#hold onto your hats for tuesday approaches

[cerealmonster15]

dndads s2 my beloved. assorted doodles lol

[homesick4la]

intimate — hamzahthefantastic

contains: 18+ content mdni!!!!, oral + fingering (fem receiving), inexperienced reader

summary: you spend a random friday night. exploring physical intimacy with your boyfriend.

a/n: don’t know how to write this kind of stuff lol but i cooked this up at 2 am and wanted to post eek

part 2: closer

you and hamzah had been dating for a couple months-

on one random tuesday evening, you and your best friend had decided to go out to your local karaoke bar. during your cover of carly simon’s you’re so vain, your eyes locked with a pair of big brown eyes from across the room. he had curly hair poking out of a camo hat and a silly shirt on. he’s cute, you thought.

the several shots you had taken throughout the night left you feeling brave. you smiled at him and continued to hold eye contact with the stranger throughout the duration of the song- performing as if it were only you two in the room.

a smile spread across his face and he quickly began mouthing the lyrics back to you. mirroring the emotion you poured into each word. and in that moment, even though he was a stranger at the time, you fell completely head over heels for him.

he approached after you finished the song, applauding you on your performance and introducing himself. you two spent the rest of the night talking. not only was he even more attractive up close- he was hilarious. he understood all of your niche internet references and matched your sarcastic jokes. once the karaoke bar begun closing up, he quickly asked if you’d want to coffee in the morning which you replied with an immediate and over-eager “yes.”

since then the two of you were inseparable. he loved taking you on planned out dates but even more than that, he loved doing mundane life tasks with you. cleaning. grocery shopping. helping you take your laundry down to the local laundry mat. he’d do absolutely anything as long as he got to be around you.

so in many ways, your guys’ relationship resembled an old married couple. the way you bantered back and forth. the way you shared your darkest secrets with one another. the way you could simply never get sick of each other’s presence.

the one thing you two had never truly explored was physical intimacy.

you’d made out of course. and there were definitely times you wanted more. but neither of you had ever initiated anything more.

hamzah had never directly asked, but he figured you didn’t have much experience after you told him you had never had a boyfriend. this was why he was so hesitant to pursue anything further than kissing with you. he would never want you to feel pressured in any way so he decided he’d wait for you to initiate that you wanted more.

it was like any other friday night- the two of you making out on hamzah’s couch, neglecting the movie that took thirty minutes to decide on.

a soft moan escapes your mouth and hamzah allows himself to let his hands slide down your waist to your hips. he grips onto them, pulling you closer than you thought possible.

with his hips pressed against you, you feel just how turned on he is. and god, you feel the same.

you hook a leg around his hips, allowing him to press into you even deeper. you push your hips up and the friction is downright intoxicating.

within seconds, the two of you are grinding together, completely clothed. the kisses getting messier and messier. satisfied sounds coming from the both of you.

hamzah’s hands roam your body, unable to stay still. his hands slide under your large t-shirt as he moves from your mouth to your jaw. his fingers begin tracing the lace of your bra as he kisses alongside your neck.

you guys had never gotten this heated before. the thought of what’s to come makes you nervous. he feels you stiffen under him.

“you okay?” he looks up at you worriedly.

“y-yeah i just, never done this before,” you admit.

“s’okay we won’t do anything you don’t want to do,” he moves his hand, rubbing the side of your waist soothingly. “whenever you tell me to stop, i will.”

“i don’t want to stop,” you confess. he nods before placing his lips back on your neck.

“what have you done before?” he asks between kisses.

“nothing. only kissing.”

hamzah learning that you’d done nothing at all had suprised him a bit.

“really?” he looks at you, “no guy has ever tried anything with you before?”

“no. i guess no guy has ever wanted me like that,” you explain. truly, you had never felt sexy or desirable until meeting hamzah. he was constantly reminding you of just how attractive you were.

“shut up.” he grins like he doesn’t believe you before placing a sweet kiss to your lips. “you’re perfect.” he kisses your cheek gently. “s’beautiful,” his lips move to your jaw once again.

“and so fucking sexy.” his low voice vibrates against the skin on your neck. “and i want you like that.”

you feel his fingers play with the edge of your t-shirt. he glances up to you as he starts to pull up the fabric- asking permission. you nod in response.

he runs his hands over your lacy bralette. you arch your back, allowing him to unclip and completely remove your bra, leaving you in a small pair of black lacy boy shorts.

you feel vulnerable- nervous.

but he’s staring at you as if this is the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen.

he kisses you. placing one hand on your breast. the other cupping the side of your face, tilting your head back so he can deepen your kiss. his fingers work your nipple before being replaced by his mouth.

then he moves towards your stomach, kissing his way down. you spread you legs automatically, giving him more room to work his way down your torso. the thin fabric of your boy shorts getting wetter and wetter by the second.

he stops right before your boy shorts, hooking his fingers at the band of them.

“this okay?” he asks, his big brown eyes looking up at you.

“yeah, keep going.” you nod and shift your hips closer toward him, feeling needy.

just like that, your lacy shorts are being thrown to the side. hamzah’s hands go to the inside of your thighs, spreading you wider before placing sweet kisses on both inner thighs.

his sweet kisses are replaced by his tongue running up the inside of your thigh. he’s taking his time but god the anticipation is killing you.

you whimper and his tongue is immediately running up and down your folds and then circling your clit slowly. your hands hold onto his dark curls, earning a deep groan from him.

he continues to suck on your clit in a way that makes you feel like your floating. and you simply cannot contain the satisfied moans leaving your throat.

he lifts his mouth up and the loss of contact makes you want to cry until you see his hand moving up your thigh.

the pad of his thumb presses your clit, making slow circles.

“do you ever touch yourself like this?” he asks, his voice confident and curious.

“y-yeah.” you answer, barely able to get words out.

“yeah?” he grins, “what do you think about, baby?”

the sound of his voice makes the knot in your stomach grow stronger.

“this,” you admit, “i- think about you t-touching me like this.”

he slips a finger inside you. a devilish smile on his face.

“i think about you too.” he slides a second finger in. “i’ve thought about this so many times.”

“thought about how wet you’d get for me. how pretty you’d look when i make you come..”

he cuts himself off, his mouth now occupied with completely devouring your core. his two fingers still pumping in and out of you at a pace that makes you see stars.

“want you..to come..all over my fingers.” he says breathlessly.

all you can do is let out a shuddered sigh in response. you’re so close. his fingers increase in pace, perfectly coordinating with his tongue. you tug on his hair, needing to grasp onto something.

“hamzah,” you whimper. “hamzah, i’m going to-“

you don’t even get to finish your sentence before you cry out. pleasure flooding over your entire body in a way it never has. a way much more intense than anything you’d done on your own.

he removes his fingers and brings his hand towards your face.

“open your mouth,” he says, looking up at you. “want you to know how fucking good you taste, pretty girl.”

you taste his fingers in your mouth, sucking them clean before releasing them.

he grins at you before pressing his mouth to yours, kissing you gently.

he pulls away, tracing his fingers up and down one of your arms soothingly.

“feel good?” he questions.

“so good,” you laugh, still catching your breath after your orgasm.

he kisses your temple before pulling you up, positioning you two upright on the couch once again with his arm around your waist.

“so should we restart this movie- because it was actually really good before you started distracting me.”, you tease.

“girl, don’t even.” he responds, pulling you closer towards him and holding up the remote to rewind the movie.

a/n: guys i have never written any sort of smut so sorry if this awful and too long and boring… might delete this after like a day…lol but i will write more if u guys want… tehe… k bye muah

p.s. there is a fly in my room and it’s 3:30 am and i can’t sleep and all i can hear is the goddamn fly buzzing around me

[a-land-lacking-sleep]

Day 30 (Alt): New Friends

(Check out the final chapter on AO3!)

It had started fairly simply as a conversation about rock climbing on Chatotter, with Ingo and Grant both talking about their experiences free-climbing and the various views they’ve seen. The two discussed climbing techniques, height records, particularly dangerous climbs that they pushed through. Finally, Grant brought up what had been on Ingo’s mind - Lets Climb Together.

And so Ingo and Emmet found themselves out on the coast of Kalos, in Cyllage City, looking down from the cliff top road down onto the town. “This is beautiful,” Ingo says in an airy tone. “I would climb these mountains daily for this view alone.”

“I am Emmet. That seems like a lot of work,” Emmet says, looking down at the city. There were roads and stairs that lead up to where the pair were standing, but to go any higher would either require a Pokémon or climbing gear to scale the mountain. “This view is enough, and we did work for it.”

“Yes, but it was all leg work. Not really that satisfying or helpful in getting my heart pumping,” Ingo says as he looks down the road to the little Sneasel that was running towards the two. “Return to station, Young Lady!”

“My blood got pumping,” Emmet mutters as he begins moving back to the stairs. “I am Emmet, and I want to be on time. Come along, brother!”

“Coming!” As Young Lady scampers up onto Ingo’s back, the pair of twins begin to descend the stairs towards Cyllage’s city center, chatting about the variety of Pokemon that they had seen in the cavern the day before, and whether any would make for good additions to their teams. The entire journey, Young Lady swoops around Ingo like he’s a stationary pole, using him for her own entertainment.

Finally, the pair arrive at the Gym, where a young man stands outside, gemstones woven into his hair. “Ah, Ingo!” He calls out, waving towards the pair as they approach. “I’m glad the both of you could make it! Come on in!” He quickly opens the doors, and ushers the two in.

“I’m glad we could make it, Grant! I wouldn’t want to mi-” Ingo pauses mid-sentence, and he, Emmet, and Young Lady all look around at the gym in awe. It was modeled like the inside of a cavern, with stone walls and ceilings, and a large waterfall cascading down in the back into the retention section below. Ingo, and especially Young Lady, were immediately pulled back to their time in Hisui at the sight and sound, and it didn’t surprise either twin when the Sneasel leapt from Ingo’s shoulder and ran to the nearest wall.

“I am Emmet. This is beautiful,” Emmet says softly as he looks around. “The logistics of this must be outstanding. How does the waterfall work?”

“I’m glad you asked, it’s actually really fascinating!” Grant leads Emmet over to the railing, and they both look down, Emmet putting his hand on his flat cap to hold it in place. “There are actually grates down there, so it is drains into a reservoir down below, and then pumped back to the top over the course of the day.”

“Interesting,” Emmet says as he nods, tapping his chin. “How frequently do you clean the reservoirs, to keep the water clean?”

“We have pumice and basalt filters, and every Tuesday w-”

While the two talk about the water system, Ingo finds himself staring up at the rock wall that Young Lady had scaled. “Now, Lady, your mother may have stayed home with Elesa, but that doesn’t mean that you should go leaping across cliff faces!” High above, the Sneasel audibly blows him a razzberry and begins to scurry a little higher.

Huffing, Ingo takes off his coat and hat, laying them on the bench nearby as he judges the surroundings. The ground is padded, which is good since most of Grant’s challengers wouldn’t have any experience climbing, and while there are easy climbing spots like at any climbing park, Young Lady had decided to climb on the more natural rock face. That sort of rock face wasn’t unfamiliar to Ingo, and since it wasn’t naturally formed, some places were a little smooth.

Ingo starts on the recreational climbing wall, making his way about 15 feet before transitioning onto the actual stone. Finding the first few handholds was pretty easy, and in fact Ingo suspected that there were some more natural handholds purposely carved in for more experienced climbers like him. That would explain why so much of it felt like the perfect spacing for a climber. Slowly but surely, Ingo was catching up to Young Ladyc and in just a few minutes, he snags her off the wall. “Come with me, you little fare dodger,” he says with a laugh as she squirms.

By this point, Ingo is several yards from the nearest recreational wall, and so he sets Young Lady on his back and begins moving back to it. “Now, I get that climbing is fun, but we need to keep on the tracks,” he says calmly as they move to the artificial handholds. “You can’t just go leaping around in unfamiliar cliff faces!”

“Snea!” Young Lady whaps the top of Ingo’s head to show her displeasure. “Snea sneas!”

“I understand you aren’t happy being babysat, but it’s what your mother wan-” Ingo had to quickly stop what he was saying as Young Lady began to turn around on his back and prepare to launch away. “Safety checks, Lady! Cool your engines!”

On impulse, Ingo turns to grab at Young Lady as she disengages from him. He successfully snags her out of the air, but unfortunately his footing was now unsteady. Looking down, he sees that he’s about 20 feet above the mat, and holds Young Lady to his chest. “Mayday!”

At this, Emmet and Grant begin bolting in his direction as Ingo twists to his side, leaning slightly forward to the ground. His impact is swift arriving as he feels his arm smack into the padded floor, he and his passenger bouncing slightly before he rolls onto his back and groans.

“I am Emmet!” Emmet sternly speaks as he stands over Ingo. “What were you doing? It’s not like you to fall!”

Ingo groans again, before holding up a rattled Young Lady, who simply squeaks as she is displayed. “She jumped the turnstile. I saved her life.”

“She would’ve been fine, Ingo,” Grant says, grasping the arm that Ingo didn’t land on to help him up. “Now let’s get you looked at. That wasn’t a large fall, but it wasn’t nothing either.”

“It was barely a tumble,” Ingo tries to say to defend himself as he sets Young Lady down, who promptly clings to Emmet’s leg. “I’ve fallen from further!”

“And broke your leg.”

“There is no need to tell my climbing buddy I broke my leg falling down a cliff in Sinnoh!” Ingo shoots back at his brother while Grant laughs.

[njheresworld]

Hold Me in Your Arms

Pairing: 1940sBucky Barnes x F! Reader

Genre: Romance, Drama, Angst

Warnings: Smut, Angst, Gentleman Bucky, Rich Reader

Author’s note: shdhfjsjskdh here it is guys. The moment we have been waiting for even though its just the first chapter.

Chapter 1

Bucky wipes the sweat that rolled down his forehead. The heat was unbearable, machines whirred loudly as it tried its best to move. Two more pumps of grease and it was smooth as ever.

“There you go Chad.”

Bucky took off his dirty greasy gloves when he saw Jack approach him.

“Hey Bucky! Mr. Richards wants to see you.”

“Yeah, give me two.” He goes back to the storage to put the things back in its place and started climbing upstairs to the boss’ office.

Bucky was curious as to why he was being called. He had done nothing wrong but rather was appreciated for knowing basically everything in the factory. He tried his best to wipe away the grime on his face as he knocked on the boss door.

“Come in.” Came a voice.

He opened the door and gave a nod.

“Good evening sir.”

“Good evening Bucky. Hope you’re having a good day.”

“Yes sir.”

“Well, I’d like you to meet my daughter Y/N, Y/N, this is Bucky Barnes, one of our best employees.” William Richards said.

Bucky turned to look at a woman, wearing a wine red dress, black velvet gloves and black hat, a black belt adorning her hips, showing the good shape of it. But she did not care to turn around as she stared at the old pictures of the factory on the wall.

“Ahem….Y/N?” William says a little sternly.

You turn around and softly smile at him. Your red lipstick looked like blood and your eyes were the most beautiful he had ever seen.

Bucky stood there unable to take his eyes off of you. He licked his lips as he smiled back.

“It’s nice to meet you miss.” Bucky nods his head.

“Likewise.” You nod back.

You can’t help but notice his steel blue eyes. And those arms. They could carry a truck. He was handsome. You blink it away and look back at your dad as he started talking to both of you.

“James, I want you to show her around. Every department and every room of our factory. Explain to her how things work. After all, she is going to take over our business.” William smiles proudly at you while you stood there with a grimace.

Bucky realized that she was to be inheriting her family business and nodded.

“Sure.”

“Lead the way.” You force yourself.

Bucky notices her disinterest but brushes it off as he starts to walk around.

“This is where the shipment arrives. We get them every Tuesdays and Fridays. If the warehouse fills up, we move a few to the yard.” Bucky points at the giant warehouse as he spoke.

You try your best to pay attention to him, giving him light nods and smiles as you held onto your purse tightly.

“Our machines are checked once every month. Ya’know, to ensure the smooth running. One time, old Bruce right there cut his finger when he tried to pull at the steel sheets that got stuck in the machine.” Bucky casually says as your eyes bulge.

“Is he alright?” You ask.

Bucky chuckles.

Oh, he sounded like heaven.

“Yeah yeah, we were able to save his finger by the time we reached the clinic.”

“Is all the first aid kits intact? How far is the clinic?” You ask.

Bucky smiles at how you did not care for how the factory worked but the safety of the workers.

“It is around five kilometres. And yes our emergency kits are intact.”

You nod.

Bucky continues to rant on about how the steel was shipped and you could not stay focussed.

“And thats it. We will get into more detail tomorrow.” Bucky sighs and look at you to find you staring at the ground.

“Ma’m? You there?” He try to catch your eyes.

You suddenly look up at him.

“Oh yes. Sorry, I zoned out for a bit.”

“You okay? If you don’t mind me asking, you look a little disinterested.” Bucky ask.

“Oh I’m fine. Well, thank you for today’s session James. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You smile at him politely and walk away, you gesture your driver to take the car as Bucky stood there watching you in question.

You turn back around to look at him and the eye contact sparked something in his belly.

Bucky thinks he knows what is going on. You give him a smile and a wave to which he waves back as you climb onto the car without caring to say bye to your father.

He wants to know what her story was. He wanted to know her. Know what she likes, dislikes. Know how she would like his mother.

He smacks himself in his mind.

Come on Bucky, she is out of your league.

He sighs as the siren goes. The shift ends and Bucky tried his best to not think about her. The only task he was going to fail at.

[amjustagirl]

Summary: Sakusa Kiyoomi's heart has always pointed north. He wonders if it's broken when it starts to point inexorably towards her. 

Set in the aftermath of The Astrophile, in the same universe as Storm Chaser.

Pairing: Sakusa Kiyoomi / f! reader

Genre: Fluff, angst, romance 

Wordcount: 7.8k 

Masterlist link here

A/N: Dedicated first and foremost to Ami @softsakusa, one of the first people to convince that my writing isn’t shit and that I should keep creating fics. 

This fic is also for all the readers who wanted a happy ending for the reader in The Astrophile (which sets out the backstory of the reader, Iwaizumi and Oikawa), and also follows the events of Storm Chaser (which follows the turbulent relationship of Miya Atsumu and now wife - I named her Kaiyo in this fic to avoid confusion!). 

Hope you like it - reblogs and comments are always dearly appreciated <3

It must be the worst meet cute of all time. 

That is – if he’s using that phrase correctly. It keeps appearing in the god-awful English movies Bokuto and Miya keep playing during team movie nights that makes him want to tear his hair out. 

But yes, he meets her at Miya Shino’s seventh birthday party, the birthday girl the apple of Miya Atsumu’s eye, the princess of his castle, the most perfect angel in the entire heavens - the list of pet names growing longer and longer the more the obnoxious setter prattles on about his daughter. 

And apparently Miya Shino is a chip off the old block, and is as obsessed with volleyball as her father. Which means that he, one Sakusa Kiyoomi, is forced to turn up on a Saturday afternoon for a birthday party to teach a group of children roughly about the same height as his kneecaps how to play volleyball. 

There are plenty of other MSBY players that Miya Atsumu could have rounded up to fritter away a Saturday afternoon. Hinata, for instance - the sunny, fiery headed opposite hitter a perennial favourite with young fans. Or Inunaki - the liberio has an amiable personality that he certainly wouldn’t mind snot nosed children hanging off his arms like a walking, talking monkey bar. But no, Hinata is apparently busy on a weekend meditation retreat, and Inunaki is at his sister’s wedding party, so both of them managed to escape this travesty of a birthday party. 

That leaves him with Bokuto who’s practically a child himself, beaming, bumping balls at screaming children with one hand, the other hand lifting another child above his head. Meian’s here too but his own kid is somewhere in this gaggle of monsters anyway, so he’s here to carry out his parental duties – hopefully his presence might balance the sheer chaos he’s sure he’s about to face.   

‘Omi-omi you made it!’ Atsumu greets him with a slap to the back. 

Sakusa resists the urge to bare his teeth. Is this what hell is? Screeching gremlins underfoot, the nauseating smell of fried food permeating the air. 

And it’s probably because he’s still in a horrified daze at the situation he’s put himself in (which Atsumu is either too dense to pick up on or already immune due to the series of similar expressions he pulls at him on a daily basis), Atsumu manages to snap a party hat on his head, before he prances off in victory. 

Sakusa snarls, ripping off the red paper hat off his head. 

Why on earth did he agree to this again? 

‘Sakusa-san! Thank you so much for coming!’ 

His glare softens by a fraction. 

Miya Kaiyo, Atsumu’s long suffering wife approaches him, careful not to touch him, waving at him instead. He appreciates her thoughtfulness, so he thaws a little, giving her a slight nod in greeting. 

Right, she’s the reason why he’s here. 

He’s always been fond of her - competent, patient, intelligent, far too good for her idiot of a husband. Approximately a year ago, he sought her professional help with his accounts. He graduated with a business degree from Chuo University, so he can tell there is obviously something fishy that his manager is pulling with his finances, but the accounting courses he took weren’t in depth to pinpoint the problem. Miya Kaiyo, on the other hand, a trained forensic accountant with a nose like a bloodhound for fraudulent accounts, nailed down the problem within a week. So when she asked him after a game whether he’d be free to attend her daughter's birthday party, he hadn’t been able to turn her down. 

‘It was no problem’, he says stiffly, already itching to spray the whole place down with disinfectant. ‘I’m glad to be here.’ 

Kaiyo laughs at his obvious lie, tugging at his sleeve to seat him in a corner. ‘You don’t have to go play with the kids if you didn’t want to! I invited you so we could catch up, and besides, I did want to introduce you to someone.’ 

‘Hm.’ 

He doesn’t try to mask his reluctance this time. Kaiyo means well, he knows, but between her and his mother, he’s tired of having to fend off match making attempts. It’s not like he can’t get a date – he can and he has, it’s just difficult to find someone willing to put up with his prickly personality and busy schedule.

‘Well she’s not here yet, so you’ll have to wait. And while we’re waiting, tell me how’ve things been, Sakusa-san?’ 

Grateful that he’s not going to be forced into shepherding children into playing anything remotely resembling an actual volleyball match (he suspects he might have more luck teaching cats how to do the conga), he settles into his seat, mouth stretching into something resembling a smile. He lets her chatter about work, and they’re deep in a discussion about his plans post-volleyball (because he can feel the countdown on his career in his creaking bones, his aching sinews)  when Atsumu swoops in on him again, like a vulture seeking easy prey. 

‘What’cha doin’ with my wife, Omi-omi’, he slips a hand around Kaiyo’s waist mock possessively. 

She swats at him. He ducks, raising his hands in surrender. 

‘I enjoy talking to an actual adult sometimes, ‘Tsumu!’ 

‘Oh come on, I already have to share you with ‘Samu most of the time, now you’re leaving me for Omi-kun?!’

‘Dramatic ass.’ 

‘Please, you chose to marry me.’ He crows, flipping his hair. He looks ridiculous, he always does. Kaiyo seems to agree - 

‘And I wonder why sometimes.’ She retorts, Atsumu squawking indignantly at her response, hair ruffling like an offended chick. But Kaiyo ruins the effect of her words by laughing, leaning over to affectionately peck her husband on the cheek. 

