection they had formed with the girl - Ann - which was clear in their goodbyes to her for the day. She seemed particularly close to the tall redhead. 

Juliet told Ron about it that evening over drinks. 

“Yeah, that’s Winters and Welsh,” he told her. “Good officers.” 

“Do they spend much time here?” she wondered, indicating the Blue Boar.  

“Welsh does, but Winters doesn’t drink,” he said. “He spends most nights there with the family.” 

“I can tell,” she said. “I mean, it was seriously precious. She hugged his knees and he patted her on the head and I think I fell a little bit in love with him for a moment.” 

He scoffed. “Good luck, I think he has a girlfriend.” 

“Has he?” she questioned. 

“Yeah, the nurse,” he said. “She works for the regiment.” 

“You lot have your own nurse?” 

“She’s got some connection to Colonel Sink,” he said with a shrug. “I’ve never actually met her.” 

“And what about the other chap?” she asked. “Welsh?” 

“He’s engaged,” he told her. “Her name’s Kitty.” 

“You know that but not the name of the nurse?” she questioned. 

“I only know because Harry never shuts up about her,” he said. “The whole regiment knows at this point. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if the Krauts knew.” 

She giggled. “I think that’s sweet.” 

“It’s obnoxious.” 

“You mean, you don’t brag about me to the whole regiment?” she teased. “Romance is dead.”

“Sorry for your loss,” he retorted as he took a swig of his drink. 

“Not as sorry as I am,” she returned. “Now I’ll have to spend God knows how many hours in mourning.” 

“At least you look good in black,” he said. 

“My saving grace,” she agreed with a smile. She paused for a beat. “Seriously, you don’t talk about me at all?” 

“I do if you come up,” he told her.

“And what do you say?” she wondered.

“Whatever’s relevant,” he said. 

She rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible.” 

“I prefer not to broadcast my personal life,” he said. “All they need to know is that you’re mine.” 

She smiled as she leaned over to kiss his cheek. “That’s true.” 

***

April was drawing to a close. Juliet stood in her room, preparing to go and interview another Aldbourne family about their process in fostering a child from London. These interviews were restoring the bit of faith she’d lost in covering Peggy’s story because most of the families were very kind, and doted on the children. They were proud of doing what they could to ensure the future of England. And the children were mostly happy. What happened to Peggy was a tragedy and an outlier. 

She was just getting ready to leave when Ron entered her room. A grim shadow of doubt on his features made her smile disappear as fast as it had come. Something was wrong. He definitely had bad news. 

“We’re moving out,” he told her. 

She had expected this at some point, but she still blinked in surprise. Her shoulders drooped as the reality of it percolated through her.  

“Oh,” she said. “Well...when?” 

He hesitated. “This is off the record -” 

She scowled at him, momentarily offended that he felt the need to clarify. 

“Everything between us is protected, Ron,” she said sharply. “You and I are always off the record unless stated otherwise.” 

“Sorry,” he said quickly, picking up on her tone. “I know that, I just -” 

“When?” she demanded again.

“End of May,” he said. “I don’t know when we’ll be back.” 

The if hung in the air, but remained unsaid. This was it. The moment she had been dreading since she met him. Well, maybe not that long, but since they had started getting to know each other there in Aldbourne. The war was taking him from her, like it took everything. 

“I see…” she trailed off, her annoyance easing up. That was sooner than she had hoped and she didn’t want to waste any precious time being angry at him. “Um...where - wait, I can’t ask you that.” She bit her lip. “When - oh, no, you’ve just told me, that’s right -” 

“Juliet.”

“Yes?”

“Wait for me.” 

Once again, Ron failed to disappoint her. Despite all the reassurance, she worried that when they shipped out, he would take the opportunity to break it off with her. Instead, he was asking - in his way - for a commitment from her. She held his gaze for a long moment, waiting for him to say more. But he didn’t. 

“You really want to stay together?” she asked. 

“Yes,” he said assuredly. 

“Oh, thank God,” she sighed, and she threw herself into his arms for a kiss. 