Sakusa should be annoyed by this display of childishness, but for some inexplicable reason, a frisson of longing bubbles in his chest instead. It’s strange. Marriage or even serious relationships have never been something he’s actively sought. After all, it always seemed horrendously illogical to put all your eggs in one basket and hope nothing trips up – but his heart pays his mind no mind, and the strange sensation continues to trickle down his throat into his chest. 

He makes up an excuse to slip to the bathroom for a tactical retreat from this madness. 

Then he takes a breath. 

Rinse. Lather hands with soap. Rinse. Repeat again .

Familiar motions, bred out of a desire to do things right, transformed into an unbreakable habit. Cold water, washing away soap bubbles.

Right. Now he’s ready for another plunge off the deep end . 

He’s a foot past the threshold of the community hall where the party is being held when Miya Shino darts towards him. She’s very clearly her father’s daughter with his penchant for mischief because she dives between his legs, making him stumble in confusion. Then Meian Shugo’s eldest son Makoto barrels towards him, intent on reaching the ball held aloft in Shino’s hands. 

Athletic reflexes be damned in the face of a pair of hell-spawn. 

‘Shino!’. Kaiyo shouts. 

‘Makoto!’ Meian thunders. 

Sakusa flails, decidedly without grace, and in his attempt at not squashing the two little devils, he manages to do something even  worse . 

Much, much worse. 

He manages to trip over his feet and bump right into the woman Miya Kaiyo wanted to introduce him to (this, he finds out later). It’s a lost cause – he’s six foot two of pure muscle, dwarfing her by a mile, and she’s carrying a huge box in her hand. 

He ends up face planting directly into her chest. 

His brain short circuits at the feeling of plush softness and vanilla and – , 

‘Woah - Omi-omi, never thought I’d have to defend the honour of my cousin in law’, Atsumu laughs.  

The sudden flare of irritation at Atsumu’s words kickstarts his brain back into gear. Rearing back in alarm, he promptly topples over onto his butt. 

‘Uncle ‘kusa, I’m sorry’ Shino screeches, distraught. Makoto merely snivels. Kaiyo is evidently the only one with working brain cells, because she rushes over to help them up.  

The-woman-with-the-mysterious-box makes Kaiyo take the box first. It holds precious cargo - Shino’s birthday cake, he later finds out, but because she manages to cling on to it with admirable tenacity, it emerges more or less intact. Then she turns to him, still sprawled on the floor. He scoots away, still dazed. 

She offers him a steady hand. ‘Hello’, she says. ‘It seems we’ve gotten off to rather a bad start.’

There is a hint of mirth in her voice, but her eyes are kind.  

He takes her hand with a rare smile. 

Miya Kaiyo grins behind the cake box. It turns out her daughter is a better matchmaker than either her or (heaven forbid) her husband. 

It turns out that Miya Kaiyo wanted to introduce him to her cousin, newly moved to Osaka from Tokyo. She’s a sports journalist, used to cover volleyball even, but for some reason their paths never crossed. She too, is tired of her cousin’s well intentioned meddling, but asks him if he’d like to meet her for dinner one day ‘if only to get Kaiyo off her back, because she’s persistent’, and funnily enough, he agrees. 

He doesn’t mind making a new friend, he reasons. She seems decent enough. 

They go out for dinner on a Tuesday night. She doesn’t complain when he tells her that due to his diet planned by MSBY’s nutritionist, most restaurants are off limits. Instead, she asks intelligent questions about whether the sources of protein and fibre he’s relying on are varied enough, even suggesting alternatives like tempeh, a Southeast Asian soy product. 

He appreciates that. 

She doesn’t also fawn over the fact that he’s a professional athlete. That makes sense, considering she’s probably interviewed dozens, if not hundreds of individuals who are just like him. It’s nice - he’s tired of groupies who start dates off by staring at him starry eyed, but ending it with disappointment in their eyes when they discover that he’s just a guy who practices hitting balls enough to do it for a living. And best of all, she doesn’t mind that their conversation sometimes wanes into silence. She doesn’t seem to feel the need to fill empty spaces with inane drivel, nor expect him to entertain her like a circus animal. 

He likes that. 

So when the night ends, he asks her whether she’d like to have dinner with him again. ‘Just as friends’, he’s quick to clarify. 

‘Sure’, she nods, and they bid each other goodnight.  

They start having dinner every Tuesday night, subject to their erratic schedules. 

He enjoys her company. She’s thoughtful, bringing him home made baked goods like zucchini cake (low sugar, of course), sneaking him chocolate scones for his cheat days after she discovers his hidden sweet tooth. She’s considerate too, never blinking an eye at his compulsive need to make sure everything is just in order, even if the waitress stands behind them aghast when he insists on using disinfectant to wipe down their table. She doesn’t even call him paranoid when he passes her a bottle of sanitizer. 

Slowly, he finds himself confiding in her about things he’d maybe only tell his cousin, Motoya. Or at least, the things he would tell Motoya if the guy would only pick up his calls. 

‘Sorry’, Motoya texts back after a couple of missed calls. ‘ Practice has been brutal recently. 

In a remarkable display of restraint, Sakusa does not point out that EJP Raijin is below MSBY in this season’s rankings. 

So he tells her instead about how he’s contemplating retirement, how he’s trying to chart out his next steps career wise. She surprises him by listening to him gravely, pointing out that he can lean on his business degree to possibly land an office job in event management or with sports associations, putting him in touch with one overly excited Kuroo Tetsuro. He tucks her suggestions away carefully at the back of his mind.   

It’s nice to have a friend, he tells himself, his lips quirking ever so slightly when her hand grazes his as they walk down the street together. 

He invites her to the monthly gatherings that the MSBY players take turns to host for their family and friends, making the excuse that he needs a human shield in any event hosted by Miya Atsumu. She agrees easily, perking up at the chance to spend a Sunday afternoon with her cousin and niece - ‘ and Kaiyo’ll need help, especially since she’s pregnant’, bringing far too many cupcakes topped with the lightest, fluffiest cream cheese frosting he’s ever had the pleasure of tasting. Even Miya Osamu gives her a nod of respect after stuffing his face full of her cupcakes.  He, unlike his twin, has good taste.

Her brow furls into a concerned frown when he quietly sneaks himself a second cupcake. ‘You don’t have to force yourself to eat it just to be polite! I made it, so  I  know it has so much sugar and butter it would make your nutritionist weep. If you want, I snuck some zucchini cake in my handbag for you instead.’ 

He stubbornly shovels a large bite into his mouth. ‘I won’t tell if you don’t.’ 

She bursts into laughter, leaning forward to wipe away the smudge of frosting on the tip of his nose with her thumb. 

Miya Kaiyo shoots him a knowing look across the room, waggling her eyebrows in an eerie imitation of her husband. He fights to keep his face blank, refusing to feed her satisfaction, but fails, a hot flush rising in his cheeks. 

‘Traitor’ he mouths at her. Her smirk only deepens.

Fortunately, the gathering ends with no further mishaps, either to his physical well-being or his dignity. Makoto is packed off with Meian, the little boy whining for more time to play with Shino. Hinata and Bokuto prance off for some ridiculous buffet on the other side of town.

As for himself, he hangs back with her to help the Miyas put their house back in order, expelling an amused puff of a laugh from his nose when she forces the very pregnant Kaiyo to ‘stay still, for goodness sake!’  on the couch, dancing around the house with a mop, Shino trailing after her waving a feather duster with gusto. He refrains from telling the little girl that she’s more likely to spread  the dust than to actually clear it – at least she’s not causing more havoc this way. 

‘I can’t believe I could’ve ever taken this for granted, y’know’, Atsumu comments from behind him, mouth wide in a tender smile. ‘It’s the best feeling in the world to have a wife and kid who loves ya to the moon and back, welcoming ya home after a long day at work. They make everything worth it.’

He’s thrown for a loop at this rare display of emotional vulnerability from the usually obnoxious setter and for once, does not resort to hostility, choosing instead to acknowledge the blonde setter’s words with a tacticum nod. 

The Miyas’ apartment is far too chaotic for his tastes, with colourful toys scattered on the floor, mismatched picture frames of the little family on the walls, but laughter hangs in the air, and light spills from the windows, illuminating the warmth and love and fondness in every look and word the Miyas gift each other. 

His father gave him a compass when he was a child, as a present to celebrate his first match. His mother clucked her tongue because it’s a strange gift for a child - delicate, fiddly, its gold exterior tarnished with age. But his father chuckled and told him that he’s old enough to appreciate that the compass is his father’s, and his father’s father before that, an heirloom to remind their sons to work hard at everything they do, and to keep their hearts on course, pointing north. 

And Sakusa thinks he’s done that. He’s worked and worked and worked at perfecting his skills in his chosen sport. He’s accepted his solo course, so laser focused on carving out a career in professional sports leaves little time or space for intimate relationships. Not to mention the fact that watching the disaster of Atsumu’s early years of marriage from the sidelines, made him swear off similar heartbreak for himself. 

But there are times when he can’t help but feel a little lonely - when he has to struggle to find a date for MSBY events, when he has no one to celebrate the holidays with, when he goes home every day to his neat, cold apartment with space for only one occupant. 

The compass in his heart creaks. It starts to turn a few degrees just off-course. 

‘Do you ever wonder what it’d be like to get married?’ he asks her as he’s walking her home that night. 

‘I did, once upon a time’, she shrugs carelessly. He misses the sudden strain in her smile. ‘Why do you ask?’ 

He stays silent for a while, the length of the quiet street giving him time to properly ferment his response. He considers the effects of adding splashes of colour to his dull life, weighs it against his long cultivated instinct to avoid the potential chaos of any emotional entanglements. He finds himself suddenly craving the sweetness of cream cheese frosting, and wonders how it’d be like to come home to light, fluffy cakes baked by her hands. 

When they reach her apartment block, she tilts her head at him curiously, obviously awaiting his answer. He tugs his words together, strings his swirling thoughts into a decipherable sentence. 

‘Because Atsumu and Kaiyo seem happy together. And I wondered if we’d be happy together too.’ 

He watches her puzzle over his words, her brow furling into a confused frown. ‘And I wasn’t proposing, by the way’, he feels the need to clarify. 

She snorts. ‘I didn’t think so.’ With a directness that he very much appreciates, she looks at him squarely and asks - ‘Are you asking me out, Sakusa Kiyoomi?’ 

He meets her gaze. ‘Yes, I am. We’ve known each other for a decently long time for me to conclude our personalities are well matched, and we’re both mature adults who respect each other’s work schedules and commitments. And if you don’t mind that I can be overly blunt and quiet sometimes - ‘ 

‘ - which I don’t’, she interjects, with a chuckle. 

‘I think we might be happy together’, he concludes, with a small smile that’s becoming more common in her presence.

He allows her the space to turn his proposition over in her mind. 

‘Alright’, she finally says. ‘I guess we can give it a go’. 

So much for Atsumu accusing him of having a heart made out of tin. Flesh and muscle works overtime to pump blood into his cheeks as she slots her fingers between his and gives his hand a squeeze. 

Being in a relationship isn’t too different from what they had before. 

They still keep to their standing date to meet every Tuesday (schedules permitting, of course). But now he doesn’t have to make up excuses to ask her out on outings that aren’t food related. At first he tries his best to adhere to dating norms, arranging for romantic dates at candlelit restaurants, buying her massive bouquets that make her sneeze. 

‘It’s fine, Omi’, she tells him gently after they spend another uncomfortable evening in a dimly lit restaurant eating off plates too large for the laughably tiny food portions. ‘I’m happy just hanging out with you. You don’t have to go out of your way to impress me, I’m not holding on to any ridiculous expectations of you’. He stops after that, glad he doesn’t have to suffer another night trying to decipher which utensil to be used at which course, or having to put on starched formal wear to yet another stuffy restaurant. 

She’s noticeably happier when they accompany each other on trips to the supermarket, each holding a stack of coupons to take advantage of the latest deals. She shields him from any overly zealous obaa-sans with gusto, throwing elbows and using her grocery basket as a makeshift battering ram before they crowd close enough to him to trigger his anxiety. He helps her reach for things on the top shelf ‘to prevent her from scaling the grocery shelves like an overgrown teenager’ , he snarks. He’s worried his attempt at teasing lands wrong, but she snorts and thanks him good naturedly anyways. 

On the weekends, they develop a habit of meal prepping for the rest of the week at her apartment. His kitchen lacks the fancy mixers and blenders that she has, and in all honesty, his dark, spartan apartment lacks the sunlight and warmth that spills into her apartment from the windows, so it’s only logical that they should spend the bulk of their time there. It’s an oasis of calm for him, chopping vegetables and chicken into small cubes, sautéing them for the week ahead, while she bustles around whipping eggs and flour and milk together to form another delectable cake that they always end up sharing at the end of the day. 

He starts to dread matches away from home a little more than he used to. While hotel rooms are as spartan as his own apartment, he doesn’t have the option of heading over to her apartment to bask in her quiet warmth. His meals come in styrofoam boxes instead of the glass tupperware she stacks on her kitchen counter, and he turns up his nose at store bought cakes that his teammates offer him, only craving for those baked in her oven. He even starts looking up to the stands for a glimpse of her, only to remember that she can’t be there to cheer the team on. 

‘Cheer up, Omi-omi! We’ll have a home match next week’, Atsumu tells him jovially. 

‘It doesn’t matter either way to me’, he mutters resentfully, but the setter only grins.

‘Trust me, it matters a great deal to have the girl ya love cheering ya on, y’know?’ 

He stalks off to the changing room, ignoring the peals of laughter from the blonde annoyance he leaves in his wake.  

The tight coil of loneliness only loosens when he sees her waiting for him at the station when he returns. She ignores his protests to snag his suitcase away from him, the case looking comically large against her small frame, but she uses it effectively as a tank to force a path through the crowd, and drag him back to her apartment in no time. 

‘You need a home cooked dinner to make up for all those industrially prepared food you must’ve been eating this entire week’, she tells him, bustling around the kitchen, only stilling when he takes her shoulders in his hands. 

‘Are you happy?’ he asks, when he cups her face to carefully brush the dusting of flour on her cheek away.  

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ She laughs, the sound fond.

‘Just checking in’, he tells her, closing his eyes as she pulls him down towards her for a kiss. 

All in all, it’s a happy, uncomplicated relationship. He likes it that way.

If his heart were a compass, he’d suspect it’s broken because instead of pointing north, it starts to inch inexorably towards her. 

But there are strange quirks he notices about her that niggles at his brain. 

She refuses point blank to check out the planetarium when she attends an event held at the adjacent Art Museum as his date, professing to have an irrational dislike for stars. 

‘They’re just balls of burning gas and light ’ , he points out. ‘What could you possibly have against them?’ 

There’s a flicker of irritation in her eyes that he does not miss. ‘I know it’s stupid but just humour me, ok?’ Her tone verges on a snarl, before she storms away, ostensibly to the bathroom to freshen herself up. 

She returns later with an apology for her behaviour. Though he’s confused, he respects her privacy and does not push for an answer. 

He’s at her apartment preparing meals for the week ahead when the doorbell rings and an enormous bouquet of white lilies are deposited into her arms. She stares dumbly at the flowers, their sickly sweet scent permeating the air. 

His brow furls. ‘Today isn’t your birthday, is it?’

His words jolt her out of her trance. ‘No’, she answers, before inexplicably storming to the living room and dumping the bouquet with a vengeance on the coffee table. Pollen flutters to the floor, delicate white petals crushed in her hands. 

‘It’s nothing’, she tells him as he shoots her a questioning look. 

When she disappears to the washroom, he peeks at the card. There’s no name on it, just a simple message - ‘consider it, please?’

He doesn’t question her about it when she returns to the kitchen. She doesn’t offer him any answers either. 

He finds himself wondering about them. 

It was refreshing at first to have a relationship free of any expectations. She never asks for more than he’s willing to give, seems happy enough to slot herself into the pockets of time he offers, only attends his games when he gives her tickets, doesn’t get upset with him when he inevitably forgets to text. 

But therein lies the issue, doesn’t it?  

If she truly likes him, wants to pursue a relationship seriously with him, shouldn’t she be demanding more than the crumbs of affection and attention he shows her? They’re both past the age of thirty, shouldn’t she be looking to get married and settle down, maybe spawn a demon child or two? 

He’s tried raising it with her once, but she responded with confusion. 

‘I don’t have any expectations of you, Omi’, she’d replied. ‘We both have busy lives, so whatever you’re willing to give, I’m happy to take’. 

There’s technically nothing wrong about her answer. It’s wholly considerate and kind - very much her.  

Still, it makes him wonder - if her heart were a compass, would it point towards him? 

He manages to hold his tongue until she gets another delivery of flowers. 

This time he opens the door when the doorbell rings, assaulted by the heady scent of lillies, pollen smeared on his sleeves. This time, there’s a name on the card. 

Oikawa Tooru . 

It takes a couple of seconds for him to realise why the name is so familiar. It’s the same name Hinata and Kageyama used to buzz about every Olympics - the famous Argentinian setter who started his career as a schoolboy from Miyagi, a prodigious setter who never made it to Nationals in high school, refused to give up and forged his way to success in a whole new land, continents away.

‘How do you know Oikawa’? He asks her. ‘And why does he keep sending your flowers?’ 

‘He’s just an old acquaintance,’ she admits. ‘He’s just sending the flowers to persuade me to attend his wedding.’

His forehead crinkles in confusion, and he tries his best not to leap to conclusions, but since she doesn’t seem to be forthcoming with further clarification, he presses her further. 

‘And why won’t you attend his wedding?’ 

Her shoulders slouch in obvious reluctance as she turns away, focusing her attention on the mixing bowl. But Kiyoomi isn’t easily deterred, so he firmly takes the mixing bowl from her and sets it on the countertop. He raises an eyebrow at her, clearly seeking an answer. 

She huffs a sigh through her nose. ‘Because he’s getting married to my ex-boyfriend, ok?’   

He blinks. That was unexpected. 

‘It happened half a decade ago. Ancient history. I’m over it.’ She mutters to the floor. 

‘Why didn’t you tell me about it?’ 

‘Because it’s none of your business’, she snaps, grabbing the mixing bowl again, beating the batter with a vengeance. 

‘You’re going to ruin the texture if you whisk it too hard’, he tugs the bowl away from her again. She refuses to relinquish her grip.

‘Leave me alone!’ she snarls, yanking the bowl back. Confused by her sudden fury, he lets go of the bowl, only for her to stumble back, eyes wide as she loses her balance, knocking her head against the countertop.

He drops down onto his knees, not even noticing the batter soaking into his pants, combing through her hair, scouring the back of her neck for any sign of injury. It’s only when he’s satisfied that her fall has resulted in nothing more than a bruise that should go away by tomorrow that he notices her tears soaking the front of his shirt. 

‘Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?’ he asks, wiping her tears away with a batter splattered thumb. 

She hangs her head, body still shaking from her sobs. ‘I’ve already made such a mess of things – don’t want you to have to listen to my nonsense – am just bein’ stupid, that’s all - ’. 

He patiently waits until her sobs dissolves into mere sniffles before speaking. ‘I want you to tell me what’s wrong. If you’re up to it.’ 

So through more broken sobs and hiccups, he listens to the tale of Iwaizumi Hajime, a boy who was her world, who only realised he was always in love with Oikawa Tooru, a fortnight before she and he were to wed. Her voice wavers as she tells him the full story of the white lilies, explains that her irrational dislike for stars stems from the reminder that she chose to give her world up to a boy-king burning brighter than the stars in the night sky combined. 

He waits until her words run out, and she’s leaning against him, broken and pliant in a way that makes his heart ache. 

‘I wish you told me about it earlier’, he tells her, tucking the loose strands of hair behind her ear. ‘That you would trust me enough to tell me about the things that hurt you in the past. And I wonder about the state of our relationship if you don’t even trust me enough for that’. 

‘That’s unfair. You never asked - ‘ 

‘How could I ask about something I didn’t even know about?’ He takes hold of her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. Hurt and anger and shock simmer in her eyes, each swirl of emotion fighting for dominance. 

‘I didn’t want to expect anything more from this relationship than you were willing to give’, she admits after a pause. 

She’s scared of being hurt again. He doesn’t miss the subtext.  

‘Shall I tell you what I want from you then? I have a list, if you’re willing to hear me out’ he asks, with a smile that’s growing more common the more time he spends around her. 

She nods, but keeps her gaze stubbornly on the ground. 

He takes his time to choose his words. He’s never been verbose - not like Atsumu or Bokuto or even easygoing Motoya, choosing to only say what is strictly necessary, using the precise amount of words, nothing more, nothing less. But this is a situation that requires more emotion rather than precision, so he inhales a shaky breath, letting it fuel the sentiment in his heart as he exhales. 

‘First. I want you to trust that I’ll never hurt you like he did’, he says, and with a self-deprecating smile he adds - ‘I don’t have any childhood friends to be secretly in love with besides Motoya, and I’m hardly going to be pining after my flake of a cousin’. 

That triggers the corners of her lips to tilt upwards, and encouraged, he carries on.    

‘Second. I want you to be open with me about what you want - your dreams, your expectations of me. I want to hear them all because  you’re important to me.’

That makes her flush pink, and she sneaks a glance up towards him. 

‘Third. I want to wake up each morning with you by my side and come home to you every night. I want to watch you fight cranky old ladies in the supermarket in my honour, be the first person to taste test all your baking experiments - even the failed ones that are only fit to feed Atsumu. I want us to be happy together. Forever, if possible.’

He lifts her bodily into his lap, brushes his nose against her cheek. ‘Now that I’ve told you what I’m willing to give, is that too much for you to take?’ he murmurs against her lips. 

Her blush blossoms into a deep scarlet, but her eyes are iridescent pools of startled delight. She doesn’t speak, sealing her answer instead with her lips. 

His heart’s compass is irretrievably broken, the needle melted into place. It doesn’t point north any longer, no  – it’s always going to point towards her. 

They move in together after that. 

He gives up his apartment, professing to prefer the warmth and light of hers. The Miyas help him move in even when he tries to refuse their help, Atsumu helping him to lug cardboard boxes up the stairs, Kaiyo helping him sort out his belongings, sorting them into his allocated cupboards. 

When they’re done, they order pizza and she bakes a cake to celebrate. ‘An impromptu housewarming’ she says, toasting Miya Kaiyo with a slice of pepperoni pizza with a laugh.

Kiyoomi shares a slice of chocolate cake with Atsumu in complete defiance of their nutritionist’s advice, jostling forks over the very last bite. She and Kaiyo scold them teasingly, telling them to behave like they’re actually thirty and not teenagers on the cusp of adulthood. Atsumu pulls at Kaiyo’s ponytail in retaliation. He refuses to engage in similar tomfoolery, reddening instead when she reaches over to ruffle his curls.

‘This is nice’, he remarks to Atsumu later, when their significant others are out of earshot, gossiping and giggling about something or other.  

‘It is, isn’t it’, Atsumu replies, a dopey smile on his face as he stares at his wife. 

It truly is , Kiyoomi thinks, staring at her.  

He takes over most of the cleaning, it clears his mind, he tells her. So to split the chores evenly, she insists on doing their laundry and cooking, and he doesn’t even nag her too much when she forgets to split the white and coloured clothes and stains some of his shirts once in a while. 

Wedding invites printed on expensive cream paper and bouquets of white lilies start to litter their doorstep every day. He tries his best to dispose of them before they reach her sight, but every so often, he comes home too late, catches her wilt as she brushes white petals from their doorstep. 