He returned the kiss with enthusiasm, his lips fiery and desperate against hers. As if he were leaving the following morning instead of a couple of weeks. But Juliet wanted the intensity. She wanted to savor every touch, every kiss, every moment she had before he was gone. She also wanted to let him know that she absolutely would wait for him. She would do anything he asked of her. She just wanted him. Forever, if possible. And if the war robbed her of that, she would at least have the memories of kisses like these. Of nights in his arms. Of his unwavering dedication to her. 

***

The arrangements were made for Juliet to return to London once Ron and the rest of the Airborne were off. On his final morning in Aldbourne, they of course made love again, only it was the after that they relished even more. Juliet etched into her brain the feeling of his embrace, the warmth of his skin, the sound of his voice. She wished desperately that she could freeze time and hold onto him for just a little longer. She had found something so wonderful and now it was being dragged away from her. 

“Jules,” he said, voice low as if there might be someone listening on the other side of the door. 

“Yeah?” 

“We’re going to France,” he said. 

She blinked and adjusted her position so she could look him in the face. “France?”

He nodded. “I wanted you to know.” 

She couldn’t explain why that felt more intimate than anything they had just done in her bed. 

“Why tell me now?” she asked, curious. 

He swallowed, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, but his arm gave her shoulders a squeeze. 

“Trust,” he said. 

She pressed her lips tenderly to his chest to let him know how much she appreciated his trust. There was no longer a need to specify on or off the record. His statements were privileged. Anything he told her would remain between them. 

For a fleeting moment, she considered telling him right then that she loved him. Because if he was going to France, there was a chance he would never come back. And shouldn’t he know just in case? But her heart told her to play it safe. If she didn’t tell him now, perhaps whatever power there was would protect him enough so that she could say it later. If there were still things left to be said, hopefully that would keep him alive. 

There were no guarantees, of course. All they had was each other and their promise.

That afternoon, the trucks began rumbling out of Aldbourne. Juliet walked Ron as far as she was allowed. Her chest felt tight as the impending goodbye hung in the air. She hated this. It was too painful. How could it be that the very war that brought them together would also be the reason for their parting? What was fair about that? Nothing, that’s what. 

A kiss from Ron drew her out of her thoughts. He held her firmly against him, almost as if he were afraid she would disappear right out of his grasp. When they parted, they were both breathless. 

“Be careful,” she said. 

His eyes searched hers. “You too.” 

Her brain was practically screaming at her to tell him now just what she felt. But she was too afraid. Too afraid it would doom him. Too afraid he wouldn’t say it back. Or even worse, say it only because of the passionate nature of the moment. It had to be when they weren’t so desperate. When they really meant it because whatever was coming was not a threat. 

“I’ll write,” she told him. 

“I’ll respond when I can,” he returned. 

She nodded. Her throat was dry and thick. The lack of tears in her eyes surprised her. How could she not be crying when she could feel her heart breaking so badly? She kissed him again. Just to prolong the last moment where he was only hers. 

“Stay safe,” she told him. 

He nodded. 

With one last kiss, they said goodbye without saying it. Juliet went to the train station and headed home to London. And Ron went to war. 

[coffy-cat27]

Sakusa is a simple person. Make a schedule, follow it, allow intrusion as long as it doesn't messed up his schedule; he's fine and good.

But he never thought about the postman that came to his parents' house while he's reading, giving his admission letter to the college he dreamed of; is the guy from the national with bad hair dye job, Miya Atsumu.

"Oh, Sakusa! Fancy ta see ya! This must be yers then," he gave the envelope with the prestige college badge on it.

"Oh...thanks."

"D'ya have any water? Mine was finished before I came here". Sakusa get inside to get a glass and cold water for the blonde. When he gave it, Atsumu drank with much pleasure; it's summer after all. "Thanks, Sakusa!" He gave the glass.

"Didn't you live in Hyogo? How are you in Tokyo?" Sakusa asked. "Ah! I'm doin some jobs before I go ta pro. I'm still waiting for my letter," Atsumu said, eyeing the book Sakusa's holding.

"Ya really love poetry ain't cha?" Atsumu said, mentioning the book he's holding. "Uhh yeah. At least I'm not too bored on some days like this," he scratched his nape. "Oh well I'll be in Tokyo fer a few weeks so hope ta see ya again, Omi!" Atsumu ran out from the door.

Omi? Really?

So.. Kiyoomi did see the blonde every other day, for almost two weeks. Most of it were his father's letters and some sale promotions his mother got.

"Omi, let's change numbers!" Atsumu said one time after nth time to his house. "And for what?" "So we still can talk everyday! I don't wanna talk to ya just by me sendin' those letters," he pouted.

"No, talking to you like this is already a burden I didn't consent to."

"Omi!" He gasped.

Just like every story ever written about this two dorks, Atsumu never stopped asking. And alas, Kiyoomi gave in; with a rule that Atsumu cannot text him at 3 am.

So the blonde texted him right during his skincare routine, before he went to bed.

Blonde Miya

Omi, tomorrow's my last day 'ere in Tokyo, so....wanna hang out?

Me

No, totally not.

Blonde Miya

C'mon! I'll pay ya fer everythin'!!!(╯°□°）╯

Me

What place you got in mind?

Blonde Miya

There's a new cafe just opened at the junction near ya house! Let's go there!(・∀・)

Me

K, 2 pm you're paying for everything. You can't cancel it or I will kill you myself.

Blonde Miya

Ya bet!! (◠‿◕)

By now, it's almost about two months he's here. And Atsumu will leave Tokyo tomorrow. Well, at least the blonde won't disturb him anymore. He will get his well sleep night.

But there's a lump in his throat.

Atsumu will leave Tokyo.

Atsumu will leave his job.

Atsumu will leave him.

Wait what?

What's with the last one?

He wasn't his to begin with.

He has no right on how the blonde should live his life.

Somehow I just want to be a part of it

"Omi! Ya came!" Atsumu exclaimed. "No one should refuse some free food," he walked to the blonde. "Let's get in! I'll pay ya fer everythin' today." Kiyoomi get inside, "Then hurry up."

"So how the hell were you in Tokyo? And worked as a postman? Really?" Kiyoomi took a bit of his cheesecake. "One, my twin's 'ere, studyin' business and culinary. Two, just wanna companied 'im fer a while, he has bad homesickness. Three, just wanna get sumn money and maybe got my letter earlier."

Letter?

Oh.

He's going to pro.

"So did you got your letter yet?" Atsumu munched his blueberry muffin, "Yep! Right before 'm bout ta text ya!" Kiyoomi hummed. "Which and where?" "MSBY Black Jackals, Osaka." "That's about an hour or something to your hometown right?"

"Yeah, ma's alone there; don't wanna leave her." Atsumu took a sipped on his ice blended latte. "Isn't there already a team at Hyogo?" He raised his eyebrows. "There is, but ma said she's tired of seeing my face."

They fall into a comfortable silence. "And Kiyoomi, I wanna tell ya something." Kiyoomi looked at him. It's rare for Atsumu to suddenly said someone's full name; since he's one of those people that easily gave everyone a nickname. "What is it?"

He took a deep breath; "I actually like you, so much. And I initially wanted this to be a date, but, I know ya don't feel the same, so." He drifted back to his accent. 'I have ta catch my train in an hour, so lemme pay fer ya food." Atsumu stood up.

"Ah right," they stood up and went to the counter. True to his words, Atsumu paid everything. And he can't hide the fact that he wanted to pay it back; "Let me send you to the station."

"Huh? Omi ya don't have ta," he laughed it off. "I want to. That might be the last thing you would only allowed me to do today."

And because you said you wanted this to be a date.

"Well, okay, if ya insisted." They got into Kiyoomi's car (which he took the lesson right after high school), and went to the Miya's apartment. "Samu's not 'ere since he got classes, even tho he said he wanted ta send me off."

That's nice.

Having someone cares for you.

"Ya wait 'ere, I'll get my stuff." Atsumu ran off to the elevator; leaving Kiyoomi in the car, to deal with his thoughts alone. He let out a sigh.