‘I don’t blame either of them’, she tells him, after he asks if she’d like him to call Iwaizumi and tell him to drown himself in a vat of batter, thank you very much. 

‘You’re too kind to both of them’ he says plainly, as they share a pot of tea, his head pillowed in her lap. ‘I would’ve just set them both on fire and left them to rot.’

‘Hajime loved Tooru for almost all his life - I just wanted to see him happy in the end. Argh  - I sound so stupid and sentimental like an old grandma, just laugh at me already’ she complains, hiding her burning cheeks in her hands.  

‘You aren’t stupid for being kind.’ He hums, quiet and low. ‘It’s why I love you so.’ 

He relishes the soft light dawning in her eyes, captures her whispered affection with careful fingers, spins them into gold. 

He has to turn off the stove to answer the door when some rude lout bangs on their front door far too early on a Sunday morning. 

With his coldest sneer and thinking resentfully about his breakfast, Kiyoomi swings the door open, fully intent on looming over the disturbance with his full height, but takes a step back instead when he finds one Iwaizumi Hajime hanging off the door knob. 

‘Hello’, Iwaizumi looks up at him confusedly. 

‘Hi’, he nods a greeting back at his old Olympic team trainer. They stare at each other. 

‘Eh - I think I’ve got the wrong house’, Iwaizumi scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. ‘Sorry about that, Sakusa-san.’

He’s about to close the door in Iwaizumi’s face when her voice chimes in, clear as a bell. 

‘Who’s at the door, Omi?’ 

The shorter man shoots him a look of barely contained rage as he uses his bulk to push his way through the doorway towards her. Kiyoomi tries to stop him, protesting that he can’t barge into someone’s private property without an invitation like that, but it’s as futile an endeavour as trying to block the path of a raging storm.

Iwaizumi reaches her first, raising a hand as if to cup her face by instinct, before letting it fall back limply by his side. ‘You weren’t answering any of my messages or calls’, he says. ‘I was worried about you.’

She stares at him blankly for a moment. Then fire sparks in her eyes. 

‘Well, as you can see, I’m completely fine’, she replies, jaw and fists clenched. ‘You don’t need to do a welfare check on me, we’re not involved anymore.’

The scorching pain in Iwaizumi’s eyes is evident, even from a distance away. ‘Yeah. Well. I thought we were friends. You didn’t even tell me you were dating again’. He shoves his hands in his pockets, tossing another heated glance in Kiyoomi’s way. 

‘I didn’t think I needed to update my ex-fiance about my love life, especially not when he’s trying to drag me to attend his wedding that I already said I’m not going to attend’, she bites back. 

Iwaizumi opens his mouth, then closes it with a resounding snap. ‘I’m sorry’, he says, with heartbreaking honesty. ‘I told Tooru that you probably didn’t want to hear from us, but he insisted and I got worried when I didn’t hear from you for months’. 

Kiyoomi can see her glare soften into molten sympathy. The tension in the air crackles with electricity. He’s neither blind nor stupid – he can sense the years of longing and love not quite lost between them. 

He thinks she loves him, Sakusa Kiyoomi – weird habits, cold disposition and all, but the doubt clogging up his arteries and veins is enough to make his heart seize – and if she’s going to break his heart, he’d much rather she not do it in front of Iwaizumi.  

‘Hajime - ‘ she begins to say, and at this point he jumps in - 

‘I’ll excuse myself so you both have the chance to catch up’, he says, waving aside her protests as he slips on his shoes. Even in his haste to leave the house, he clicks his tongue at the mess Iwaizumi left behind at their  genkan , kneeling down to arrange their shoes, only standing up when he’s satisfied they’re neatly arranged back in place. 

‘Omi, you don’t have to leave’, she says, holding the door open. 

He shrugs his shoulders at her, nose and mouth already obscured by his usual face mask. ‘Let me know when you’d like me to come back’. 

If she’d like him to come back. She doesn’t chase after him, after all.  

It’s a beautiful Sunday morning, but the golden sunshine feels more like a taunt rather than a balm to his mood. His stomach growls, making him long for the scrambled eggs he was in the middle of frying before he was so rudely interrupted, but his growing sense of nausea keeps him from seeking out an alternative meal. 

Instead, he makes his way to the park, sits on a relatively clean bench. There are couples a-plenty, strolling around hand in hand, families picnicking merrily around him, compounding the growing chasm of loneliness in his chest. He tries to count the seconds by his breaths, tries not to let the minutes expand the insecurities crawling, inch by inch up his throat. 

He sits alone. Poised, yet short of breath. 

He wonders if Iwaizumi Hajime has finally figured out that stars, for all their brilliance, cannot compensate for their lack of human kindness. And if so, he wonders which direction her heart would point towards if it were a compass - whether it’s as broken as his, and whether it points towards Iwaizumi or him.   

He waits. 

Then his phone buzzes. 

Ah. 

She’s asking him to come home. He does not dare to overthink the meaning of that single word. But he does not hide that his steps back  home are lighter than when he left, though the key in his hand shakes so hard it takes him three tries to fit it into the keyhole. He does not try to suffocate the seed of hope budding in the soft earth of his heart when he realises Iwaizumi’s shoes have vanished without a trace.  

“Omi?” 

She’s waiting for him, slipping warm arms around his waist, tangling her fingers in his curls, ignoring his complaints about letting himself wash his hands first. 

‘Am I silly for missing you, even though it’s only been an hour?’

He refuses to be distracted by the affection in her voice.

‘But what about Iwaizumi?’ he frowns, hesitation still poisoning the well of thoughts in his mind. 

Perhaps it’s a testament to how well they’ve grown to know each other that she doesn’t need to read the silent subtext of his statement. She smiles, bringing his palm flat against her chest, does not answer until his pulse matches the steady beat of her heart.  

‘I love you , Omi’, she tells him. Her heartbeat does not quicken, her smile does not waver. ‘You told me not to long ago to always be upfront with you about what  I  want so I’m going to be honest with you now - Iwaizumi is only ever going to be my past, and I want you from now on’. 

If her heart were a compass, the steady beat of her heart tells him, it would point only towards him.  

‘That is – if you’ll have me’, she adds, a shadow of doubt suddenly appearing on her face. 

‘Don’t be ridiculous’, he scoffs, burying his nose to breathe in the familiar scent of vanilla in her hair. ‘Who else would I rather have than you?’ 

Who else would he be lucky enough to call his home – a woman with a heart large enough to fit a whole ocean within its depths, with kindness in her eyes and mirth in her smiles. 

She laughs in spite of the salt in her throat and water in her eyes, leaning on her toes in a vain attempt to reach his face. He lifts her into her arms, laughs when she squeals indignantly as her feet only find air, toppling them both onto the couch where he can seat her between his legs, press kisses to her cheeks.  

She’ll tell him later that Iwaizumi came looking for her because he’s never outgrown his overprotective streak, and he’s truly happy for her - for them, because they’ve both moved on with their separate lives. And she ended up agreeing to attend his and Oikawa’s wedding on one condition – that an invitation is extended to him, Sakusa Kiyoomi, to attend with her as his date. 

He’ll tell her later that he’s happy to attend the wedding with her, just not to expect him to smile in any wedding pictures. And more importantly, he’ll tell her in his plain way that the list of expectations he has of their relationship has expanded yet again. 

He’ll lay out his dreams of a pair of matching golden rings to bind them to lifelong companionship, of hellspawn of their own and a dog, maybe two. 

He’ll ask her if it’s too much for him to ask of her.  

She’ll tell him that she’s willing to give him everything he asks for and more. 

It’s Miya Shino’s ninth birthday party. 

He’s retired from volleyball proper, and is thankful he insisted on getting a business degree from Chuo University before going pro, because it comes in handy working alongside Kuroo Tetsuro at the volleyball association. 

Miya Atsumu insists on inviting him to the party, though he supposes he’s invited not by virtue of being a former teammate, but because he’s also Shino’s uncle by marriage now. The thought that he’s related to Miya Atsumu, however distant and most definitely not by blood, still fills him with dread. 

The birthday girl is a little less imbued with her father’s chaotic energy this time, though she still squeals when her birthday cake is unveiled – though to be fair it’s less a cake, more a tower of cupcakes with cream cheese frosting spelling out her name. 

‘Thank you Auntie!’ Shino cries, flinging her arms around her. Kiyoomi flinches at the sight of anyone, even his nine year old niece, coming in close contact with his extremely pregnant wife, but a sharp glare from her subdues any complaint he dares to make. 

He fusses over her the minute he has the chance to corral her away from the clutches of Miya Shino. ‘Are your feet hurting? What about your back? I don’t know why you insist on walking so much when you know the doctor said you should be on bed rest soon’. 

‘Stop fussing, Omi! The baby and I will be fine’, she replies, exasperated. ‘This is the last social event scheduled before I pop and I’m determined to enjoy it while I can.’ Then she scuttles off faster than he imagines her frame allows, leaving him floundering in her wake. 

‘Just let her be’, Miya Atsumu laughs, slapping his back. Kiyoomi is on the verge of pointing out -  pot, meet kettle, reminding Atsumu that the last time Kaiyo was pregnant, Atsumu didn’t stop fretting until she went into labour and delivered a healthy baby boy. But then he remembers the grief etched into Atsumu’s face when Kaiyo miscarried in the stands during a game, so he holds his tongue and rolls his eyes instead. 

‘I’m just worried she’s pushing herself too hard’, he admits in a rare bout of vulnerability. 

Atsumu smiles, genuine for once. ‘Those crazy women, eh? They’re always gonna drive us up the wall, but they’re worth every minute of it.’ 

He looks at her, belly swollen with their first child, peach blossoms blooming in her cheeks. His past self would never imagine that he’d find this much joy and contentment in being a husband and a father, but then again his past self was satisfied coming home alone day after day to a cold apartment. He knows better now - life is so better when he has her, sharing stories of their day of over steaming mugs of tea at their kitchen countertop, listening to her hum as she bakes treats for the weekend, warmth and laughter and love abound in their cosy apartment for two, soon to be three.   

So feeling vaguely drunk though he hasn’t had a drop of alcohol in the months since she whispered during their anniversary dinner that they were expecting, Kiyoomi laughs aloud. 

Atsumu lifts his eyebrows in surprise.

‘She really, really is’, Kiyoomi says, breaking into an unguarded smile.  

If you wanna know more about the backstory of the reader - check out The Astrophile, and if you wanna know more about Miya Atsumu’s relationship with his wife, check out Storm Chaser. 

As always, reblogs and/or comments are so very appreciated <3

Taglist: 

@snoozless @softsakusa @moondaius​ (yeon i’ll be shameless and tag you cos I know you’re an Omi stan!)

[americxn]

Gardening

❀ In which you and post-death Kyle decide to try gardening together ❀

idea credits -----> @cleanup-aisle5 (we were very excited about this one) word count: 2400

“Kyle.” You sang as you kicked your front door shut behind you, slinging off your jacket and hanging it up before venturing into your house in search of your beloved boy. “Ky?” You called, looking in the kitchen and the living room before calling his name up the stairs. At the sound of his name of your lips, his fluffy head of golden hair flashed in the dim light as he poked his head over the banister before bounding down the stairs, his grin growing as he got closer to you. He tackled you with a hug, your feet lifting off the group as he squeezed you excitedly, muttering in your ear. Laughing, you shook him off. “Kyle, I’ve only been gone for an hour!” Pulling his face to you, you managed to land a kiss on his lips as he shifted on his feet excitedly. “And, look what I got for you.” You said, your hand going into the back pocket of your jeans and pulling out the little packets you had hidden there. Kyle tried to peer around your body to see what you held in your hand but you raised a finger at him as you gathered up the gift you had gotten your boyfriend in one hand. With a flourish, you produced what you were holding, grinning as Kyle scrutinised the objects with an inquisitive frown. “Seeds!” You chirped, letting Kyle take them from you. He snapped his head up to yours excitedly, eyes bright. “Seeds.” He echoed. “For gardening!” “Yes, for gardening!” You gushed, his excitement rubbing off on you as you took the packets of seeds from is hand and showed each one to him as you rifled through them. “Look. I got us daffodils, tulips, pansies...” you listed the different seeds off to him. “And your favourite... marigolds!” Kyle snatched the little packet from your hand at the mention of his favourite flower, gazing at the picture of the yellow flower on the front fondly. He had fallen in love with the flower after you had bought him a little bunch several months ago as they reminded you of his hair, fluffy and golden. “We can plant them tomorrow.” You promised. “The sun is supposed to be out and it’s kinda late now anyways.” You explained as you handed the rest of the seeds to Kyle, who held them carefully in his large hands.

The next day, as promised, you and Kyle went out into your little garden, the sun shining and sky cloudless.  There were a few little flower beds at the bottom of your garden and you frowned a you approached them, finding that they were covered with weeds. Sighing, you turned to Kyle who was looking up at the sky, enjoying the heat of the sun on his face. “We have to pull all the weeds up first. I hadn’t realised that they had gotten so overgrown.” He looked at you, then at the flower beds and the unwanted green shoots sprouting out of the soil.  “It’s okay,” you began, taking his hand and leading him to the bottom of the garden, “they won’t take too long to pull up. Why don’t you go and find all the gardening tools in the shed?” You suggested as you dropped onto your knees before the beds and began the monotonous process of ridding the soil of the weeds as Kyle trotted away wordlessly.  You dug your fingertips into the sun warmed soil, pulling each sprout out one-by-one until they were mostly gone. Sitting back, you wiped your forearm across your forehead, ridding your skin of the slight sheen of sweat that had formed under the intense sun, just as Kyle reappeared, dropping a pile of gardening utensils next to you. “Perfect, thank you.” You said, rising to your feet and giving him an appreciative peck on the cheek. “So, which ones should we plant first?” You inquired, already aware of what his answer would be. “Marigolds.” He mumbled, taking the packet of seeds from his pocket and smiling softly down at them.  “Okay,” you stooped to pick up the trowel on the grass by your feet, handing it to Kyle and beckoning him to his knees beside the largest of the flower beds, explaining that in order to plant the seeds, he needed to dig a little hole in the soil first.  You let Kyle use the trowel whilst you scooped a small hole of your own in the ground with your fingertips, not caring about the dirt that got under your nails.  “You happy with it?” You asked Kyle as you sat back on your heels to admire your handiwork. Kyle’s hole was a little messy but you had seen the concentrated look on his face as he had dug it, his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth slightly as he did so. “Yes.” He stated, looking from your hole to his and smiling. “Alright, we need to open our seeds,” you began, reaching into Kyle’s back pocket and pulling out the packet of tulips and tearing it open with your teeth, watching as Kyle carefully tore his open. He peered inside lovingly as he beheld the tiny seeds. “And we just put them in.” You finished, tipping the contents of you packet into the soil, Kyle doing the same beside you with an excited smile.  The both of you covered your seeds back up before repeating the process with the other types of flowers you had bought. You briefly left Kyle to run inside and dig out your watering can from the almost overflowing storage cupboard that was full of you and Kyle’s belongings that didn’t really have a place in the house and filled it with cold water from the kitchen sink. When you returned into the garden, you saw your boy crouched over the seeds, his face inches from the soil. “What are you doing?” You laughed, sitting yourself beside Kyle, who straightened to look at you. “Telling them.” He shrugged, as if it were obvious. “Telling them what?” You giggled, setting the old watering can on the ground beside you, some of the water sloshing over the sides.  “To...grow.” He said slowly, looking at you as if you were stupid before all of his attention turned to the watering can beside you.  “Okay.” You chuckled with a shrug, watching as he took the watering can and poured an excessive amount of water onto the piles of soil that housed your seeds, spilling more of it onto the grass than the flower beds. “Nice.” You commented as Kyle sat back on his heels, the now empty watering can grasped in one hand. You raised your hand for a high-five that Kyle quickly met, his grin growing as you complemented his work. ❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

A week had passed since you and Kyle had planted the seeds. A week of Kyle pestering you every hour, asking questions like, “grow them quicker? To which you would have to tell him that there was nothing you could do to make the flowers grow any quicker and that he would just have to patient. Everyday, come rain or shine, Kyle would go out into the garden to tend to his seeds, returning about an hour later after just sitting and staring at the soil. One day, to your dismay, he sat outside in the pouring rain for an hour, wearing nothing but a t-shirt and sweatpants. You hadn’t even noticed that he had gone out and you had gasped when you looked out of your bedroom window to see him crouched in the muddy grass, his clothes soaked through. You had to hurry outside into the freezing rain to drag him back into the house, scolding him gently upon seeing how violently he was shaking and how blue his lips had gotten but he had only smiled at you, claiming that the rain would make them grow quicker.  “Yes, but not that quick.” You had said before forcing him into the bath to warm up. And then there had been the incidence in which you had walked into the kitchen to see him drinking from the watering can. “Kyle!” You had shouted, running to take the watering can from him. “That’s dirty!” Exasperated, you wiped away the water dribbling off his chin with your sleeve before taking the watering can and furnishing your boyfriend with a large glass of clean water.  And of course there was the time when he had dumped the entirety of the water from the watering can on his head, his soft curls becoming plastered to his forehead as he gasped at the cold. You had merely laughed at him, not caring about the puddle it had made on the kitchen floor.  “Kyle.” You had gasped through a laugh. “What the fuck?” He answered your laugh with a smile, pushing his hair out of his face and trying to explain to you: “grow.”  “Grow? We can’t grow like the seeds, you’ve finished growing now, Ky.” You explained softly, suppressing your amusement and helping him peel off his soaked shirt. “And you’re the perfect height. Tall but not so tall that I can’t do this...” you finished by pressing your mouth to his, the water dripping from his lips wetting your own. 

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀ The month after you had planted the seeds, Kyle would still go out to watch them. Every day, for at least an hour and you didn’t bother trying to stop him, not even if it was raining. You resorted to wrapping him up in lots of warm clothes, insisting that he put on his rain coat before going into the garden if it was raining, and his matching hat and scarf if it was windy.  You had left Kyle watching a movie one Tuesday afternoon, planning on visiting some friends as you hadn’t seen them in a while. Of course, you didn’t want to leave Kyle on his own for too long, but not because he was incapable; Kyle could most definitely look after himself, but the thought of him getting lonely without your presence was so saddening to you that you made sure to not leave him unattended for too long.  So, around two hours after leaving your house, you returned. Kyle was already waiting for you, a barely contained grin on his face as he turned you around as soon as you had stepped through the front door to take your coat before pulling you by the hand to the kitchen. You gasped, Kyle’s hand squeezing yours tighter as he pulled you into the room. “Dinner.” He chirped happily, pulling out your chair and pushing your shoulder down gently so that you sat, tears pricking at your eyes. Kyle had laid the kitchen table with two bowls of steaming pasta and as he sat down opposite you, you scanned the table to take in the entirety of his effort.  The pasta, although plain, was complete with cutlery laid out on either side, albeit the wrong way around, the table cloth that Kyle had somehow managed to find crumpled and stained. Unlit candles peppered the table, almost completely burned down to stubs and he had even laid out several scraps of toilet roll beside the food, an attempt of mirroring the fancy napkins that the restaurants you had taken Kyle to had used.  “And look.” He said proudly, tapping his finger on the side of the tall glass that he had used as a makeshift vase. You peered at the flowers inside it.  You realised with a tear jerking jolt that these were the flowers that Kyle had been meticulously tending for the past month and a half. The stems were short and unevenly cut at the bottom, the flower heads little more than buds with shallow slices of colours cutting through them, and you could just about make out which flowers that they would’ve eventually grown into by their colours.  “Oh, Kyle.” You gushed, picking up one of the little squares of toilet paper to mop up the few tears that escaped your wet eyes as he surveyed you from across the table with a fading grin.  “It’s okay,” you reassured him, your restricted throat making it difficult to get the words out. “They’re happy tears Kyle. I just love you a bit too much.” You laughed tearfully. “Love you.” He said back around a mouthful of plain pasta.  You picked up your own fork, composing yourself enough to skewer a piece of pasta and bring it to your own mouth. The pasta was... definitely overcooked. But Kyle hummed happily as he ate his portion and so you ate yours across from him, answering his occasional mumbled questions about your day and asking gentle questions of your own. When the food was gone, the pasta a heavy weight in your stomach, he hurried to stand and cleared away your bowl, setting it carefully in the sink, quickly returning to the table to take his own empty bowl away.  You watched as he washed the dishes, noting the way his brow creased into a frown when the water got too hot for his hands and how careful he was not to spill any of the soapy water onto the floor.  A few stray tears rolled down your face as you watched him, as you watched how hard he tried for you.  It wasn’t always easy. Not at all. But he never stopped trying to learn, never stopped trying to reciprocate the endless love that you showed him daily. And this, his little attempt to do something special for you made your chest ache so severely that it became difficult to take a full breath as you watched the muscles in his back shift beneath his t-shirt as he washed up for you. You wiped at your cheeks with the back of your hand before walking over to him and looping your arms around his waist. His skin was warm against your cheek as you rested your face on his back, sighing contentedly.  “Oh, how I love you, Kyle Spencer.” You whispered into his back, his own hands abandoning the bowls he was scrubbing in the sink as he turned to you, water dripping from his fingers as he tucked you into him, both of you smiling softly. 

[dameronology]

welcome to the jungle {frankie morales}

summary: after taking a job with the delta guys, you cross paths with frankie morales. even though you’re at each other’s throats at first, it proves to be the start of something beautiful.  (for @what-the--curtains​ - i hope you enjoy!!) - 7k words

warnings: swearing, mentions of ptsd

this is kinda ambiguous in terms of the timeline of the film but i sort of hint to the first half being before the events of t.f and the second half being after -- with that said, you can take it as you would like :D

- jazz

Your brother had dog sat for a few days.

In exchange, you were flying out to Colombia in the middle of your work week. 

You believed in favours, but these two did not feel like they were equal. 

Still, you were a person of your word - and getting to fly to South America was exciting. The job itself was exciting, if not a little...eyebrow raising. His friend, an ex-Delta soldier, needed somebody to ID a body. That part didn’t bother you - you were a forensic archaeologist after all and it was quite literally your job description. The suspicious bit was the circumstances under which you were doing it; Santiago Garcia hadn’t been entirely clear on the phone, but he’d said something about witnesses and getting the government off of our backs. You’d met Santiago a few times and you knew what kind of work he did - military stuff. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that it was probably an under-the-radar kind of affair. But, you’d never been one to back down from a challenge. 

So, here you were on a warm Colombian Tuesday afternoon, suitcase trailing behind you as you trekked towards a dusty old air base. The sun was high in the sky, beating down on your back in a way that had initially been comforting, but was now just plain annoying. You didn’t know how long you were going to be here, but packing three jackets now felt like a stupid idea. The one one you’d worn on the plane over had been long discarded and tied around your waist, which only added to the struggle of dragging your case up the steep, sandy hill. In the distance, you could see an ATC tower glinting under the sun - the streams of light bounced right back off of it, causing you to shield your eyes with your forearm. The taxi you’d gotten from the international airport - not like this sandy little place - had only taken you so far. At least, of all things, the boots you’d opted to wear were built for this kind of thing. 

A few hundred meters up the road, you finally saw another sign of human life. A 4x4 was parked outside the abandoned terminal entrance, three men leaning against the side of it. You spotted Santiago standing a few metres away on his phone, thumbs tapping away. He didn’t look any different to the last time you saw him; dark and curly hair, a semi-friendly smile and stubble littering his chin. You hadn’t seen him since your brother’s birthday party a few months ago. 

‘Hey!’ The former soldier offered you a grin when he saw you, holding his arms open. ‘Long time, no see!’

‘Hey, Santi!’ You replied, giving him a pat on the back as he pulled you into a hug. ‘And yeah, it’s been a while. Then again, when was the last time you were in the country for more than five minutes?’

‘I’m in high demand.’ He shot back. 

Pulling back from the embrace, Santi pointed to his colleagues. There was Will and Benny, two blonde boys, both in military gear. It didn’t take much to figure out that they were brothers; same smirk, same stance, same eyes. Even if Santi hadn’t pointed it out, you would have figured as much. You were naturally deductive - came with the job. After the brothers, there was Frankie. He had dark eyes and hair, the latter of which was covered by his hat. Unlike the other three, he was wearing more casual clothes, just with a tac vest over the top. You kind of got the vibe that he didn’t want to be there - that was...comforting. 

‘What’s all this?’ Frankie asked, gesturing to the heavy metal suitcase behind you. 

‘Just...stuff. Tools.’ You replied. ‘Things I need to do my job, I guess.’

‘How heavy is it?’ 

‘Light enough that I was able to get them onto a commercial flight?’ You offered. 

‘The plane is already at max weight.’ He replied, brown eyes flickering up to meet yours. 

‘God, give ‘em a break, Fish!’ Santi slapped him on the shoulder. ‘It’ll be fine.’

‘Remember last time you said it would be fine-’

‘- hey.’ He cut him off with a harsh look. ‘We don’t talk about that.’

‘So I can bring them?’ You raised your eyebrows. ‘Because I can’t do whatever it is you need to do unless I have them.’

‘Yeah, it’ll be fine.’ Santiago gave you a comforting smile. ‘Let’s head to the jet and we’ll talk about the job.’ 

Swinging your duffle bag back over your shoulder, you picked up your suitcase and began to follow the guys further up the hill. There wasn’t anybody else around -- just sand, sun and rusting old jets. There was one in particular that they seemed to be headed towards. It was only mildly less eroded than the damaged ones around you, but the engines were running and the cargo doors were open. Santiago took your bag from your hands as you approached it, tossing it in with the other luggage. 

‘Do not throw that one, Garcia!’ You demanded, flinching slightly as he took your suitcase. 

‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’ He shot back. 

‘Sure thing.’ You rolled your eyes at him. ‘You brought a medkit right?’

‘No. Why?’

‘There’s one in my duffle bag.’ You replied. ‘Side pocket. Can you grab it?’

‘We don’t need one, we’ll be fine-’

‘- Santiago Garcia, do you want me to report back to my brother that you took his baby sibling on a jungle-wide expedition without the correct medical supplies?’ You challenged. 

Santi swallowed, mind briefly flashing back to the time he’d almost been decked by said brother for letting you walk home alone. ‘Fine.’

Your triumphant smile only lasted a split second; as soon as your eyes fell on the plane, you realised you still had to get on it. Fuck. 

The engines seemed to be working fine, but it was just...old. And eroding. And making a funny sound. You were by no means an engineer, but even just binging a few episodes of Air Crash Investigations made you feel qualified enough to know that this was not where it was at in terms of air safety. You could have taken it up with Frankie, but he didn’t seem entirely approachable. 

You did trust Santi, however - though sometimes that seemed a little against your better judgement. Every crazy story that your brother had relayed back to you from their time in the military involved him making questionable decisions. Hopefully, opting to fly this hunk of metal wouldn’t be one of them. Here’s to hoping it was aerodynamic. 

‘Are you getting in or…’ Frankie peered down at you from the stairs, eyebrows raised. 

‘Yeah, sorry.’ You blinked in surprise. ‘This thing is safe, right?’

‘What’s it to you?’

‘What is it to me?’ You snorted. ‘Just, y’know, that I’m about to fly a few hundred thousand feet in the air and if it falls out of the sky I’ll die.’

‘I know what I’m doing.’ Frankie shut the door behind you as you climbed aboard, twisting the handle shut. ‘I’ve been flying for years.’

‘I’m not saying it’s you.’ You brushed past him, shoulders bumping as you did. ‘Captain fucking Sully couldn’t fly this thing.’

‘The guy from Monster’s Inc?’ 

‘No, the guy who landed the plane on the Hudson? They made a movie about it, with Tom Hanks-’

‘- you should sit down now.’ Frankie turned away from you. ‘We’re about to take off.’

Your mouth fell open in slight disbelief. What an asshole. 

Santi called your name, signalling for you to sit with him in the cockpit. The seats on the plane hardly looked comfortable, and your brain was mentally working out if it was safer to sit over the wing in a crash, or by the tail. You’d definitely seen it in a documentary once, but you couldn’t remember exactly what they said. Perhaps the best option was to just be less dramatic. 

Taking a seat between Frankie and Santi, you pulled your seatbelt on and shuffled awkwardly. This was fine. Absolutely fine. Frankie was a trained pilot (and a dickhead, but that didn’t take away from his flying skills) and you were going to be fine. Fiiiiine. Maybe if you said it once more, you’d believe yourself. You were going to be fine. Yeah, there we go. 

A few deep breaths and you were certain. Or, at least you’d convinced yourself to be certain. 

‘So.’ Your eyes momentarily flicked over to where Frankie was adjusting some controls. ‘What exactly am I doing here?’

‘A few months ago, the boys and I were involved in the shoot-out.’ Santi began. ‘Pretty standard for the type of operation we were on.’

‘Right. Standard office work.’ You muttered. ‘Do go on.’

‘We thought everyone who had witnessed it had been recorded.’ He continued. ‘And everyone who we spoke to verified that it was a justified shootout. No dirty work, no ulterior motive. All valid, from a legal perspective.’

You thinned your eyes. ‘I don’t think I like where this is going.’

‘We ID’d all the bodies at the time.’ He said. ‘Including a Ricky Martinez. Except now, a guy claiming to also be Ricky Martinez has come forward, claiming that his version of events is a little different. Like, different enough to incriminate us.’

‘He’s lying, right? You guys were the good ones?’ You urged. Santiago’s silence was anything but comforting. ‘Right?’

‘Morals are all a matter of perspective.’ He replied. ‘Our labs ID’d Martinez’ body twice but we need a third party opinion before we can completely dispel the guy pretending to be him.’

‘Guess that’s where I come in?’ You asked, leaning further back into the seat as the jet began to move. 

‘Exactamente.’ Santi nodded. 

That didn’t sound too bad. Between excavating the grave, running tests and returning the body, it would take a few days tops. You could manage that. 

The jet began to pick up speed, making its ascent towards the runway. Frankie did look like he knew what he was doing -- heck, the man looked bored, even.  He barely even had to look at the dash controls as it moved forward, hands moving freely and easily to manoeuvre the plane down the runway. 

‘What are you staring at?’ Frankie glanced over at you. 

‘N-nothing.’ You replied.  ‘Shouldn’t you be focusing on the road-’

‘- that’s a runway.’ He cut you off. 

‘Whatever.’

You were thrown backwards in your chair from the momentum of the take off. The plane angled upwards as it went up in the air, tilting sideways as it balanced out. You felt your stomach drop as the ground disappeared from beneath you, the push of the engines pulling you up higher into the sky. There was a clunk, signalling that the landing gear had retracted. 

Well, the plane had fulfilled its first purpose: taking off. That was a good sign. 

‘So,’ Benny peered over at you. ‘What’s your callsign gonna be?’

‘My name, presumably.’ You quirked a brow at him. 

‘We have Ironhead, Catfish and Pope.’ He continued. ‘But Will and I were talking, and we thought Barbie was gonna fit well.’ 

‘Oh, really?’ You sniffed. ‘And why might that be?’

‘Because you’re young, and pretty hot-’

‘- so your call sign is Benny, right?’ You cut him off. ‘Short for Benjamin? That’s really clever. Did you come up with it yourself?’

‘Maybe Eye Candy will be beter-’

Benny was cut off when you reached across, leaning over Santi to smack him in the chest with your balled up fist. All four of them jumped in surprise at your action - clearly, you weren’t somebody to be fucked with. You hadn’t worked your ass for years to get your degree to get discredited like that. 

‘Make a comment like that again and I’ll drop kick your ass out of this plane.’ You jabbed your finger towards him. 

Benny thinned his eyes at you. ‘Frankie wouldn’t let you do that. Right, Cat?’

‘You heard ‘em.’ Frankie’s eyes didn’t move from the clouds ahead. 

--

To give credit where credit was due, Frankie was good at landing planes. 

Specifically, he was good at landing planes in places where planes should not have been landed. Not that he’d had much of a choice when the engines gave in half way through the journey, a couple hundred miles over the thick Colombian jungle. 

In short, you’d been right the entire time. The damn thing wasn’t safe. Of course, you weren’t going to say I told you so right then, since it felt like a little bit of a sensitive subject. 

Now, the five of you were standing next to a pile of what-used-to-be-a-plane, defeat plastered over every one of your individual faces. You were lucky to all have made it out okay - just about. Santiago had taken a hit to the head, Benny had bitten his tongue pretty hard when you’d collided with the ground (fitting) and Frankie had split his head open. You and Will were the only ones who hadn’t sustained any injuries. He had proven to be much more tolerable than his brother. 

‘Okay, we just gotta…’ you looked around, eyes taking in the debris around you. ‘We just gotta stay calm-’

‘- stay calm?’ Frankie cut you off. ‘You’re the reason the fucking thing went down! If you hadn’t taken all that extra weight-’

‘- do you ever shut up, Morales?’ You snapped. ‘And I’m no genius but I don’t think the engines catching fire was anything to do with me bringing an extra bag onto the plane!’

‘I’m the pilot.’ He reminded you. ‘I know what I’m talking about.’

‘Maybe it was the weight of your ego that made it go down.’ You chided. 

‘Hey - Patrick, Spongebob!’ Will finally yelled. Both your heads snapped in his direction, eyes wide. ‘Can you keep it in your pants for two minutes so we can work out how to make it through the night?’

‘Right, sorry.’ You nodded. 

You glanced around the crash site, brain calculating for a minute as you took in what little was left. The plan had landed on its belly and skidded for a few hundred metres; consequently, most of the luggage had come out on the way. That left you with the one remaining bag, the medkit you’d scared Santi into bringing and the strewn camping kit that had been ditched in the back of the fuselage. 

Pulling your phone out your pocket, you sighed when you realised that you had no signal. What had you expected? Four bars in the middle of the jungle? Probably not realistic. You did, however, have a compass app. That was something. You thought for a moment, glancing between the app and the sun’s position in the sky. It was splintering through the trees, washing heat over you like a bucket of cold water. There was a small stream a few metres away, which was a source of water at least. 

‘It’s just gone four, maybe five in the afternoon.’ You announced. ‘So we have about three hours till the sun starts to set. The water in the stream runs that way so if we follow it, we’ll find the source. People are more likely to set up civilization around a source of water.’ 

All four of them looked at you like kids who had lost their parents in Walmart.  Were they really ex-military? 

‘So, what?’ Benny frowned. ‘We...set up a new civilisation?’

‘Oh my days.’ You muttered under your breath. ‘I am spoon-feeding this to you! It means that there will be a town with people.’ 

‘That’s smart.’ Santi nodded. 

‘But before we do that, we gotta sort this out. Will, d’you know how to check for concussion?’ You asked, to which he nodded. ‘Okay, you check Santi and I’ll clean up Frankie’s head. Then we gotta gather those camping supplies and head east. Best case scenario, we find a town before sundown. Worst case scenario, we camp out for the night.’

‘Who put you in charge?’ Frankie asked.

‘Me.’ You replied. 

Taking the medkit from Santi’s hands, you quietly thanked him and led Frankie over to some rocks. He didn’t seem all that pleased when you forced him to sit on one - and he was even less pleased when you pulled his hat off. It revealed a tangle of dark curls, some of which you had to push back to get to the mark on his head. Some may have debated the importance of mentioning such a detail, but you couldn’t help but notice how soft his hair was. 

You knelt down in front of him, pulling the supplies out of the little medical kit. There weren't many, but there was enough to give him something temporary till you got to a proper hospital. If you got a proper hospital. 

‘It’s not too deep.’ You observed, running your thumb over the creases of his forehead. ‘Just a couple stitches at worst.’

‘Don’t you normally stitch up bodies?’ Frankie asked. His brown eyes were glued to the floor, following the outlines of the boot-prints that you’d left. 

‘Yeah, it’s the same kinda principle though.’ You laughed slightly. ‘Despite your attitude, I’m not gonna give you Y-incision stitches.’

‘Thanks.’

‘At least not in a place people can see them.’

Frankie snorted, but it translated to a hiss of pain as you dabbed an alcohol wipe at his forehead. Despite everything, you had a slight admiration for him. He’d managed to land the plane safely as the situation allowed and despite a few minor injuries, things could have been much worse. You didn’t quite feel like vocalising that to him when you were still stranded in the middle of the jungle, but if you ever got out? You might get Santi to pass the message on. 

‘D’ you think it’ll scar?’ Frankie quietly asked. 

‘Maybe.’ You admitted. ‘Just take a deep breath.’

‘Where did you even learn to do this stuff?’ He asked, letting out another small grunt of discomfort. ‘The stitches and the compass shit.’

You shrugged. ‘I’ve been around the block a few times. You kinda learn to be prepared.’

‘Really? As a morgue worker?’

‘Not a morgue worker.’ You grumbled. ‘Then again, I am stabbing a needle through your skin so I suppose I’ll allow the discrepancy.’ 

‘What is it you do then?’

‘I’m a forensic archaeologist.’ You explained. ‘So it’s my job to retrospectively work out how people died, whether it be because their body was found a long time after they died or because they had to be exhumed from their original resting place.’

Gently pulling the needle back from Frankie’s forehead, you cut the thread and dabbed it again with an alcohol wipe. You brushed his hair back down and placed his hat back on his head, offering him a smile. For the first time since you’d met him, he returned the gesture. 

You dusted off your knees and took a place on the rock beside Frankie, examining your handy work. Considering you’d been in a plane crash not quite an hour ago, it wasn’t too bad. At least if it did scar, it was in a place his hair covered up. And in your defense, scarring wasn’t usually something you had to worry about with your other...patients. They usually went back in the ground not long after you dealt with them. 

‘You’ll wanna sit down for a minute.’ You replied. ‘D’you feel dizzy at all? Sick?’

‘I was just in a plane crash.’

‘Me too, funnily enough.’ You rolled your eyes at him. ‘I s’pose it’s the most interesting job I’ve worked in a while.’

‘Same here.’ Frankie said. ‘I normally work for a flight school, so this is...something else.’

‘It’ll make me grateful when I get back to the office.’ You agreed. ‘Because it has four walls, air conditioner and co-workers who don’t give me ridiculous nicknames.’

‘Right.’ He snorted. ‘Benny can be...Benny. He doesn’t mean to be an asshole.’ 

‘Benny wasn’t the asshole.’ You quipped, nudging him with your elbow.

At least Frankie had proven now that he could talk to you without being insufferable. You couldn’t work out if you’d warmed to him or if he’d warmed to you, but doing somebody’s stitches was unarguably one hell of an icebreaker. He was just a little closed off; quiet and reserved, you figured. You didn’t know what him and the Delta guys had been through, but Santi had mentioned a few things in passing that pointed to a heavy past. That was something you could relate to - your job was no walk in the park either 

‘It’s not...personal.’ Frankie glanced off into the distance. 

Will had managed to salvage the remaining bag from the jet, meaning that Santiago could use it as a seat. Benny was sitting with them, talking amongst themselves. You would have to move soon, in order to find a suitable place to camp before sundown, but taking a minute to recover from the last hour was also important. You’d barely stopped to sit down since the plane had gone down, and now you had, the shock had hit you. Your suspicions about safety had actually been correct. Not that it mattered now, but at least you had a plan to get everyone back to civilization as soon as possible. 

‘So you being an ice cold bitch isn’t to do with me? That’s a relief.’ You joked. Frankie smiled in response; his first genuine one since you’d met. 

‘The witness that you were going to ID was from the last job we all worked together.’ He explained ‘It went bad. Really bad.’

‘From what Santi said, it sure did sound like it.’ You replied. 

‘I hadn’t seen anything as bad as we did then since I was stationed out in the war zones.’ He continued. ‘So being back here, and being with the guys, has just put me on edge. I’m sorry if I was an asshole.’

‘You don’t have to say sorry.’ You shook your head. ‘I mean...actually, yeah, you were an asshole but I get it.’

‘You do?’

‘Forensic archeology is no walk in the park either.��� You replied. ‘It’s my job to work out how people have died. Most of my work is on crime scenes or in war zones so I’ve seen some...dark stuff.’

‘It sticks with you.’ Frankie quietly murmured. 

‘Yeah, it does.’ You said. ‘I know you might not think it on the surface, because it’s the usual sort of job that leaves stuff weighing on your shoulders-’

‘- doesn’t matter.’ He cut you off. ‘Trauma is trauma. Regardless of how you got it or where it came from, it’s valid.’

You gave him a small smile. Maybe he wasn’t so bad. 

---

Later that night -- and after a few hours of walking -- you and the guys had settled down into a makeshift campsite. It was just at the edge of a clearing, not too far from what looked to be a small town glinting in the distance. You did offer to keep going, but between the injuries the group had sustained, it was easier to stop for the night. You had enough of a combined skillset to find some fruit growing to snack on and to start a fire.

Santiago, Will and Benny had long passed out. It wasn’t until after they had done so that you realised there was absolutely no room left in the tent. It was only built for two people, let alone five. Where that left you in terms of sleeping arrangements, you didn’t know, but the chances of even getting to rest felt low. Your brain was on full overdrive, tired eyes darting constantly around the distance. How safe was this place? You’d managed to convince yourself that the plane was secure, and that had gone down like...well, like the fucking plane. 

You were sitting on a log, drawing pictures in the dirt with a stick. It was just something to keep your brain occupied as you fought off the tiredness. The jet-lag from your flight to Colombia had hit in full force and you wanted nothing more than to crawl into your bed -- the bed that wasn’t there. 

‘So, are you keeping a look-out?’ 

You jumped at the sound of Frankie’s voice, twisting around to face him. ‘Something like that.’

‘I can take over if you want.’ He offered. ‘You should get some rest. You’ve saved our asses like three times today.’

‘Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t fit into that tent.’ You replied. ‘I can hear them snoring from here.’

‘Is it worse than the alternative of me keeping you company?’ He softly smiled, taking a seat beside you. ‘I’ll promise not to be an asshole anymore.’

‘We spoke about this.’ You reminded him. ‘I get it. It’s okay.’

‘I still feel bad.’ He sighed. ‘Especially after you stitched me up and led us through the jungle. We woulda eaten something poisonous and died if you hadn’t stopped Benny going near those mushrooms.’

You chuckled. ‘Don’t feel bad, okay? You’ve had bad experiences before and it’s natural to be anxious.’

‘I shouldn’t have taken it out on you-’

‘- Frankie!’ You cut him off with a groan. ‘I’m about to be an asshole if you don’t stop saying sorry.’

‘So we’re good?’ 

‘We’re good.’ You smiled. ‘Thanks for keeping me company.’

‘Santiago, in no uncertain terms, made it clear that he would come for our kneecaps if we left you alone in the dark.’ Frankie admitted. ‘I think he likes you.’

You chuckled, shaking your head. ‘I think you have the wrong idea. Santi is only so protective of me because he’s one of my brother’s best friends, and I guess by extension, that kind of makes him my brother too. They go right back to high school, and then they did the academy together.’

‘That’s a long time.’ Frankie nodded. ‘So you and Santi, that’s...nothing, right?’

‘Absolutely not.’ You snorted derivatively. ‘And if it was, my brother would probably end him.’

‘So,’ He took a stick from the floor, joining in with random doodles you were carving into the ground. ‘Be honest: if these stitches scar, d’you think I’ll look rugged and handsome?’

You peered over at him, eyes creasing as your smile grew wider. ‘Sure. Why not?’

‘Ouch.’ He dramatically grabbed his heart, shaking his head. ‘The correct answer was no Frankie, you already look rugged and handsome.’

‘Okay, it would make you look more rugged and handsome.’ You rolled your eyes. ‘Better?’

‘Better.’ He grinned triumphantly. ‘When was the last time you stitched up a living, breathing human?’

‘College, I think.’ You replied. ‘My roommate got into a fight and didn’t have insurance, so I did some makeshift stitches with a cheap sewing kit we found at a 24/7 corner shop.’

‘We’ve all done it.’ He laughed. ‘I’m glad the stitches you gave me were actual, professional ones...right?’

‘Obviously!’ You exclaimed. ‘You’ll probably want to get them redone when we get back to...y’know, civilisation.’

‘Naturally.’ He nodded. ‘I appreciate you stitching me up. The others would not have been able to do that if it had been just us.’

You shrugged. ‘It’s nothing, really.’

‘What if - and feel free to blatantly reject me for my earlier actions - I took you out for a drink when we got back? Y’know, if we ever get back to civilisation.’

‘Yeah, okay.’ You smiled. 

Normally, Frankie wouldn’t have been that bold -- and you would have absolutely rejected someone who had made such a terrible first impression. But, said impression had changed. He’d been an asshole but you could see why; you could reason with it, even. God knew that you also had a tendency to become withdrawn and irritable when you were retracting back to the darker corners of your mind. Bad days on the job were hard to shake. They stuck with you for a long time. 

The conversation continued, though you couldn’t recall exactly what it was about. Nothing and everything. Growing up and going to college - or for Frankie, the military. You compared stories of Santiago; Frankie’s were better, but yours were pretty good. He told you about how he’d got his piloting license back, and you in return offered a tale of the time that your brother had gotten a DUI. 

Between the warmth of Frankie beside you and the crackling fire in front of you, it became harder and harder to fight off your exhaustion. You would have been tired enough if you were from this timezone, but your body clock was hours out of whack. With your eyelids getting heavier and the dark sky above you, it wasn’t long before you’d flopped into the pilot’s side with defeat. 

‘’M sorry.’ You murmured. 

‘It’s fine, you don’t have to apologise.’ Frankie replied. He moved his arm around your shoulders to support your weight from falling off the log - also to give a sign that he was more than okay with it. 

You rested your chin on his shoulder, peering up at him. Now that his cold facade had slipped away, you could admire him a little bit more. Warm chocolate eyes, a strong jawline, and a face that just felt kind, even despite initial impressions. The warm glow of the fire illuminated his face with a soft hue, making the lighter tones of his eyes a little more visible. 

You were both still lingering from the adrenaline of the plane crash, hearts pounding in your chests and brains wrestling with the idea that you’d both made it out with minor injuries. Was that what had made you bold? The sudden reminder of your mortality? Because you never would have kissed him if it had been a normal night.

He met you halfway, lips gently capturing yours in a soft kiss. They were a little chapped from the humidity of the jungle air, but intoxicating and enchanting all the same. He tasted very, very faintly of tobacco and a little bit of mint -- had the bastard had chewing gum this whole time? Not that it was relevant. Not that anything else in the world was relevant. Not when Frankie Morales was kissing you.