Atsumu likes him.

Atsumu likes him so much.

Does he likes Atsumu?

He doesn't know. It's a question he's been asking himself for a while, way before the blonde sent his letter, nor the day at the national training camp.

He fell for him once he saw the blonde during his first year, years ago. Now, being an adult with a rational mindset and wiser than his age; he should be able to say clearly what he's feeling for Atsumu.

But all he got was a cloudy vogue answer.

A knock on his window woke him. Atsumu tilted his head towards the back of the car. He opened the boot, letting the blonde to fill his bags. Atsumu went back at the passenger seat. "Thanks, Omi. And sorry if I take too long," he pulled the seatbelt. "It's fine," putting the car on gear.

"So uhh this is it I guess?" Atsumu rubbed his nape, anxious, unsure, sad, Kiyoomi can't tell. The platform is busy with people going back from work. "Yeah..... I guess it is..." Kiyoomi put his hands in his pockets. Autumn is early this year. As he thought about it, Atsumu shivered.

"Brrr... The fuck is wrong with these seasons in Tokyo? Fucking hot and fucking cold. Where's the normal temperature?" Atsumu cursed under his breath. Which reminds him....

Wait here for a bit. Your train is about 15 minutes from now right? Kiyoomi asked in rush. Uhh yeah why? Wait here. From the car to the platform was about 8 minutes, if he sun he could make it. He ran to his car, at the passenger seat and open the box.

He has a spare scarf there in case he forgot his. Thank god you finally will be useful. He locked the car and ran back. Atsumu, fiddling with his fingers, looked at Kiyoomi weirdly. Omi why are ya- Here. Take this.

The train stopped in front of them. "Omi I can't- the train's here." Kiyoomi wrapped the scarf around his neck. "I don't care. I would rather have you dead by me killing you than you die cause of cold". Atsumu smiled, "Thanks, Omi."

He got inside the train and waved to him. It's their last time to see each other for a while- or years. Kiyoomi doesn't mind.

If fates wants them to be together, they will be together.

They still keep in touch. Kiyoomi being a stressed out student he is and Atsumu playing volleyball with a popularity like an idol (which he is, he's a Dv.1 volleyball player for fuck sake). All is well for them.

Omi-omi ( ╹▽╹ )

I got an offer to some division 1 teams.

Me

That's great Omi-omi!! (≧▽≦)

Me

OH AND CONGRATS FER YA MVP COLLEGIATE TITLE!!!

Me

Damn who would've thought ya would got that

Omi-omi ( ╹▽╹ )

Wow look who's saying that while still being lower than me.

Me

SHUT YER MOUTH OMI OMI

Me

And tell me

Me

Which team d'ya choose???

Omi-omi ( ╹▽╹ )

None of your business.

Me

OMI OMI (╯°□°）╯

Omi-omi ( ╹▽╹ )

Kidding. I'm not telling you.

Me

Omi..... Really??

Me

Omi....

Me

Oi

Me

Ya scrub

Atsumu huffed in annoyance. That germaphobe guy..... He's a red flag for relationship. Fucking keeping everything to himself....

Maybe that's why he likes him.

Me

Hey, Miya. I'm in Osaka. Wanna hang out?

Blonde Miya

WAIT WHAT WHY YA DIDN'T TELL ME YA SCRUB

Me

Since I don't want anyone to know about it.

Blonde Miya

Wait 'm in tha middle of practice so I'll get back to ya realllll quick (• ▽ •)

Me

Whatever and whenever you want, Miya.

Kiyoomi waited at the bus stop Atsumu told him. It's only been 5 minutes since he arrived and there's no sign of the blonde. "Omi!!! Sorry 'm late!" Kiyoomi looked up to see the setter; now with a platinum blonde hair instead of weird pissed golden blonde hair.

"Glad you take note about that," he put his phone in his jacket. "How 're ya still alive wearin' a jacket? It's almost summer??" They starts to walk. "Even if it's burning like an oven in here, I might still being cold like a fridge," he deadpanned. "Looks like runnin' hot does give ya some advantages, eh?"