Neither of you said anything after; he simply pulled you into his chest, resting his head on top of yours. Between the mental exhaustion and emotional ping-pong game that you were partaking in, you wanted to sleep. 

And sleep, you did; tangled together on the dirt of the jungle floor, not a worry in the world. 

---

Time passed. 

It passed quickly and slowly all at once. 

Once you’d found a little town and got on a coach to Medellin, you did what you came to do: identified the body, cleared their names and closed the case. Your duties at your actual job called you back home and less than a day later, you were on a plane home. 

After that, everything was a blur. You tried to keep in contact with everyone, but life was demanding as ever. Thanks to a promotion at work, you were being kept busy 24/7. Santiago finally retired from active duty and moved back to your hometown, near to his parents and to the guys. Even with the group chat he’d made - affectionately titled Plane Pals - it was hard to constantly keep up with everyone. 

You and Frankie had texted for a while, but it sort of faded out. Whenever you were able to make it back home to see him and everyone else, he was busy. You’d both tried to make plans a few times but they’d never come to fruition. You still texted each other happy birthday every year, but that was it. Like that night in the jungle, he quickly became a thing of the past. A distant memory that sometimes felt like a dream. 

It made a good dinner table story, especially for first dates. You told it on many actually, actually -- only one ever went well. So well, in fact, that you’d ended up in a four-year-relationship. A marine biologist called Simon; not boring, but not necessarily exciting either. He was nice...enough. Nice enough that you didn’t find a reason to leave. 

Looking back, you probably had a million reasons to leave. He was an asshole, for one. The last time he’d treated you right had been your first anniversary - and for some reason, you’d stuck around to celebrate your second and third and fourth. Everyone around you was settling down, and you felt that pressure too. 

Even Santiago fucking Garcia, the biggest flirt and bachelor you knew, was getting married. You’d RSVP’d a plus one - Simon, obviously - but the week before you were due to fly home for the wedding, things had finally reached a bitter end. You weren’t sad about him; more sad that you’d wasted four years of your life on the Walmart equivalent to Ned Flanders. 

On the brightside, your brother’s respective relationship had also gone through a shitty demise, meaning you could move your seats at the reception next to one another. Like Santiago, he had also retired from the military and was living his best life - even though it had taken six months for him to start speaking to his friend again. He hadn’t taken well to the idea of Santiago taking you on a job that left you in the middle of the jungle. 

‘People are gonna ask where Simon is, aren’t they?’ You muttered. 

‘Cheer up.’ Your brother nudged you. ‘I know what’ll help - let’s make a bet.’

‘What?’ You groaned. 

You were standing outside the church, waiting to be called inside. You’d waved at Benny and Will as they came in. The latter had kids of his own now, but Benny was focusing on his boxing career. He hadn’t called you Barbie again though, so that was something. 

‘I bet you twenty bucks that Santiago is divorced by the end of the year.’ Your brother grinned. 

‘No! That’s horrible.’ You slapped his arm. 

‘Whatever. That’s $20 you’re missing out on.’

‘I hate that we’re related.’

‘Me too.’

‘Shut up!’

‘You said it first!’

The two of you were cut off by someone clearing their throats.

You almost did a double take when you saw Frankie Morales stood in front of you. He didn’t look that different to his six-year-old Whatsapp profile picture; he wasn’t wearing his hat, instead wearing his hair pushed back, and rather than his old tac vest, he had a suit and tie on. You had a sort of vision of him in your head from that night, but it didn’t do him justice. He was even better in person. 

‘Catfish!’ Your brother jeered. ‘Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes!’ 

‘Says you!’ Frankie gave him a slap on the back. His eyes then fell to you, and his demeanour changed a little. ‘Hey.’

‘Frankie fucking Morales.’ You murmured. ‘How’re you?’

‘Thriving.’ He replied. ‘You?’

‘Also thriving.’ You smiled. 

‘I was sorry to hear about the divorce, man.’ Your brother, as clueless as ever, didn’t sense the sudden onset of tension. 

‘Divorce?’ You blinked in surprise. ‘Is that really something you should bring up-’

‘- you brought up your break up at dinner last week-’

‘- only because you brought up yours first-’

‘- guys!’ Frankie cut you off. ‘It’s fine, really. I appreciate you looking out for me but it was a while ago now. Besides, I’ve got Leya. She takes up all my time.’

‘Leya?’ your eyebrows shot up. ‘Is that your girl-’

You were interrupted by a bell ringing, signalling that it was time for the guests to enter the church. Did the universe hate you? What kind of fucking dreadful timing was that? 

‘I’ll see you guys at the reception, right?’ Frankie asked. 

‘Sure thing, dude.’ Your brother waved him off.

The pilot turned on his heel, giving you a smile as he headed for the church. He was the best man after all, and his presence probably was needed. 

‘You asshole!’ You have his shoulder another whack. ‘I was talking to him!’

‘Jesus, calm down! And why do you hit so hard?’ He huffed. ‘What’s so important?’

‘Who’s Leya?’

‘I dunno! Do I look like Gossip Girl?’

‘Yeah.’

‘You’re mean.’ He grabbed you by the arm, dragging you towards the church entrance. ‘And mum made me promise to make sure you wouldn’t play Doodle Jump during the vows.’

‘That was one time!’ You snapped. 

Thankfully, the actual ceremony passed quicker than you thought. Santiago’s new wife was beautiful -- you hadn’t met Yovanna before, but both her and Santi had greeted you with a bright smile as you entered the reception. It was in a large hotel room, decorated with strings of fairy lights and a large dance floor. A lot of thought had clearly got into it. 

It made you a little sad to think about. How many weddings had you been to in the last five years? How many times had people looked at you and your former boyfriend and said you’ll be next. You weren’t even sad about him. If anything, you were mad that you’d let yourself think about marrying him. You could do better. You were going to do better.

‘Is that girl over there eying me up?’ Your brother���s voice pulled you back to reality. ‘I swear she’s been giving me heart eyes since they brought dessert out.’

‘Which one?’

‘The one in the cute dress! Brown hair, dark eyes-’

‘- that’s Santi’s cousin.’ You rolled your eyes. 

‘And?’

‘Santi’s cousin who is a lesbian?’ You tried to suppress a laugh. ‘Who has been with her wife for 11 years and has three children?’

He groaned. ‘Why must you find such joy in my pain?’

‘It’s what siblings are for.’ You grinned. ‘I’m gonna get a drink. D’you want anything?’

He only let out another groan in response - you took that as a no, simply giving him a pat on the head as you stood up. 

You’d tried to ask around with a few mutual friends if they knew who Leya was -- either they hadn’t seen Frankie in a while, or they pushed to know why you were asking. You couldn’t exactly play that one as suave. Nobody took a casual interest in the personal life of somebody they barely knew -- even though you did know Frankie. Quite well, actually. He’d practically recounted his entire life story to you that night. Told you things that not even Santi knew. 

‘What can I get for you?’ The bartender asked. 

‘Uhhh…’ you glanced up at the menu. ‘Is it an open bar?’

‘If I had enough money for every time someone asked me that tonight, I’d be able to pay for all the drinks.’  She shot back. ‘So, no.’

‘Jeez.’ You muttered. ‘How much for a double rum?’

‘Fifteen bucks.’

‘Fifteen?!’ You spluttered. ‘How much is tap water?’

‘Y’know, I still owe you a drink.’

Like earlier, Frankie had suddenly appeared unannounced. You couldn’t help but grin when you saw him leaning against the bar beside you, a goofy smile plastered across his face and his undone tie wrapped around his left hand. Your eyes flickered up to his forehead, examining it for a minute. 

‘So the stitches didn’t scar?’ You asked. 

He pulled back his hair, shaking his head. ‘Nope.’ 

‘You lucky duck.’ You quipped. ‘So. About that drink?’

‘This shit is insanely overpriced.’ Frankie said. ‘I can steal us a bottle of wine if you’re willing to hide and drink it?

You glanced over at your brother, who was now crying to one of Santiago’s great aunts, piling cake into his mouth. 

‘Yeah. I’m down for that.’ 

--

Five minutes later, you and Frankie were out in the gardens of the hotel. It had been raining all day, but there was an undercover patio not too far from the main reception; the walls were made out of white wood, with red roses trailing up the side. The fairly lights tangled beside them illuminated the place in a gentle glow, blue evening sky providing a beautiful contrast. Even though the showers had stopped, you could still smell the rain in the fresh evening air. 

‘Wine?’ Frankie led you to a seat by the edge of the patio. ‘I stole it from the head table so it's the expensive shit.’

He tore the cork off, handing you the bottle. Neither of you had brought glasses, but you didn’t mind drinking from the same bottle. You’d kissed already - what was the point in formalities? 

‘I hate it to break it to you.’ You paused to wipe your mouth, recovering from the bitter taste. ‘But that’s champagne.’

‘Still alcohol, right?’ He took it from your hands, taking a swig. ‘And it’s free!’

‘You’re right.’ You chuckled. ‘So...I believe we have four years worth of catching up to do.’

‘D’you wanna go first?’ Frankie offered. ‘I heard you got a promotion.’

‘I did, yeah.’ You grinned. ‘It’s a thousand times more work but I get more control over what jobs I take, so that’s good.’

‘Anyone special in your life?’ He asked. 

‘Cut the shit, Frankie.’ You groaned. ‘I know that Santi updates you on every second of my life as it happens.’

‘You got me there. He mentioned a...Steven?’

‘A Simon.’ You corrected. ‘But Dickhead or Asshole works just as well.’

‘Damn, I’m sorry.’ Frankie gave your leg a light squeeze. ‘What happened?’

‘He didn’t deserve me and I stayed with him too long.’ You shrugged. ‘I didn’t think I had a reason to leave.’ 

‘Not having a reason to leave isn’t a reason to stay.’ He murmured. 

You didn’t know whether to bring up the D-Word. D-i-v-o-r-c-e. He hadn’t seemed that phase when your sibling had so eloquently and gently brought it up earlier, but you knew Frankie was good at putting on a front. It was why you’d clashed when you first met. 

‘Am I allowed to ask?’ You quietly said. 

‘It’s nothing bad.’ He shrugged. ‘I mean it is bad, terrible actually, but it was two years ago now. We only got married because she got pregnant and then left the minute our daughter was born.’

‘Leya.’ You didn’t mean to say the name out loud, but it made sense now. ‘Leya is your daughter.’

‘Yeah.’ Frankie warmly smiled. ‘I hate what happened but I’d do it all over again ten times if it meant having her in my life.’

He spent the next few minutes telling you about her. She was named Leya after a certain space princess, though Frankie had changed the spelling to make it less obvious (to which you had argued it was still quite obvious, but a cool name nonetheless). She was currently three years old, often got confused between Spanish and English words, and enjoyed Power Rangers. All in all, she sounded like a great kid. Above all, it was obvious how much she meant to Frankie. His whole face lit up when he spoke about her. Her mum was entirely out the picture, meaning he was doing the whole thing by himself. 

‘She sounds amazing.’ You beamed, peering down at the picture on his phone. ‘She looks so much like you.’

‘Thank God.’ Frankie murmured. ‘I dunno if it being a dad has made me more introspective, but I think about that night a lot.’

‘Me too.’ You replied. ‘Not the thing about being a dad. The other part.’

He laughed. ‘I got that.’

‘What do you think about?’

‘You, mostly.’ He admitted. ‘The fact I was an asshole. The fact you basically saved us all. The fact I never got to take you out for that drink.’

You took a swig of champagne, poking his arm. ‘We’re doing it now!’

‘I know.’ He grinned. ‘I just...I know it was only one night but we might not have been around to tell the story if you hadn't been there.’

‘You were the one who landed the plane safely.’

‘Which wouldn’t have mattered if you didn’t do all the stuff after.’ He reminded you. ‘The thing I think about most, though, is that kiss.’

You froze slightly, head slowly turning to look at him. He was peering down at you now, brown eyes intently gazing at you, not unlike they had the first time you’d been in this position. Now, you weren’t both beyond exhausted, or stuck in the middle of the jungle. You were safe and sound, right here with one another. 

‘It was a pretty good kiss.’ You edged slightly closer towards him. 

‘A very good kiss.’

‘Maybe we should do it-’

Frankie cut you off, meeting your demand before you could even finish it. He was just as you remembered; chapped-but-soft lips with a hint of mint. No tobacco this time. He gently placed a hand on the back of your neck, pulling you further up towards him. It was like you were both reliving the memory of that night in a dream - something you’d done many times. Your memory of it had faded over time but this? This was vivid and giddy and entirely consuming all at once. 

‘You know,’ Frankie pulled back for a moment, keeping his hand on the back of your neck and forehead pressed to yours. ‘I asked Santi about you a few years ago, pretty much the minute I realised I was ready to move on from...her.’ 

‘You did?’ You murmured. 

‘That’s when he said you’d been seeing Simon for a few weeks.’ He admitted. ‘I was gutted. Kept wishing I’d got there first.’

‘I wish you had got to me first.’ You lightly chuckled. ‘It would have saved me a lot of pain.’

‘If I were to ask out now, what would you say?’

‘Fuck yes, obviously.’

‘Good.’ He pressed a brief peck to your lips. ‘I admire the enthusiasm.’

That night - well, actually it had probably been the night in Colombia, depending on who you asked - marked the start of a fresh start for you both. What had initially started out as an attempt to seek solace in one another during a difficult time had led you to something more: something whole, something fulfilling. 

If someone had told you the first time you’d met Frankie Morales that the unfriendly pilot was going to become the best thing that ever happened to you, you probably would have slapped them. Or laughed, or cried, or all three. That night you met, you thought the emotions you were feeling were from the plane crash -- adrenaline and warmth and panic. 

As it would turn out, it was simply the feeling of knowing -- knowing that Frankie Morales was it.

[quimble]

A Mug of Warm Moonbrew

Elise woke to a bright, young Tuesday morning. It'd been a few weeks since she'd made first contact with the witch who lived at the end of the forest. She hadn't been entirely sure what to make of her at first; the witch had a friendly enough smile, but had hidden from her every approach when she'd tried to see more of the strange woman's lifestyle. She'd only got a few details from her vantage point in the trees before the young witch's familiar (a black cat who spent far too long lounging in the sun than anything else) had caught sight of her and alerted the lady to her presence.

A shock of light blue hair, winding its way wistfully down onto her shoulders, topped off with a delightful pointed blue witches hat. Surely that was a little stereotypical? But the witch didn't seem to meet many people and they were in a far isolated area, so she supposed she was just wearing what she was comfortable in. The rest of her outfit however seemed to juxtapose the whole idea of the hat whilst simultaneously blending in. A blue dungaree dress in the same shade as the hat with a plain white tee. The most intriguing thing was the sheer amount of badges and buttons attached to the front of the dungarees. In all honesty, Elise was slightly surprised how she hadn't fallen over from the weight of them.

She hadn't seen much else. After being alerted to her being there, the witch had hurriedly picked up her cat and disappeared into her little cabin.

Elise usually woke to the sound of her alarm, blaring into her ears and making it almost impossible to go back to sleep. She didn't mind it, getting up almost immediately after to keep herself awake, starting her daily routine. Wake up, get dressed, brush teeth and head out to water the plants before grabbing some breakfast. Though today, whilst she was tying her auburn hair up into a comfortable bun with a hand whittled stick, she paused, looking up at herself in the mirror.

There was a noise. Something coming from the kitchen.

Moving almost silently, she picked up her hairbrush, holding it defensively in her hands, quietly pushing her door ajar and peeking her head around the corner. There was nothing to see from this angle. Reluctantly she pulled the door open, poking more and more of her head out each time.

There, sat across in the kitchen was the young witch, sat on her kitchen counter, swinging her legs in the air below. Her head was balanced on her knees on her two fists, cheeks squishing out in a way that Elise couldn't help but deem adorable.

It was then that she heard the microwave whirring away.

"What are you doing?" Her voice caused no reaction from the other, as if she hadn't heard, but she spoke, voice a gentle hum.

"I needed your microwave."

Elise frowned, stepping out of her room and padding across the wooden floor. Her hairbrush gradually dropped to her side, sensing no threat.

"My microwave? Why do you need my microwave?"

"To heat up my potion."

"You're what-" Elise moved quickly to the microwave, staring through the glass to see a mug (her mug she realised) filled to the brim with some glittering purple liquid. It looked slightly viscous, more like a smoothie than a liquid.

"What is that?" She looked back at the young woman who stared back at her with sleepy eyes and an equally sleepy smile.

"It's my potion."

"Why do you need my microwave?" Elise responded incredulously.

"It's more.." She seemed to fumble with her words, then just resorted to removing one fist and rolling her hand in a gesture Elise didn't seem to catch. "Blegh when it's cold."

"More blegh?" Elise looked back to the microwave as it pinged, then turned back, watching the woman slide from the counter like a puppet gone limp, then catch herself before she hit the floor. She stepped back slightly and the woman opened the door, taking the warm mug in one hand. She made a tiny noise that seemed like a yawn, then sipped the drink.

From where Elise stood, the drink smelled like a comforting mix of warm lavender and honey. The liquid swirled with what seemed like a cosmos of stars and wonders. The woman must've seen her staring because in the next moment she spoke up once more, sounding ever so slightly more awake.

"Moonbrew. It's just warm milk really. Mix it with some lavender tea brewed with water taken from the lake on a full moon. I like it with some honey too so it tastes extra sweet!"

Elise found herself smiling slightly, chuckling at the other. "Right. So it's less of a potion and more of a milk tea?"

The other looked at her with a look of confusion, then deep thought. She stared down into the depths of her drink, then seemingly found her answer without telling Elise. In the next moment she was spinning on her heels, walking towards the door. When she reached it, she opened it and continued walking without another word.

Elise stood there, then shook her head with a small chuckle, closing the microwave with a gentle hand.

[sneakerdoodle]

"(Not) Alone", Chapter 2

Rated: K

Get some uhhhhhh friend times, winter outfits, background gays and existential crisis! Alternative summary:

"Miriam is like you're gonna' rummage through the contents of my heart? okay. what's in your drawers"

- @buttercup-bug <3 big thanks to them for their support and consultation too!!!!

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General warnings: states potentially resembling a panic attack; moderately graphic metaphors, including mentions of drowning; familial tension

- This time I see where I'm flying, at least, - Miriam mutters, seemingly to herself.

Kiwi, fiddling with the strap of the bag hanging behind them, thinks back to Miriam's first and latest visit to Chismest. The flight there is hard to remember through the blur of pain they were in, but they can vaguely recall their friend complaining about the smog through coughing fits, as well as the jerking movements of the broom as she would aggressively rub her watering eyes.

Now, the skies above Chismest are clear, and the frosted trees below are sparkling in the sunlight. It is quieter, too, without the incessant thud of machines that would vibrate through the atmosphere in a low vague hum.

- Still too hecking cold, - Miriam grumbles and clenches her fists harder around the broom to get the blood flowing.

Bard readily leans closer in, sharing whatever body heat they can. Their cheek smooshes against Miriam's back, and the next words come out slightly muffled.

- You must be glad we're packed! Want me to get your cape?

Miriam shakes her head emphatically.

- Nope, thanks, no bag-rummaging in the air.

Kiwi nods slowly, looking past their dangling feet, down below, to the town's edge.

Miriam brings the broom to a bit of a rushed stop, and it hovers in the air, gently swaying up and down. Bard straightens, pulling away.

- Well, we're here. Where to? - Miriam's head is turned as she examines Bard's face, questioningly and with a hint of suspicion.

- Down! - he chirps nonchalantly. Miriam rolls her eyes.

- Thanks. Great tip. It's too early to go to the Observatory, so down where?

Bard contemplates, sinking a bit into their shoulders, and watches the town below. It's changed, a lot. The streets are lighter, and the people are moving through them at a much more of a leisurely pace. There seems to be no shame about being out and about during daytime, no one is in a hurry to get from one place to another. From somewhere below, they can even hear what sounds like faint, soft music.

Bard smiles timidly, entertaining the thought of actually having a good time in their hometown.

- Let's go on a tour!

They land at the outskirts, and Miriam shivers instinctively as the snow crunches under her foot. Bard immediately dives into the bag Saphy has lovingly packed for the two and pulls out a warm woven cape and a wide magenta scarf, presenting them to Miriam with a shining smile. She takes them from their hands, begrudgingly, as if having a body capable of getting cold is something to be self-conscious about. As soon as the cape rests on her shoulders, however, her expression softens into one of comfort and quiet content.

Bard follows her example and wraps a similar long shawl around their own shoulders. It's soothing, both with its warmth and weight, and they close their eyes for a second, sitting with the calm. A long hand-knitted striped scarf follows, and Kiwi feels the most equipped for the cold they can possibly be.

The bag is still heavy on their shoulder. They reach in and pull out a warm and pointy winter hat – and can almost hear Miriam's defenses coming right up. She looks at them with a determined frown, fight-ready.

- No.

- Aw, come on, Miriam! - they try not to smile too widely. - You should stay warm!!

Miriam stares at them in ferocious defiance, unblinking, for a good ten seconds. With a groan, she finally caves in, snatches the hat out of their hands and puts it on. Her face goes red with embarrassment, and she promptly looks away and pulls the scarf over her mouth.

Pulled on in a hurry, the hat sits on Miriam's head slightly sideways, with ruffled hair sticking out from under it and getting in the girl's face. She puts one messy lock away in a jerky motion, tucking it under an ear flap before crossing her arms and looking down at her feet. Bard watches in unconcealed endeared amusement.

- How come you don't get one, - Miriam blurts out, in a tone that implies that she does not expect much of an answer. With an annoyed sigh, she grabs Bard by the sleeve and heads towards the town.

- Not a word to Saphy.

Walking through the streets of Chismest is... strange, almost overwhelming. The town is unexpectedly loud, with the voices of its residents bouncing from one corner to another, sounding from the windows that used to barely ever open. The distant sounds of music Bard heard from up on the broom are closer now, creating an uncharacteristically melodic ambiance. And the weirdest of all, there is so much variety.

Beth's diner is inviting people in to try Katya's new pastry recipe. The Gift House is no more, replaced by a general store. Tanya stands in front of it, fixing a sign that reads: “Next island fruit shipment: TUESDAY, 12 PM”. She notices the two guests and waves at them before going back inside.

Johann is standing in front of the ex-factory building, frowning at the timetable of various workshops, community meetings and the Astronomy Board sessions, apparently figuring out a scheduling issue with Elmer: the lesson on identifying local plants seems to be encroaching onto the public presentation of his newest potential enterprise.

Miriam lingers under the very lantern she would spend her time by back when she and Bard visited Chismest together for the first time. She looks at the large building that used to house the endless deafening machines. It is still slightly shocking in how it looms over the rest of Chismest.

- ...Weird, - Miriam says after a while. Bard hums noncommittally. Miriam looks at them, impatient for a more engaged response. - Very weird, right? I'd only been there for a week, and it still freaks me out to be around this... thing. How are they all just, getting on with it???

Bard is quiet for a moment, unsure whether anything they have to say is worth voicing, but Miriam's gaze is insistent, so they give it a try.

- They're taking it back?.. I think... it's always been their town, and now they can sort of... take it back for themselves?

Put into words, the thought surprises them. They reflect on it for a moment. Is that the reason they still aren't keen on coming back, even after hearing all about the wonderful transformations Chismest has gone through? Maybe it's never been their town, they way it has been for all its other victims, all these other people that were hurt by it but never left. Has it.. always been a question of belonging? Not one of finding a better life?..

She is pulled back out of her thoughts by Miriam's skeptical hum. The girl shifts her weight from foot to foot uncomfortably a couple of times before asking, unsure:

- Do you... wanna go in?..

Kiwi hurriedly shakes her head, and Miriam lets out a sigh of relief.

- Yeah. Me neither.

They continue on their way, approaching the Clocktower Pub, which appears to be the source of music tinting the town views a subtle but cheerful color. In front of the pub, a group of people is gathered in front of a samovar in a seemingly passionate discussion. Among them, Bard recognizes Elara. Like everyone else around her, she is holding a steaming mug.

Boris splashes some of his tea as he swings his arm to make a point.

- Zere is enough coal, no? Nothing iz broken, so why fix?

Elara wrinkles her nose and shakes her head, still calm, but more ardent than Bard remembers her. Before she gets to make her defense, Miles chimes in with a tired groan.

- Yeah, well, the Lights are right there every year, so why the hell not.

- But ze expenses...

- Why not think of it as an investment... - Elara starts, before noticing the two visitors approaching the group. She blinks in surprise behind her glasses. - Oh! You're here already.

Kiwi smiles awkwardly while Miriam waves her hand, then demonstratively hugs her shoulders. The next moment, a mug of tea lands in her palms, expeditiously passed from hands to hands from where the samovar is sitting on a large wooden table. Miriam looks down at it in surprise, startled into her special sort of quietness, processing the simple and natural act of kindness.

- We arrived early! - Bard replies, smiling gratefully at Miles who hands them another mug. - Just walking around for now!

Elara nods slowly.

- This place has changed a lot, hasn't it?

Bard pulls their lips into a smile. For a moment their gaze lingers on Elara, thoughtful. It's so different, seeing her as a part of the community, freely sharing her practical solutions, engaging openly rather than conducting interventions from the margins. She fits right in.

- Well, Winston will be waiting for you in the evening. I hope to stop by as well.

She turns to Miriam, who's been quietly sipping her tea and looking at the group from over her mug.

- You're going to need to have a night's rest before heading back, aren't you? You are welcome to stay at the Observatory, if you would like.

Miriam chokes on the tea and coughs, her cheeks growing pink.

- Oh, - she croaks out, - no, I'm good. Uh. Thanks.

Elara nods.

- Well, let us know. Now, if you excuse me...

She turns back to the group, where Miles' eye rolls are starting to get dangerously expressive.

Miram finishes her tea in a bit of a hurry, circles around the gathering to place the mug on the table and slips away, seeming slightly overwhelmed by the hospitable treatment. Bard follows, waving goodbye to Elara and the rest.

They catch up to Miriam and look around absentmindedly, eyes gliding over the fronts of multi-storey buildings. Ahead, they catch a smudge of orange and red – and slow down. Miriam slows her pace, too, and follows his eyes to where flowers growing in front of the window of his childhood home are nodding their colorful heads to the faint music.

Miriam stops with a quiet sigh.

- Are you sure about it all? - she asks, with the emphasis that is only natural, considering she has already had to ask this question at least thrice.

Bard tears their eyes away from the flowers and turns to her. They take a few seconds, then nod.

- Yeah 🎶, - they sing, low and quiet, and fidget with their hands for a second before continuing: - Just... for a bit there, can you...

- ...Yeah. - Miriam rocks back on her heels for a moment, gearing herself up, then steps towards Kiwi and takes them by the hand. Her expression is nervous and awkward, but she musters a small reassuring squeeze. Bard feels slightly less alone. - Come on.

Bard's hand sits firmly in Miriam's as they sigh before knocking on the door; Miriam does not let go once they are already inside, either, waved in by Kiwi's Mom.

- Sit down, now! - Mom coos in her customary enthusiasm. - I will brew you some tea. Are you and your friend hungry, muffin? - before Kiwi can mumble anything vague in response, she continues: - I have the lunch all ready! Too bad your father is on one of his walks. - Mom shakes her head with that signature vocal laugh. - What a restless man he is!

Bard's sigh of relief is so resounding that for a moment, they are scared Mom will notice. Luckily, she seems too busy rummaging through the cabinets. They look at Miriam, reassured, and loosen their fingers. Miriam's hold persists, however. She gives them a serious, meaningful look, an “I'm here, okay? So don't be stupid” that she can't quite express with her words. Only then, she lets go, but does not break eye contact. Bard's gaze drops down to their feet as they take a second to internalize the sentiment. When they look back up, their smile is timid and grateful.

- Are you hungry? - they ask in a dramatic whisper. Miriam shrugs, then shakes her head. - Thanks, - Kiwi says to Mom, voice slightly strained, - I think we'll just... hang around!

- Nonsense! - she titters in response, turning around with a tray already holding a tea set. - At least have some tea with your old momma!

Bard gives Miriam an apologetic look. She seems downright agonized at the thought of forcing more hot beverages down her throat so soon.

The tea break is the appropriate amount of awkward. Mom asks Miriam about the life in Delphi and the everyday routines of an average witch household, and Miriam grumbles her replies while doing her best drinking impression. The ruse is up once Mom goes to pour everyone another round and discovers Miriam's cup about as full as it was at the start. After having a proper laugh about “that curious friend of yours, muffin”, she finally dismisses the two of them, saying it is time for her to take care of some chores.

Bard plops down on their bed and sighs. They look at Miriam with a sorry little smile. She is standing in the door, looking around the room with a perplexed expression.

- I've never been here before, - she notes, mistrustfully, somehow.

- Oh! I guess you haven't! - Bard looks around the bare walls and minimal furniture. It's not much.

Miriam seems to arrive at the same conclusion.

- Doesn't seem like you, - she says, poking a bouquet of dried flowers.

- There used to be more, - Kiwi mumbles absentmindedly, resting their chin on their hand. - Miriam!! - they gasp with a jump as their friend throws one of the drawers of the bedside table open. Miram stumbles backwards, startled.

- Yeesh, sorry. I thought you weren't one for personal boundaries??

Bard sits with this fair observation for a moment, processing their own hypocrisy.

- W... well--

- I'm not pushing or anything, - Miriam grumbles, - just... surprised you're familiar with the concept.

Bard shrugs and hums an awkward inconclusive sound. They look over to the open drawer and shuffle closer to it to see what is inside. Miriam pointedly looks at the wall in a demonstration of her respect for Kiwi's personal space.

At the bottom of the drawer, there is a handful of crayons and an old notebook. They pick it up and leaf through it, an array of colorful drawings flickering in a quick succession. All the bright fantasies of their childhood are momentarily revived before them. A small smile tugs at the corners of Bard's mouth.

They linger on one page and giggle, then open the notebook wide and hold it in front of them, demonstrating. Miriam looks over and arches her brow.

- What am I looking at exactly?

- Me!, - Bard helpfully supplies. - As a witch 🎶.

And that is exactly what the drawing depicts. A younger version of them, with a different hairstyle, in a pose resembling an overexcited starfish, clad in dramatic dark robes and a pointy hat with a big glowing star on it.

Miriam stares for a good few seconds.

-....why.

- Because witches are cool!! - Kiwi exclaims, without a shred of sarcasm. The skeptic look on Miriam's face deepens. She squints at the drawing.

- Is... - she snorts, - ...is your hair pink?

Bard cracks up again, and Miriam shortly follows, the two dissolving into a duet of giggles.

Kiwi pats the space next to them, and his friend joins, looking over his shoulder at the series of doodles detailing Witch-Bard's magical adventures.

Hours pass effortlessly, in joint reminiscing, daydreaming and doodling.

***

- ...and once you're all set and sure of where it's pointing relatively to, uh, the Anchor, you use the finder to, well, find things!

Winston pauses his slightly nervous chirping and looks at his audience comprised of Miriam, struck into overwhelmed silence, and Bard, who is otherwise occupied.

- Did... did you get any of that? - Winston inquires with the same frantic smile.

Noticing the break in the background noise of thorough astronomical instructions, Bard finally looks up from giving Berry all of the most loving pets in the world – to see Miriam looking at them in quiet despair. Reading the look of blissful unawareness on her friend's face, she sighs.

- Can't you, like... write it all down or something??

Winston nods hurriedly, already on his way to the desk. From the looks of it, he has pretty much moved into the observatory full time, and happily. Bard watches him stick his hands into the pockets of the labcoat and make it flap against his legs, for about the tenth time in the past hour. They wonder why an astronomer would need a labcoat. Do they have to get one too?

Miriam walks over to Kiwi and watches glumly as they scratch Berry behind her ear.

- Aren't you excited? - Bard asks, noting the moody energy. Miriam hums in uncertainty.

- Just... - she gives another annoyed sigh and kicks the floor with the pointy toe of her boot. - Nothing. - She crosses her arms and averts her eyes, then finally shares in a low, muffled voice: - ...hate feeling stupid.

Bard looks up, blinking in surprise.

- You're not!! You know so many awesome things, Miriam!

She stands there silently for a few seconds, before crouching next to them. Bard readily scooches over.

Miriam slowly, nervously extends her hand towards Berry. Their four-legged friend sniffs the tips of Miriam's fingers before lovingly sticking her nose into the girl's palm and wagging her tail. Miriam exhales in relief and gives Berry a few slow, focused pets.

- Thanks. - There is another pause as she struggles with the words for a bit. - We're... gonna try together, yeah?

Bard flashes an enthusiastic smile.

- Yeah! 🎶

- ...Okay, - Miriam does not look away from the dog, who is leaning into the touch with half-lidded eyes. - Then… don't make me figure it all out on my own, - she continues in a more casual grumble. - Don't hang around here for too long.

Bard nods slowly, turning away from Miriam, back to where Berry has dissolved into a euphoric puddle.

- I... won't.

Winston returns with a small stack of papers scribbled over with a frantic hand and awkwardly shoves them in Miriam's vague direction. She just barely manages to get back up on her feet and not lose balance as the paper tumbles into her arms. Winston hurriedly withdraws, slapping his arms along his body, and laughs nervously as Miriam disgruntledly tries to keep the pages from raining all over the floor.

- Uhm, - Winston fiddles with his hands and avoids Bard's eyes when she looks up, questioning. - Is it... just you?.. I mean, joining the project...

- There are many!! - Kiwi rests their chin in their hand, thinking back to Delphi and recounting everyone who seemed excited about the arrival of the telescope. - Ryan and Mitzi, so Dani as well, Lena, Fredrick, Whit...

- Shockingly, - Miriam mutters from where she is still fussing with the instructions, trying to fit them into the overpacked bag. Bard shoots her a scandalized look, a trained non-verbal substitute for “Miriam, be nice!!”.

Winston marks each mentioned name with a nod, a wide thin-lipped smile on his face.

- I... don't know who any of these people are, - he concludes, finally, before turning away and marching back over to his desk. There seems to be a glimmer of genuine joy in his embarrassment, however. Bard thinks back to Elara's letter, inviting them to become a part of the mapping initiative.

“I would be proud to take credit for the project, were it actually mine. Winston is, undoubtedly, the heart of the operation. I told him his conception of it was outstanding - he seemed equally hopeful and horrified. I think he'd take great pleasure in that: making this sort of connection with so many new people. Finding... cohorts, if you will”.

Once the last final glare of sunshine dissipates completely, Winston invites his guests over to the observation deck, the telescope in tow. Kiwi and Miriam fumble with the stand under his fretful watch, but manage to fix the apparatus in place without breaking anything. Winston points out the Anchor star, once again, and fixes the telescope on it.

- Try the finder first, then--

- Yeah, yeah, - Miriam hurries to interrupt, and Bard catches the familiar notes of embarrassment in her voice. They gently bump their shoulder against hers in silent support. Miriam draws a steadying breath. - ...I think we got it. Uh, thanks.

She looks over at Bard, quietly tilting her head towards the telescope in invitation. They light up and step towards it, holding their breath. The most beautiful colors bloom in their mind, inspired by all the magical stellar landscapes pictured on the walls of the observatory. What will be the first shade of the whole rest of the Universe that they will see?

Bard puts their eye straight to the eyepiece (Winston whimpers somewhere out of view, forcibly choking the word ''finder'' back). They squint, trying to make anything out in the blur.

- Well?? - Miriam asks, antsy.

- Iiiii don't see anything! - Bard replies, hoping their disappointment is not too apparent in how hollow their usual casual tone comes out.

From the sounds of it, Winston is on the verge of unraveling as he is trying desperately to let the two figure things out on their own.

Miriam groans.

- Stupid overcomplicated glass tubes... Let me... - she steps towards the telescope cautiously, like it is a wild animal, and stares at it for a while. Then reaches for one of the lenses lined up at the end and moves it out of the way with an unsteady hand, looking deeply unsure and skeptical.

- Try now?..

Bard puts their eye back to the glass, trying really hard to not get their hopes up.

- Miriam, - they utter under their breath, - come look.

Through the lens of the telescope, they are seeing another world. It is distant, silent, seemingly unmoving. And yet, in the swirling pattern of stardust, they sense a spiraling dance, sweeping their soul away with it.

Pure, awe-struck exhilaration rises in their chest, all but bringing them to tears in a sudden crescendo – when suddenly, they feel their heart drop, endlessly, like it is hurtling through the dark suffocation of space surrounding the twirling stars.

The arms of the spiral galaxy, its overpowering gravity, remind them of the dark pull of the black hole at the end of time. And no matter how hard they try not to think about it, they know exactly what lies on the other side.

Bard all but jumps away from the telescope and stumbles backwards, instinctively throwing their hands up in front of them in a protective gesture. The familiar despair laps at her heart, and suddenly she feels so hopeless she could cry.

- Kiwi??

Bard blinks a couple of times and turns to Miriam, who is giving them the most concerned look they have ever gotten from her. Winston is hovering behind her, not even trying to conceal his panic.

Miriam steps towards them gingerly.

- Are you okay??

Kiwi draws a breath and tries to straighten himself up.

- I, uh... - they look at their feet, struggling to find any words that would sound at all plausible. But this time, they can hardly even convince themself to brush the overwhelming feeling off as unimportant, as their trained impulse commands.

Miriam takes another step and reaches for them, then freezes. She throws a quick self-conscious glance at Winston, one breath away from shriveling up. Winston seems to take it as a hint.

- Umm, I'll!!.. - he fumbles with his hands for a second before sharply turning around and marching over to the exit without another word, to descend back into the observatory.

Miriam remains frozen in place, stubbornly inspecting the patch of grate floor beneath her feet, until Winston's steps fade away; then throws her head up, looking at Kiwi with a concerned frown.

- What was that??

Bard looks down at the floor, uncertain, as if the needed words were scattered all around it in a chaotic pattern.

Miriam opens her mouth, seemingly preparing to speak again, but no words follow. She stops trying to catch Kiwi's eyes and lowers her own, crossing her arms.

Bard looks up to see her face overshadowed by a disheartened, lonely, distant expression, and feels a tug at their heart. Perhaps... Perhaps it's worth trying to talk about.

They lower themself to the floor, back leaning against the dome, and sigh shakily.

- Do you... do you ever get... scared?..

Miriam looks up, still lost, but apprehensively open.

- Like... in general?

Kiwi looks at their hands resting on top of the knees for a moment, trying to figure out what they are attempting to share.

- Of... the world, I think. Or... the universe... - they cross their arms and hold their shoulders. - How it's... really big.

Miriam's posture loosens and softens. She sits down next to Kiwi, hugging her knees, and looks at them expectantly.

Bard goes on.

- It's alright if there are a lot of people, - they're not sure this makes sense, but it's hard to talk about as it is, so they just let themself continue, - 'cause then together, you are something big enough? But if it's just you..., - they feel their mouth go dry and their body tense up with adrenaline, the vivid, unraveling sensations of the recent nights creeping up from the back of their mind. They swallow, hard, and grip their shoulders.

Miriam is silent for a good while.

- ...It's not, though, is it? Just you?..

Kiwi looks over to see her staring in front of herself with a concentrated, contemplative frown. Her words are coming out labored and strained, like she is unhappy with having to actually say them out loud.

Miriam's head sinks into her shoulders, just slightly, and her fists clench, before she speaks again, sounding almost fearful to assume:

- We're figuring it out together?..

Bard feels a crack at their heart, stinging and painful, breaking them away from the deep cold despair that's been filling it with steady certainty. They never meant to imply that Miriam's friendship is anything other than cherished, and comforting in every possible way.

- We are! - their smile comes out pensive, but somehow rejuvenating still, just like the fresh crack in their chest. He leans against Miriam's shoulder. - It's just.. - they take a second, trying to nail down the core of the overwhelming feeling that's been haunting them for the last couple of weeks, - what if we weren't?..

It's surprisingly hard to articulate what exactly is making Kiwi freeze with terror every night. This weird incessant pull, somewhere out of life, as if some part of them is trailing behind, threatening to bring them down with it, to drown them. Like some immeasurable weight their limbs are getting too numb to carry, slowing them down, making their legs give off, while everything else effortlessly speeds forward. They cannot find any context or explanation for it – not one they are ready to face, anyway. All they have is this overwhelming, overpowering, incomprehensible fear. What if they get left behind?

Miriam sits with the idea, silently. Her expression is difficult to read, but for a moment, Kiwi seems to catch a glisten in her eyes, and feels immeasurably guilty. They don't get to express their concern, though, before Miriam speaks up again.

- I... do get scared, - she takes a deeper breath, - of... being alone. Again. But I'm not. - The last words come out almost stubborn, like Miriam is arguing with a naysayer. - Things are changing, right?.. It... doesn't have to be the same.

Kiwi holds that thought: “Doesn't have to be the same”. They try to take comfort in it. A distant, neglected part of their heart aches and squirms at it, like a disturbed wound.

Doesn't matter. This can change. Everything else is.

The two sit in silence for a while, shoulder to shoulder, each rocked by their own waves of chilling thoughts. But – Bard has to remind themself – not alone. They are not alone.

- The stars are really cool, - they say quietly, with a small, meek smile. Miriam looks at them, glum and questioning. - You should try the telescope!

- ...Nah, - their friend replies after a moment of contemplation. - Whatever. - She rocks back and forth a couple of times in uncertainty before carefully suggesting: - ...Wanna go back inside?

Bard nods slowly.

- Maybe... in a moment?

Miriam wordlessly settles back in. Kiwi closes their eyes and leans heavier into the touch, focusing fully on the warmth of their friend's arm against their own, holding onto that feeling with everything they have.

They bring the telescope inside with them, already dismantled, and pack it into layers upon layers of protective wrapping with Winston's help. It is then hoisted up on Miriam's broom as she floats a couple of feet above ground, testing out if it would be possible to carry the instrument on her own.

Miriam slowly lowers the telescope to the ground and hops off.

- Should be fine?? - she says nervously, which does not at all reassure the sweaty and frantic novice astronomer. Winston gives her a shaky smile, nonetheless.

- Great! - he croaks out and rushes to change the subject. - Um!! If you're not in a hurry, Peter is coming over soon?? I thought it... might be good... - he trails off, looking at his guests in a silent plea to interpret the rest of the sentence on their own.

Bard and Miriam exchange glances. Bard certainly is not itching to go back to their Mom's... parents', home, and his friend does not seem to, either. Kiwi looks back at Winston and nods excitedly.

- Sounds great!! 🎶

Peter shows up about half an hour later, bringing his balalaika and, quite unexpectedly, a fruit basket. As Kiwi tries to process the dissonance between his ever-melancholic demeanor and the colorful bow on the basket's handle, Peter seems to be processing the presence of anyone but Winston at their meeting place. It doesn't take him too long, though. He silently hands Winston the gift, then turns to greet the two ex-co-saboteurs.

He shares a mutually awkward but overall amicable handshake with Miriam, then moves on to Bard and startles them once again, by putting a hand on their shoulder and sighing meaningfully.

- It is good to not be the only person of musical nature around here, - he shares. - I'm sure you are familiar with the longing.

- Sure! - Kiwi chirps out with a smile, not even trying to parse this.

The four of them settle down at the center of the large domed room, right on the floor, and Berry excitedly joins them, curling up between Winston and Miriam. The group passes the fruit basket around and shares the news from the last couple of months.

- Chismest is a changed place, - Peter shares solemnly while pulling apart a peeled orange. - People are no longer weighed down by the chains of numbing, thankless labour. We are finding joy in communal connection and personal power, once again. The need for manufacturable happiness substitutes is no more.

- Cool! - Bard looks at the small fuzzy kiwi fruit in their palms and considers the implications of eating it. - Langtree is sort of haunted now!

Winston produces a vague high-pitched sound in reaction to that, like a choking questioning laugh.

- Well, there were ghosts there before, - Bard readily elaborates, - because they were worried about their families before the... – a cold wave of terror washes over their heart, once again, at the thought of the end of their old universe, and they gulp, as subtly as they can, -...the world almost ending. And they did return to the Spirit World, at the end, but we can contact them through the songs they've left behind! And some of them just visit on their own. Mary always follows Woody around, so I guess... it's Woody who is sort of haunted now?

The room is silent, for a bit. Miriam absentmindedly nods along to the familiar story while picking berries out of her hand, and Winston and Peter are processing the mound of new information. At last, Peter nods wistfully.

- The world is healing at large, - he pronounces, chewing on an orange slice. - People are finding more ways to forge unbreakable bonds with those they meet and those they've lost. It fills me with great hope. I had to express it in a song, - he throws a somber, mournful look around the room, - it is in B major.

Peter strikes the first chord on his balalaika and closes his eyes, swaying slowly back and forth. Kiwi feels the familiar fizzy excitement of a life performance bubble up in her chest – along with a slight prick of jealousy: he never did get around to learning any instrument.

Peter continues his playing, the sound climbing up and up, reaching for some beautiful, exhilarating future that now, for the first time in many long years, seems to be just around the corner. The energy is moving and contagious, the waving melody pushing Kiwi's heart closer and closer to this sensation of unbounded hopeful anticipation with every strike against the strings.

Peter starts harmonizing, his melancholic voice blending with the movement of the music in paradoxical, enchanting ways. Winston joins in, his voice high and nervous, but bustling with genuine restless joy. For a while, it is just the two of them, singing their hopes and prayers for what tomorrow brings. They share a glance and smile at each other, a brief, shy moment.

Miriam, who's been nodding off for a while, is swaying softly to the rise and fall of the symphony with her eyes closed, hugging her knees. Then, there is a soft, unexpected sound as she quietly joins the harmonies, her voice gentle and raspy, as if she is simply muttering in her sleep. There is a small, hesitating smile on her face, lurking behind the hair falling in front of it, but visible enough from where Kiwi is sitting.

Miriam opens her eyes, leaving them half-lidded; her voice grows slightly louder. She looks over at Bard – and stops, the now so familiar confused, vaguely concerned frown setting in.

The sudden interruption on her part draws the attention of the other two, and now the whole room is looking at where Bard is sitting, back straight, extremely tense and hyper-aware of not having sung a single note.

There is a moment of deafening, unnerving silence as Peter stops playing.

Kiwi feels short of air.

They must look really pathetic, because the next moment, the music picks up again, mercifully, although without the same sort of blissful absorption. Winston and Peter return to singing between the two of them, as if conjuring an invisible screen for Miriam and Bard to communicate on the other side of. Miriam continues looking at Kiwi, concern growing deeper, grumpier.