"Hearing it from someone who literally wears shorts during a snowstorm, maybe."

The walk to the restaurant Atsumu recommended wasn't long. They took a seat and take their orders. "So, Omi-omi. Tell me, where 're ya goin' fer pro?" Kiyoomi raised his eyebrow. "I told you I won't tell you," he took of his mask. "I thought we're friends! Ain't friends told each other their secrets??" Atsumu took offence.

"I've known you for years; and you are the last people to tell a secret to." "Rude Omi-omi," he huffed.

The meal was nice. The calm atmosphere during a spring morning; it's calming. "Hey Atsumu, do you have a boyfriend or a girlfriend yet?" Atsumu looked up from his spaghetti. "Uhh... No I don't. Why're ya askin'?"

Kiyoomi put down his fork.

"Let's date."

.

.

.

"Huh? Wait Omi, are ya serious??" Atsumu stared at Kiyoomi, trying to keep his face cool from making a smile.

(Tell me who the fuck isn't happy when their crush suddenly asked you to date them?)

"Well, my parents asked me to get a life partner and my first thought was you and...." Kiyoomi trailed off.

"And..?" Atsumu waited.

"I like you too. Sorry I responded to your confession years ago right now."

"Eh wait....when did I confessed to ya?" Atsumu sounded confused. Kiyoomi frowned, "About 5 years ago or so, at a new cafe recently opened around my neighborhood, that you excitedly told me, during your time working as a postman at Tokyo while accompanied your twin as he's in college and you're the one who-"

"OKAY OKAY STOP," Atsumu hid his reddening face in his hands. "Ya still remembered it after all those years?" He looked into Kiyoomi's eyes through his fingers. All he sees was a pair of eyes, filled with amusement, adoration and something he can't pinpoint.

Atsumu has known Kiyoomi the longest;- besides Komori-, so he knew that Kiyoomi mostly shows his emotions through his eyes. Atsumu can tell which are which, but not this time.

"I do, Atsumu. It's hard to forget the guy who confessed to me and have to leave Tokyo right away after eating cheesecake. Plus, he won't even let me told my feelings," he hold Atsumu's hand. "So I'll ask you once again; will you be my boyfriend?"

Atsumu smiled, "Hell, yeah."

"BUT YA HAVE TA TELL ME WHERE ARE YA GETTIN' YER ASS INTO!" Kiyoomi snorted. "Maybe next time."

"Alright everyone! We're having new people to the team. So don't scare them; which goes for Atsumu, Bokuto and Hinata." Coach Foster glanced at Atsumu; which he frown. Foster walked to the main door and someone followed from behind. "Oh! Sakusa-kun!!" "Sakusa-san!!" Bokuto and Hinata jumped to the spiker.

"Hey guys! Calm yer ass down!" Meian grabbed the two by the collar before dragging them to the court. "That was not a welcome I initially thought of," he frowned at the two. "Welcome, Sakusa-kun; I'm Samson Foster, your coach; and you may introduce yourself to the team."

Kiyoomi turned to the team; "Sakusa Kiyoomi, wing spiker, used to play for Itachyama academy and Watanabe college volleyball team. Hope we can work together."

"Omi! Ya should've told me before ya goin' fer Jackals!" Atsumu bumped Kiyoomi on the shoulder. "Well, I did say it's a surprise so.. did it work?" "Sort of," he got inside of Kiyoomi's car. "So whose gonna get dinner?" "Us, simple."

"Says tha one that fuckin hid the team his goin' fer from his boyfriend."

"And says the one who never gave back my scarf years ago."

"Ya never asked fer it!"

"And you never guessed about it."

Their relationship may be weird in some eyes, even from the way they met and how they get together and they kept on pining for each other for years; some people may think how come they haven't tried to kill each other yet?

Easy.

They're in love your honor.

And you can't do anything if fates wants them to be together.

A/N: I don't know what kind of monster I just created in a span of weeks and it's going no where. If you have reached here, thank you for reading and for fuck sake none of my writings are betaed and everything is OOC so take that with what you will. I'll be back in maybe few days or a week with maybe my art or writing.