Bard casts their eyes down and takes a shaky breath.

There is shuffling next to them, and suddenly they feel Miriam's hand on their own. They meet her questioning look once again, but she promptly averts her eyes, already feeling awkward. Instead, she squeezes their palm harder, passing on a bit of a reassurance.

They sit in silence for a while, one hand holding another firmly, until the song passes the bridge and returns to the final repetition of the chorus. Bard looks up at Miriam, and she looks at them. They find silent agreement in each other's eyes, and just as the first note of the chorus is about to break, they draw a synchronized breath and join in.

Bard's voice is quiet and unsure, and so is Miriam's, and there is comfort in that. It feels like mutual acknowledgment of something Kiwi isn't quite ready to put into words. And it's different from the high-spirited call of the song, but it belongs. And with every note shared in a low-key, tentative voice between the two, Bard feels a bit more secure.

The melody draws the two of them in once again, gradually and insistently, and at the end of the chorus, their voices sound firmer, brighter, conceiving of the same reassuring promise. The final note rings in the air, and the company shares a moment of sweet, comfortable, inspired silence. Then, without a word, Peter strikes the strings again.

The second time around, all four of them sing from start to end. Kiwi gives Miriam a grateful, timid smile. They settle into a comfortable volume, audible but private enough. There is still a slight tremor to it, and from time to time, it tumbles down, missing the high upbeat note. But Bard tries to find relief in the comfortable unity the group is sharing, and the others seem willing to accommodate. Through all the self-consciousness and hesitation, and the deep underlying fear of what it means to struggle with something so natural, Bard tries to focus on the swelling of the music, and lets it carry them wherever it wishes.

The door to the Observatory opens in the middle of the song, letting in the cold night air and Elara, looking tired but distinctly happy. She lingers at the entrance, taking the sound in, then slips past the group into her room, as quietly as she can - but leaves the door just slightly ajar.

Here and now, everything is alright.

***

It's like being dragged on a hook wedged deep into your heart. Your tired, aching heart, endlessly bleeding out into the nothingness around you.

The world is twirling in a symphony of color and sound, somewhere else, somewhere ahead, somewhere that exists. Somewhere with space to soar through in its triumphant spiraling dance.

It is a state you can never reach again. You are expulsed, empty, broken. The world chose light and movement. It chose to leave you far behind. The weight of you was never significant enough to make it reconsider its trajectory.

You were never significant enough to stay around for.

It's a cruel joke, to still sense it, constantly, hurled through space and time you are left on the outside of. The proverbial hook sits firmly in your beating flesh. Every turn of the unfathomable planet indulging in its endless dance out of sight, out of any conception to your lost, isolated mind, is another tug on your pulsing wound. Each of them reminds you of the life that goes on without you.

The elusive, torturous link drags you along, like an endless drawing punishment. You resent it for leading you on. Why keep any illusion of connection when you have already been severed, irredeemably, tossed aside like a rotten part threatening the whole? Why tether you to the existence that is no longer yours, if not to take sick pleasure in giving you false hope, and watch you agonize over every movement of the vital dance far beyond?

Life is malicious. It did not simply choose to leave you behind. It decided to never let you forget.

You're not giving it the satisfaction of making you hope. It will have to learn that you were never foolish enough to believe, even for a moment, that you are not alone.

***

Kiwi wakes up with a start and bolts upwards, hand at their chest, gripping the fabric of their pajamas. They are short of breath. Again.

Desperately wading through the panic flooding their brain, they attempt a breath, waiting for the tightness in their chest to soften and recede, bit by bit, letting her steady her heartbeat. Once they can fill their lungs again, they breathe in, deep, and pull their knees up to their chest to hide their face in.

The panic fades, leaving them one on one with the dull, isolating desperation. It sits at the center of their being, patient, waiting for them to turn their attention to it. And Kiwi tries his very best not to, but it's there, time after time.

They look up to where Miriam is asleep on the opposite end of the couch, her knees tucked up to her torso. She looks grumpy, even now – perhaps because Bard had straightened their legs in their sleep, again, not leaving her with much space to get comfortable. Or it might be the blanket that has fallen to the floor, leaving her open to the chilly atmosphere of a Chismest night.

Kiwi slides off the couch, as lightly and quietly as she can, and walks over to the fuzzy woven quilt. They pick it up and hold it in their hands for a moment. It's about as old as them, and worn, and the hastily mended patches look glaringly out of place even in the heavily dispersed light. Bard covers Miriam, as slowly and gently as possible, and hopes the threadbare blanket is enough to keep her warm.

They shrivel and hug themself, staying still for a moment, in the dark and quiet. Or... partial quiet. From their, parents', room, they can hear the quiet cooing that immediately transports them to their childhood, and the many sleepless nights spent with Mom peacefully dozing behind the closed door. Tonight, she is joined by deep, mighty sighs and an occasional cough, uncannily close to jingling chimes. Kiwi isn't sure they will be able to fall asleep again, with the new addition disrupting the more familiar ambiance.

She looks over her shoulder, to the window, behind which the colorful flowers are gently bobbing their heads in the quiet wind. That is familiar, at least. A splotch of color in the dark northern night, as she stands alone, barefoot, cold, feeling inexplicably lonely.

Bard leans into the familiar sensation of rough floorboards under their soles as they quietly make their way to the window. He climbs up onto the chair pushed against it and gently presses his hand against the frame. It opens, letting a gust of crisp fresh air in. Bard takes a deep breath, hoping the night chill sobers them up, soothes them, yanks them out of this quicksand of weird, confusing feelings.

The night tastes so disorientingly different. Breathing is easier than it has ever been around these parts, with the once ever-present tint of soot gone and all but forgotten. The air is pure and sweet, and the flowers blooming in it are shining brighter than ever.

Bard looks at them with distant eyes, feeling herself sink deeper into the sand. Their defiant colors used to be a source of greatest comfort. The many nights spent at the window, leaning onto the ceiling and looking out, endlessly waiting, passed easier with the company of the resilient blooms, still joyful and bright in this cold, suffocating place. When the flowers responded to Kiwi's song with a play of color, a new nightly routine took root. Bard barely thought about the wait, anymore. It was about the shimmering petals, the glow in the dark night saturated with smog, and the promise of greener pastures somewhere far away. It was a promise of a different place, full of sun and nature and song, where the world would respond to the melody of their heart.

Chismest is that place, now. Its own brand of it, and definitely falling behind Langtree when it came to daytime hours, but renewed, and welcoming, and singing. A redeemed and reclaimed environment, no longer poisoning all life it gives home to. And the flowers at their Mother's windowsill seem to celebrate that with every fiber, unfolding proudly and happily to drink in the fresh clean air. The world has changed for the better, and they healed alongside it, naturally, as its inalienable part.

...Can Bard still do the same?

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. Just a simple song. One sweet song to share with their long-term friends, to join in on the celebration.

Bard exhales a note, low and soft as to not wake Miriam up, feeling around for the melody they sang not so long ago: Peter's new piece. Just as earlier, they are stumbling over the notes, which feel clumsy and wrong in their chest, like a puzzle piece that is being forced into a misshapen hole. But perhaps, that is okay, Bard reassures themself. It doesn't have to be perfect. It has always been enough to just sing from their heart.

They open one eye, fearfully, their face scrunched up into an apprehensive cringe.

The color does not shift even a shade. Notes fall flat onto the petals, not one of them moved even in the slightest.

Bard lets the song die away once their breath is exhausted. They look at the flowers, endlessly lost, searching for any hint of an answer. What had to even happen to take something so natural away from them? What could they possibly have lost?..

Something scary crawls up to the forefront of his mind, replacing the vaguely panicked confusion with a feeling of cold doom. He could try singing differently. He could sound the notes that have been ringing in his ear the past weeks.

Kiwi breathes deep. Singing the song would mean... something. Something big. It almost feels like on the other side of it, they might stop recognizing themself. But... if this is the only one they have left--

Over on the couch, Miriam grumbles in her sleep and fusses under the blanket, disturbed by the cold night air. Kiwi hurriedly pushes the window shut. Their friend settles a few seconds later, burrowing deeper under the warm cover.

Bard sighs and throws one final dejected glance at the unresponsive flowers on the other side of the glass. They curl up in the chair and hold themself tight for the rest of the night.

[chilling-seavey]

Anything But Mine - The ‘Work Wife’

A/N Inspired by this tiktok; Florence meets Daniel’s ‘work wife’

Tuesday, December 15, 2026

Florence watched the elevator numbers tick up to 8 and then the doors slid open onto the floor. She was wrapped in her winter coat, legs clad in grey sweats and hair tied back in a haphazard ponytail and the stroller pushed in front of her. Two-year-old Lucy was asleep in the stroller, bundled up in her coat and hat and mitts and boots, already starting to miss her naptime. Florence was only hoping she wouldn’t wake up while at Daniel’s work because one look at her father and Lucy would never get back to sleep until he came home at the end of the day.

It had been a while since Florence had visited the studio and a new secretary sat behind the welcome desk. She was talking on the phone but hung up when she saw the guest approaching.

“Hi honey. What can I do for you?” she asked in a sickeningly sweet voice.

“Just here to drop off Daniel’s laptop.” Florence answered with a tired sigh and a half smile as she set the bag on top of the desk. “He forgot it this morning.”

“That sounds like him! Wait, are you Florence?” the secretary smiled widely, “Oh my God, I’m meeting the other woman.”

Florence’s eyebrows furrowed a moment in confusion.

The young lady continued, “I’m sure you’ve heard lots about me.”

“No, actually.” Florence spoke slowly, eyeing her up carefully.

“You haven’t? Wow, Daniel’s keeping us a secret. How scandalous!” the lady giggled youthfully, “I’m Alexa. I’m Daniel’s work wife!”

Florence’s eyebrow peaked and she shifted in place, “His what?”

“His work wife! Funny story how that came to be; it started because I just always got his coffee exactly how he likes it in the morning, right when he came in! I just understood him on, like, a spiritual level!”

Florence had to work hard to keep her facial expression flat, “He’s allergic to coffee.”

“Oh, haha, I wondered why he never drank it! He is just too nice to even correct me, I guess. Silly man.”

“Can you just tell him I’m here?” Florence asked impatiently, tapping her fingers on top of the desk, her right hand still held protectively around the handle of the stroller.

“Oh, I’m sorry, he’s in a session right now and asked not to be disturbed. I’ll tell him you came by and I’ll leave this on his desk for him.” Alexa took the laptop bag and slung it over her own shoulder. “He’s been working so hard. I was just thinking that Dan and I have been staying here for so many late hours together recently that I probably see him more than you do! You poor thing. We take good care of each other though.”

“Dan?” Florence nearly gagged.

“We have little nicknames for each other.” Alexa giggled.

“Right.” Florence scowled.

“Anyway, I’ll let you go. You look tired. Babies keeping you busy?”

Florence couldn’t even get out a response before Alexa was stepping out from behind the desk and was heading down the hallway.

“I bet. Nice meeting you, Florence! Be good to our husband. I’m watching!”

As expected, Daniel came home a bit later than usual that night. Lucy had already been put to bed and Penelope and Clementine were just eating their bedtime snack when he came home. The two girls came running at the sound of the door and Daniel crouched down to give them equal amounts of kisses over each little cheek. They were already in their pyjamas and Daniel scooped up Penelope into his arms on the way back into the living room.

Florence was on the couch when he came in, her face flat.

“Thanks for bringing my bag today. I would have come to get it but I was so busy.”

She turned slightly when he leaned down to kiss her so all he got was her cheek.

Daniel frowned and set Penelope down so she could join Clementine back at their table to finish their snack. He sat down beside his wife, “What’s going on?”

“Just wondering if you’d prefer to go home to your other wife.”

“My what?” Daniel was taken back.

“Your other wife. Alexa. And your probable other kids too.”

Daniel couldn’t get a rebuttal out before the girls were bounding back over to him.

“Daddy, can you tuck us in?” Clementine asked eagerly, grabbing the sleeve of his sweater.

“Of course.” he put on a smile for his daughters but was concerned about Florence’s statement and he thought about it the entire time he tucked his eldest two into bed and read them a story and kissed them good night.

Florence was still on the couch when he returned from the hallway and he sat back down beside her with a tired sigh. She ignored him.

“Wanna tell me why you think even the concept of another wife would graze my mind?” he asked quietly.

“How long as Alexa worked there?”

“Few months. Maybe five. Why? Did she say something to you today?”

“Yeah. She said a fucking lot.” Florence scoffed. Her arms stayed crossed over his chest and she stared at the ground coldly. “I’m not the other woman first of all. And I’m not going to stand there and be ridiculed by a college freshman about how you and her are fucking in love or some bullshit.”

“She really said that?” Daniel’s eyes went wide.

“Yeah. Called herself your ‘work wife’…that you two just ‘get each other’…that ‘Dan and I spend so many late nights together haha’. Fucking bitch.”

Daniel’s face literally contorted in disgust, “Ugh, I hate ‘Dan’.”

“I know. And why haven’t you told her you’re allergic to coffee? She’s going around flaunting that she knows your order like it fucking matters.”

“She’s…she just seemed nice and I felt badly.”

“Well don’t! She thinks a cup of coffee is the start of a goddamn affair. What have you been doing with her after hours?”

“She’s not even there half the time after hours.” Daniel answered easily, honestly. “So put any idea of that out of your mind right now.”

“You’re not our husband.” Florence grumbled, turning her head away from him. “How dare she even say that to me.”

“Hey. I know.” Daniel shuffled closer and set his hand on her cheek to pull her gaze towards him. “I’m only yours. I promise.”

Florence sniffled and nodded lightly. Daniel tilted her head up to kiss her lips, lingering there a moment just so she could feel it and when he pulled back, she let out a little sigh.

“I’m sorry she said that shit. I’ll talk to her. That’s not okay.” Daniel whispered, resting back against the couch beside her and Florence shuffled to curl into his side.

“She said I look tired.” Florence mumbled sadly, “Do I look tired? Am I letting motherhood steamroll me?”

“No way.” Daniel tisked, sliding his arm around her waist to hold her close, “You are steamrolling motherhood.”

Florence chuckled lightly.

“I’m serious.” Daniel pressed a kiss to her forehead and slid his hand down to her bum, “Always have been and always will be the sexiest woman in the room to me.”

“Even like this?” Florence sniffled, leaning back from his shoulder so he could get a good look at her; messy hair and few little breakouts over her cheeks and dark circles under her eyes.

Daniel smiled, giving her bum a little squeeze as his other hand reached up to caress her face, “Especially like this. There is no other woman in the entire world that I would ever give a second glance to and especially not Alexa. I am wholeheartedly yours.”

Florence leaned up to kiss his lips a few soft times before nuzzling into his neck. He smiled and wrapped his arms right around her.

“You had no clue she was flirting with you, did you?” Florence asked after a while.

“Mm, no, I really didn’t.” Daniel admitted.

“You’re so innocent, Daniel James.” Florence giggled.

“Am not.” Daniel tisked. “But, listen, I’m going to buy you a nice dress for my work Christmas party this Friday and you’re going to dress up just how you like to and you’ll feel like the most beautiful woman in the room and I won’t be leaving your side all night.”

“You don’t have to buy me a dress.” Florence laughed lightly.

“Yeah, I do. A nice tight one with a low cut…” his fingers trailed down her clothed body. “Gonna blow everyone away.”

And that’s exactly what happened. Daniel bought Florence a pretty red dress specifically for the party and a matching red tie of his own. They showed up to his work party in dress and suit down to their polished black shoes and perfectly done hair and you’d be surprised to think they even had three children. Walking into the venue Florence truly felt like a million bucks and the proud smile that was on her face was only proof to her husband that his idea worked.

They mingled around the various groups, sitting at their table with Jack and his fiancé for a little bit, and eventually finding Alexa by the bar.

“Wow, Florence, you clean up well.” the young woman spoke straightly.

“Thank you.” Florence answered politely, hand still tucked in Daniel’s arm as they waited for their drinks. She had been raised in this exact setting; formalwear and conniving strangers, so Florence worked it like an expert.

Daniel was proud of Florence’s politeness in front of the woman who tried to ruin them a little if not at all but when Daniel was called over to speak with his boss, Florence lingered back at the bar a moment. She eyed up Alexa’s tight short dress and messy curls and leaned in towards her with a calm smile, her two diamond rings on display around her glass in the direction of the young lady, “If you go anywhere near my husband in any way, shape, or form that is anything except professional, I will see to it that you’re fired faster than you can say ‘mine’. So back off.”

Florence returned to Daniel’s side, shooting a glare at the young woman over her shoulder as Daniel’s arm slid around her waist protectively. Like hell she was ever going to let someone get in the way of her perfect catch. 

[seasonsofeverlark]

What's Your Favorite Scary Movie?

Author: @juxtaposie​

Prompt: Everlark as kids on Halloween [submitted by @lovely-tothe-bone​]

Rating: T for described violence in a movie, but nothing worse than the books

Summary: Katniss doesn’t want to dress up; she doesn’t want to go to the party; she doesn’t want to watch a scary movie.

And she definitely doesn’t care if Peeta is there.

Author’s Note: This is technically my first foray into Everlark, though not into HG. Many thanks to @mandelion82​ for being my point person, @eiramrelyat​ for keeping me on schedule, and @jroseley​ for proofread!

____________

Katniss didn’t like to be bothered during the lunch period, and that was precisely why Madge Undersee was the perfect companion. The other girls in their grade liked to call Madge an ice queen behind her back and say things about how she was spoiled and stuck-up, but Katniss knew that was just gossip. There was nothing stuck-up about Madge, even though she was the mayor’s daughter. She was just quiet, studious, and a little shy. 

She was also a good friend - the only friend Katniss had, really, even if all they ever did was eat lunch together. She didn’t ask questions, or pry, and only ever wanted to talk about school, and that was just fine with Katniss.

Delly Cartright, one grade ahead of them, was the exact opposite of Madge, and it was hard for Katniss not to hold it against her. There was nothing wrong with Delly; she was friendly, and very loud, with a wide smile that lit up her otherwise plain face, but she was also nosy in a harmless sort of way that set Katniss’ teeth on edge.

And she was currently winding her way through the cafeteria, handing out fliers.

“She’s coming over here,” Madge muttered, and Katniss groaned around her bite of dry baloney sandwich. 

“Hey!” Delly said brightly, shoving a flier under Katniss’ nose and shaking it until she took it. “It sucks that Halloween is on a Tuesday this year, so my parents said I could have a party! We’ll have candy, and bobbing for apples, and my dad’s even building a haunted house in the shed! You have to come!”

Surveying the flier, Katniss sighed a little in relief. The party was on Saturday. “I can’t,” she said, feigning a sadness she didn’t really feel. “I have to watch my sister. Sorry.”

“Oh that’s okay,” Delly chirped, shoving the flier back at her when Katniss tried to return it. “My little brother is having friends over too. Just bring her! Madge?”

Madge met Katniss’ eye across the table, the corner of her mouth quirking up in an expression that was almost a smile. 

“Sure,” Madge said, folding the flier and sticking it into her binder. “Sounds fun.”

Delly beamed. “Great! Oh, and there’s gonna be a costume contest so dress to impress!”

Then she was gone, her blonde pigtails trailing behind her as she all but skipped to the next table.

“Why are you making that face?” Madge asked when Delly was out of earshot. “It’ll be fun. Probably.”

But Katniss wasn’t really listening, because two tables over Delly was handing a flier to Peeta Mellark. 

Katniss could only see the back of his head, but she would have known it anywhere - she’d only been staring at it the last two years, ever since the last (and only) time they’d ever spoken, that cold winter morning in the alley behind the bakery. He’d cut his hair short when school had started, but it had grown out so much it almost touched his collar and curled in ringlets around his ears. 

“I bet Peeta will be there,” Madge said, startling Katniss out of her unscheduled jaunt down memory lane.

Katniss took an angry bite of her sandwich. “What do I care if Peeta will be there?” she mumbled as she chewed.

Madge just shrugged. “I mean you’re always staring at him.”

“No I’m not!” Katniss snapped.

“Whatever you say,” Madge placated, turning her attention back to the book she’d been reading before Delly had approached them.

Katniss didn’t reply, and she was grateful when Madge seemed to drop the subject. The last thing she wanted to do was discuss the complicated and very alien feelings Peeta had been inspiring in her of late. 

“I mean it’s fine,” Madge said after a protracted silence. “He’s cute. And he’s nice. A lot nicer than the other boys in our class.”

There was movement over Madge’s shoulder, a flash of blue eyes and bouncing blonde curls, but by the time Katniss had registered it Peeta had turned back around in his seat. All she could do was stare at the back of his head, and wonder what he’d been looking at - if he’d been looking at her.

Madge seemed to take her silence as agreement, and they finished their lunch in peace

***

That Saturday evening, standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom she shared with Prim, Katniss couldn’t help feeling like the whole evening was a bad idea. She didn’t like crowds, she definitely didn’t like parties, and she’d felt too old for Halloween since her dad had died. She felt silly and childish, even in her simple black dress, and she knew that feeling would only be magnified by the pointed black hat sitting in the counter beside the sink. 

Costumes were stupid. Halloween was stupid.

With a deeply unhappy sigh, she snatched the hat off the counter and turned out the light.

Downstairs, Prim was sitting on the kitchen table while their Uncle’s girlfriend finished applying rhinestone stickers around her eyes.

“Katniss, sweetie, are you sure I can’t help you with your makeup?” Effie asked as she pressed another rhinestone to the corner of Prim’s left eye.

“Yes,” Katniss answered sharply, annoyed at having to answer the same question for what felt like the millionth time. Across the room Haymitch cleared his throat, and she added, “I’m fine, thanks,” a little more gently. She didn’t dislike the woman, exactly, but Effie was a busybody of the highest order and Katniss sometimes felt like she couldn’t take a breath without Effie asking her about the air quality on her side of the room.

Prim enjoyed her, though. It was obvious to Katniss that her sister missed their mother, and even if she didn’t feel the same way she could understand why Prim would be happy to have another woman doting on her. That that woman was Effie didn’t seem to bother Prim in the least.

“C’mere a second, kid,” Haymitch said, nodding toward the foyer. “I wanna talk to you.”

Katniss followed him, feeling surly, and stared at her shoes - new chucks, no holes in the toes, soles still attached - while Haymitch looked at her with his arms crossed. 

“You look like you’re going to a funeral,” he said finally. Katniss spread the skirt of her dress out as if to say, Well duh, but Haymitch sighed and continued, “Not the costume. Costume’s pretty cute, actually. I meant your face. You know you don’t have to go just because someone invited you.”

“Prim’s excited,” she replied, only realizing she’d said the wrong thing when Haymitch started rubbing his forehead like he had a headache and looking at her like he could see right into her soul.

This was the thing Katniss hated about living with her Uncle Haymicth - though he wasn’t her uncle, or even blood exactly, no matter if Katniss had gotten so used to Prim pretending that she’d started doing it herself. He was their dad’s second cousin; they’d shared the same grandmother and spent the same childhood together running wild through the forests of the Allegheny Mountains. That was all Katniss had known about him as a small child, and it wasn’t until she got older that she’d picked up the rest of the gossip from neighbors - that the same accident that killed his family had also made him rich, and that he’d wasted a good chunk of that change trying to drown himself in drink. 

He hadn’t looked good at the funeral, but he’d spent hours talking with their mother, and a few months later she’d sent the girls to live with him - and not in his crummy, run-down apartment over the local bar, but in a refurbished bungalow situated neatly between two other refurbished bungalows on a wide, shady street where the trees grew taller than the houses. It turned out that chunk of change was considerably larger than most people knew. 

He’d even stopped drinking, as far as Katniss could tell, or at least that was the excuse he always gave the girls for his terrible moods. 

The fact that he seemed to understand her better than even her own father ever had was both a blessing and a curse. She didn’t always have to say what she was thinking, and he didn’t let Effie badger her too much, but it also meant he wouldn’t “let her bullshit slide”, as he liked to put it when they butted heads - which was frequently. 

“Prim’s old enough to go to a party on her own,” he said after a long silence. “She’s more than old enough.”

Katniss couldn’t keep herself from frowning. “She’s only ten.”

“Yeah,” Haymitch said with a sharp laugh. “Almost as old as you were when you came to live with me. Plenty old enough.”

“I wanna go,” Katniss insisted, forcing a smile onto her face and praying Haymitch wouldn’t see through it.

It didn’t work, of course. She could tell by the way Haymitch was shaking his head at her. “All right, sweetheart” he said, lifting his hands in surrender. “It’s your Saturday night, you can do whatever you want with it.”

“I wanna go,” she repeated. “My friends will be there.”

“You have friends now?” Haymitch teased. Dropping an arm around her shoulders, he steered her back toward the kitchen. “I suppose we wouldn’t want to jeopardize that.”

“What’s jeopardize mean?” Prim asked from where she was still sitting on the table. 

“To put in danger,” Effie offered before announcing, “All done!”

Prim hopped off the table and struck a pose, bowing when Katniss applauded politely. 

“Tell me one more time what you are?” Haymitch asked, taking a seat at the table and dragging Effie toward him with an arm around her waist.

“A unicorn surgeon!” Prim exclaimed, turning in a circle to show off her costume, which was a white leotard under child-sized scrubs, a face mask, and a felt hood in the shape of a horse’s head, with the horn protruding through the surgeon’s cap holding back a mane of rainbow yarn. A rainbow yarn tail had been pinned to the back of her scrubs, and rainbow rhinestones rimmed her big, blue eyes. 

“Is that a surgeon for unicorns, or a surgeon… unicorn?” Haymitch asked.

“The second one,” Prim said. “Are we ready to go?”

“Oh!” Effie exclaimed, clapping her hands together and turning to Katniss. “One more thing. I have something for you, darling. Now I know you said you didn’t need anything, but I just thought you could use a little bit of color. Close your eyes and let me help you with this, and if you don’t like it we’ll just take it right off!”

Katniss felt her hackles raise as Effie pulled away from Haymitch and approached her with a black plastic bag. She was just about to say, ‘No, thank you,’ when Haymitch nudged her foot with his own and gave her a look that clearly said, Be nice. 

So Katniss said, “Okay,” and closed her eyes. 

Effie directed her to hold her arms out at her sides, and tied something around her waist before pinning something to her hat, then she turned Katniss around and guided her to the mirror hanging in the hallway before announcing, “Open your eyes!”

Katniss had to applaud Effie for her restraint. All she’d done was tie an orange sash around Katniss’ waist and pin a large orange flower to the side of her hat. The shade of the sash was not the bright, garish orange of the season, but a soft, muted color. It was simple, almost understated, but it did perk up her costume and add an air of festivity that had been lacking. Against her will, Katniss found herself smiling. 

“I knew you’d like it,” Effie said when she saw Katniss smiling. “Orange looks so good with your skintone.”

“Let’s go!” Prim enthused, running into the hallway to grab her coat off the hooks by the door. “It’s almost six!”

“No such thing as fashionably late in middle school, I suppose,” Effie murmured as she helped Prim. 

“Here,” Haymitch said, joining them in the foyer and shoving a $20 bill at Katniss. “Just in case.”

“It’s four blocks away,” Katniss said as she tucked the money into her shoe.

“Just in case,” Haymiucth said again as he handed her her coat. 

“Call when you get there,” Effie reminded them as Katniss herded her sister out the door. “Have fun. Be good guests!”

Never in her life had anyone told Katniss to be a good guest, but she just said, “We will,” and took Prim’s hand to pull her down the front steps and out onto the sidewalk. 

The air was crisp and chilly, and Prim skipped along beside Katniss as the girls hurried along. 

“Haymitch is right,” Prim said as they crossed the street at the end of the block. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

“It’s not polite to eavesdrop,” Katniss replied.

Prim just laughed. “Okay, Effie.”

“I want to go,” Katniss insisted. “I just…”

“Don’t like parties?” Prim offered. “Or people?”

Katniss made a noise of protest. “I like people.”

“Like three people,” Prim allowed. “Maybe four, when you’re in a good mood. Is Madge gonna be there?”

“I think so,” Katniss answered. 

“Gale?”

Gale Hawthorn, her best friend for all intents and purposes, had started high school that year. As a result, they’d seen even less of each other than usual. Gale still lived in the run-down part of town where Katniss and Prim had grown up, and while he maintained he didn’t hold her moving away against her, he didn’t often act like it.

“I don’t think so,” she said. “What would a high schooler want with a middle schooler’s Halloween party?”

“You’ll be there,” Prim said, and Katniss didn’t like that implication. Gale had been acting a little weird recently, but she’d chalked it up to high school stuff. “What about Peeta?”

The casual query almost gave Katniss whiplash. “What about Peeta?”

“Do you think he’ll be there?” Prim pressed, closing her mouth tightly in a way Katniss knew meant she was trying to keep a smile off her face.

“How should I know?” Katniss said sharply.

Prim laughed, and linked her arm through Katniss’. “Don’t get mad. I’m just asking.”

Katniss tried not to grimace. “I’m not mad. I just don’t know why you think I’d know.”

And she wasn’t mad, not really. She just didn’t understand why everyone was suddenly asking her about Peeta - she thought she’d been more careful than that. 

The Cartwright’s lived just a few blocks away, and it didn’t take the sisters long to reach their house. When Katniss went to knock on the door it swung open under her fist and they could hear the sounds of screaming children before they’d even stepped inside!

“The Everdeen girls!” Mrs. Cartwright exclaimed, bustling them into the high-ceilinged entryway. There was clearly an adult party going on in the rooms behind her. “Prim, the littler kids are out in the backyard. They’ve got some games going, and there’s cider and snacks out there. Delly’s down in the basement, Katniss, with pizza and pop. There’s more food in the dining room if you get hungry, and if you need anything at all come find me or Mr. Cartwright, or one of the waiters. Have fun!” 

Then before Katniss could ask where the basement door was she left just as quickly as she’d come, disappearing into the crowd of costumed adults, her Marie Antionette costume swishing behind her. 

“How does she know our names?” Prim asked, but all Katniss could do was shrug. 

They stood for awhile, each turning in a circle to take in the grand house around them. Katniss thought the house she and Prim lived in now was much too nice, but this house easily put it to shame. 

“Okay, little duck,” Katniss said, but that was as far as she got before Prim’s hurried, “Bye!” stopped her in her tracks, and she watched helplessly as her sister all but abandoned her, leaving her standing in the entryway alone. 

With a sigh, she set out to find the basement door. 

It didn’t take long. She could feel the noise coming up from the basement through the soles of her shoes, and she followed the noise to a door in the kitchen. That door led to stairs, and those stairs led down into a large finished room that contained every kid her age that Katniss knew, and many she didn’t. The space was hot, dark, and crowded; all the regular light bulbs had been replaced with novelty light bulbs that glowed red and purple, and she could barely see the food table through the kids standing around it. At the other end of the basement was the biggest TV she’d ever seen. 

“Katniss!” Delly called, somehow spotting her through the crowd from her place on the couch. “Come sit down! We just started the movie.”

“Um,” Katniss replied, conscious of the fact that almost everyone in the basement was now looking at her. “Okay.”

“Grab a drink!” Delly replied before twisting back around in her seat to face the TV. 

Pouring herself a generous helping of coke into a red solo cup, she snatched up a cheesy breadstick as she walked by and then picked her way through her classmates who hadn’t been lucky enough to snag a seat on the couch and were sitting on the floor. 

Madge waved at her from her spot near Delly’s feet, but Katniss’ eyes caught and held on the boy sitting beside Delly on the couch. Big blue eyes stared back at her out of the scariest, most life-like skeleton face she had ever seen. 

“Hi Katniss,” Peeta said, giving her a small wave. “Do you want my seat?”

People were staring again, but then someone in a chair behind the couch shouted, “Down in front!” startling Katniss into replying with a short, sharp, “No.”

Maybe she’d only imagined the way Peeta’s face had fallen, but as she took a seat on the floor beside Madge she was hyperaware of him. The space was so crowded she had to sit up straight or risk resting her back against his legs. She swore she could feel the heat coming off him. 

Beside her, Madge whispered, “Thanks for sitting with me. Hold my hand?”

“What?” katniss demanded. “Why?”

“I’m pretty sure Drew Barrymore is about to die.”

Panic squeezed Katniss’ heart as she grabbed Madge’s hand. “What?”

“We’re watching Scream,” Delly said excitedly, leaning over between Katniss and Madge. “Have you seen it?”

Katniss shook her head mutely. She’d never seen any horror movie. 

“Good,” Delly said with glee.

Madge was right, as it turned out. Drew Barrymore did die, though Katniss didn’t see what happened, as she was hiding her eyes behind her free hand while Madge did her best to crush the bones in the other, and it only got worse from there. The tension in the room seemed to ratchet up several notches every time the creeper in the mask jumped out to terrorize Sydney Prescott, boys and girls alike screaming and jumping out of their seats. At one point Peeta all but kicked her in the back.

The room was too hot. Katniss was sweating under her dress, and every time Madge jumped coke sloshed out of Katniss’ cup and into her lap. Her chest felt tight, and she could hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Even with her eyes shut, she could hear the wet squelch of someone being stabbed, and her stomach turned when her mind couldn’t help supplying her images.

She felt so stupid when she started thinking of her dad, dead two years now in a mining accident. Was it hot and caustic when he died, people panicking as they pressed against him, screaming for daylight and fresh air? Were there emergency lights shining red, pushing back the edges of black, or had they lost power in the same explosion that had severed the cables of the car on the hoist? How many had survived that explosion? How many had waited in the darkness to die?

On the TV, Matthew Lillard pulled a man, bound and gagged, out of the basement. Sydney said, “Daddy!” her voice high and breathless, and Katniss couldn’t take it anymore. 

She twisted in her seat, pulling her hand from Madge’s, and before she could think about it she barrelled through an opening on the couch, climbing over the back as fast as her shaking legs could carry her. Luckily she didn’t have to push past anybody - everyone was staring again, and they moved out of her way, leaving a clear path to the stairs, which she climbed two at a time until she was in the bright, fluorescent light of the kitchen. 

But it wasn’t enough. The kitchen was still too warm, and now the adults were staring at her, some with concern but most with the quiet disdain the rich showed to ill-behaved children, and Katniss found herself bolting back the way she’d come, out into the entryway and through the front door- 

-where she ran right into Peeta, who’d been sitting on the steps but had stood up when he’d heard her coming. His arms came up around her as they tumbled down the steps, landing in a tangle of arms and legs on the brick sidewalk. The only reason Peeta didn’t smack his head was because Katniss’ elbow cushioned the blow. Pain spiraled up her arm, radiating out from the place where his head rested in the crook of her elbow, but Peeta was already sitting up.

“Jeez,” he said, rubbing the back of his head. “Warn a guy, maybe?” He grabbed her shoulders, helping her to sit up, and asked, “Are you okay?”

This kindness was her breaking point. Horrified, she put her hands over her face and tried to quell the sudden rush of tears, but it was no use. She took a haggard breath, and then she was sobbing on the sidewalk, tears running down her face to drip off her chin and leave dark splotches on the skirt of her dress. 

Peeta didn’t seem to know what to do. He patted her shoulder awkwardly and murmured something that was probably supposed to be soothing, but that only made her cry harder. 

She hadn’t thought of her dad in months. She’d thought she was past the wild, unprovoked sobbing phase of grieving. Never mind that Halloween had been his favorite holiday, that he’d loved costumes and taking his girls trick-or-treating, that last year she’d been so sad she’d stayed in bed the whole day. 

Two years was plenty of time to get over it. 

Why couldn’t she just get over it?

“Here,” Peeta said, grasping her by the shoulders and helping her to stand. “Sit down.”

He disappeared into the house while Katniss tried to get her crying under control, and she’d all but managed it by the time he returned. He handed her a plastic cup filled to the brim with ice water, and a small stack of napkins.

“Thank you,” she said reflexively.

“It’s okay,” Peeta said, sitting down beside her. “I don’t like scary movies either.”

“It’s not the movie!” And it wasn’t the movie. The movie was stupid. She couldn’t care less about the movie. “There were too many people, and I just couldn’t stop thinking about my dad! The way he died - we didn’t even have a body to bury!” 

She broke down again, horrified at the words coming out of her mouth. She’d never talked about her dad, not to anyone. Not to Prim or Haymitch, not to the counselor at school she’d seen once a week for an entire month. Now here she was, spewing her deepest fears to the one person she didn’t want looking too closely at her, because she knew if he did, he wouldn’t like what he saw. And then he’d stop looking altogether. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, obviously at a loss. “That’s really awful.”

Then he did something Katniss wasn’t expecting, something she hadn’t even known she’d needed: he sat quietly beside her and let her cry. He didn’t try to touch her, or offer empty words, just waited with her until the tears subsided and her breath came a little easier. 

Only once her grief subsided shame crept in to take its place. She couldn’t believe she’d cried in front of Peeta. 

“What are you doing out here anyway?” she asked, trying to cover up her own discomfort. 

“I told you,” he said. “I don’t like scary movies.”

“I don’t know many boys who would admit that,” she said, glancing at him through the veil of her wet eyelashes.

Peeta smiled a little. “I don’t care who knows. Anyway, it paid off today.”

“You’d rather watch me cry?” she asked, uncrumpling the napkins in her lap. 

“Not the crying part.” Peeta bumped her shoulder gently with his own. “But watching you…”

She couldn’t help the laugh that jumped out of her mouth. “That’s weird.

She kept laughing while Peeta sputtered, “No, I - I didn’t mean that I watch you, I just look at you a lot-”

“That’s not better!” Katniss cut in, smiling now. 

“Look!” Peeta said. “I’m not trying to be weird. I know you don’t like me very much, but-”

“I like you,” Katniss said before she could stop herself. Then, because she’d already let the cat out of the bag, “I, um. I like you a lot.”

She couldn’t look at him after that. He was blushing to the tips of his ears, but she turned her face to the darkening sky before she could see his expression, pretending to look at the stars that were just beginning to appear. 

“No offense,” he said finally, “but.. You should be nicer to people you like.”

Her head snapped up, ready to glare - who berated a crying girl who’d just divulged a deep secret? - but Peeta was smiling teasingly at her, his teeth gleaming white against his black and gray face paint. 

“I’m just not a very nice person,” she allowed, feeling warmth flow through her. What a turn the evening had taken. 

“You can work on it,” he said playfully, nudging her shoulder again. 

“I make no promises,” she replied, and in the silence that followed Katniss could feel an unfamiliar sort of tension strung between the two of them. 

This was the most they’d talked in almost two years, ever since that frosty February morning behind the bakery. He’d been the one crying then, sitting on the back steps of the kitchen  and holding the collar of his shirt to a split lip. 

(If Haymitch’s drinking was the worst kept secret in town, Mrs. Mellark’s temper was the second worst kept secret.)

All she’d done was ask if he was okay, offer him the handkerchief from her coat pocket. That had made him laugh. “Who carries a handkerchief?” he’d asked, and she’d said, “My dad does,” because that was the only reason she herself had one. 

“I think about that day a lot,” Peeta said suddenly, as if he could read her mind. “I thought maybe we’d be friends after that, but…:”

But then her dad had died, and her life as she’d known it had ended, and all those handkerchiefs were still at her mom’s house, stuffed in a dresser drawer full of things she hadn’t been able to look at in years. 

Katniss didn’t want to think about that anymore. 

“We can be friends now,” she offered.

“Okay,” Peeta agreed, grinning. 

Katniss smiled back. “Okay.”

“Hey,” she said a few minutes later as they made their way back into the house. “If you don’t like scary movies, why did you come to the party?”

“Honestly?” Peeta asked, waiting for her to nod before continuing bashfully. “I hoped you would be here.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” he said awkwardly. “Also, I really like Halloween.”

Again, her mouth moved without her brain’s permission, and she said, “You should come trick-or-treating with me. Us. Me and my sister. If you want to. I know it’s sort of childish, but-”

“Awesome,” Peeta interrupted, and she was grateful because there was no telling what would have come out of her mouth if she’d been allowed to keep talking.

“Yeah,” she agreed quietly. “Awesome. Okay.”

“Do you wanna go back downstairs?” he asked. “I might go out back and see what the other kids are doing.”

“I’ll come with you,” Katniss said quickly, before her nerves could fail her. She didn’t know what was happening, but she knew she didn’t want it to end. 

“Cool,” Peeta said, blushing again. 

Katniss just smiled, and followed him out into the back yard. 

[kikis-writing-world]

Overwhelmed

A/N: This is entirely self-indulgent. I was exhausted today, on the verge of tears for no real reason, and was thinking about how I wish I had someone lovely to go home to for snuggles and well... here you go.

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x Gender Neutral Reader

Word Count: >1500

Rating/Warnings: PG - a little bit of swearing. Established relationship with hints of previous discussion of commitment issues (re: stance on marriage/children.) Exhaustion related crying episode. Quick mention of a cooking burn. Not editied because the exhaustion is still real. I think that’s all?

Summary: Your week has been absolute crap, but Agent Whiskey is ready for his next mission - taking care of you!

Your feet were dragging as you approached your front door. Thank god it was Friday because this week had kicked your ass. Not just kicked it, but really beat it to a pulp. You were pretty sure you were only standing due to caffeine and spite at this point.

You weren’t sleeping well, you never did when your boyfriend was out of town. The bed was too big, the apartment too quiet, not to mention how safe you felt sleeping in his arms. Not much could get the jump on a Statesman. You missed him, and you always worried for him when he was gone.

On top of the lack of sleep, work had been hell. One coworker had quit last month, and slowly all of their mistakes were unravelling and falling into your lap. Pair that with another coworker on bereavement leave - you’d never blame them, but it didn’t help the massive workload that was placed in front of you - and you were working overtime every day.

Your extended family was on your case. You hadn’t been around to visit in some time. You felt bad, you really should plan a visit, but until work was figured out it wasn’t a possibility. Besides, you already knew that the elders of the family wanted to grill you about when they saw you anyway. Why aren’t you married yet? Are you gonna keep living in sin with that cowboy? You’re not getting any younger, you might want to think about kids while you still have the energy…

You and Jack were perfectly happy, and you were tired of defending that. He had serious hang-ups after what happened with his high school sweetheart, and you accepted it. You helped him through it best you could, but he was very straight forward when you got together that he didn’t know if he’d ever be ready to marry and have kids. He gave you the out many times, but that wasn’t what you wanted. You wanted him, and anything else along the way would be a bonus.

All of that bullshit mixed well with the random pitfalls throughout the week: spilling a drink all over yourself at work on Tuesday, stepping in a massive puddle and ruining a pair of shoes on Wednesday, burning your hand trying to cook yesterday - it just wasn’t your week.

You unlocked the door and toed off your shoes, ready to collapse. You just had to decide if you would make it into the bedroom or not first. The couch wasn’t a bad option either. You almost laughed as you realized your tired brain was creating a dialogue, taking bets on whether you’d make it to bed or not.

You paused when a sound from the kitchen broke through your thoughts. Your exhaustion was overcome by adrenaline when you realized someone was in the house. You were alone in the house… what were you going to do? You tiptoed towards the kitchen, peeking around the corner to see a familiar silhouette against the light of the fridge - you knew the hat on his head, the ass in those jeans, the boots on his feet.

“Jack?”

The agent turned, smiling past the piece of cheese he’d just taken a bite out of. “Hey darlin’. I didn’t hear you come in.”

He was barely out of the fridge but you were already launching yourself at him, hugging him with all the energy you had left in your body. You could feel your arms trembling from the exhaustion and the adrenaline. He chuckled softly, wrapping his arms around you in return.

“Missed you too,” he chuckled, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. You could hear him breathe in your scent as he so often did after long stretches apart. You felt his hands rubbing your back as you snuggled into him, your breath growing shakier. You squeezed him close as you started to cry.

“Woah, woah there.” Jack cooed, his hand cupping the back of your head. “What’s wrong, darlin’?”

You didn’t answer, the dam of emotions finally broke and you could barely get the words out. He tried to pull away to look at you but you kept your head buried against him, holding onto him tightly so he couldn’t go.

“It’s okay, I’m not going anywhere.” He promised, pressing another kiss to your crown as he started gently stroking your head. “Are you hurt?”

You shook your head, feeling him relax a little against you. Your fists bunched into his shirt, the clean-cut fabric already ruined by your tears no doubt.

��It’s okay,” he murmured against your scalp, gently rocking the two of you back and forth. “Just let it out, darlin’. Jack’s got ya. Let it all out.” He kept whispering to you, rocking the two of you back and forth gently. He tried to soothe you, apologizing for not being there while promising he’d take care of you.

“I-I’m just so tired.” You finally sobbed when you were able to form the words. “Th-is week was s-so awful.”

He tutted softly with another kiss to your head. “How ‘bout we go lie down then? We can take a nap, then you can tell me all about it once we wake up.”

You nodded, trying to catch your breath. Jack wasted no time, scooping you up bridal style and carrying you into your bedroom. You buried your head into his neck, hugging him tightly around his shoulders.

“I’m gonna take care of ya.” He promised softly.

“I missed you.” You mumbled against his skin.

“I always miss you, darlin’.” He told you as he set you down on the bed. You wiped pitifully at your face, trying to clear the snot and tears. Jack smiled fondly down at you, gently wiping your tears away with his thumbs. “Miss this gorgeous face when I’m gone.”

You laughed sadly, knowing this was not one of your shining moments. Jack handed you a tissue from your bedside table. A quick kiss to your forehead, his mustache tickling your skin, before he crossed the room to your dresser. You wiped your nose, watching as he pulled out one of his old, worn t-shirts

“Arms up.” He instructed, making his way back to you. You lifted your arms as Jack helped you change for bed, the tenderness of his actions making you break down into tears once more. Once you were dressed in only his t-shirt and your underwear, he tucked you in and starting stripping for bed himself.

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled, blanket pulled all the way up to your chin - more for comfort than for it’s warmth.

“You’ve got nothing to apologize for.” He scoffed, hanging his hat and turning off the light.

“I haven’t even asked about your mission.” You pouted, feeling like an awful partner.

“We can talk about it later.” He brushed off your concern, climbing into the bed and cuddling up to you in his briefs. You melted into him, his warm skin helping to ease some of the tension our of your muscles. “Right now I just wanna hold you.”

He kissed your cheek, nuzzling into your skin. A hybrid of a sob and laugh bubbled out of your chest as his mustache tickled you. He trailed kisses from your cheek to your lips, making you sigh softly. The tears were finally slowing, your puffy, red eyes drooping closed.

“Love you, sweetness.” Jack murmured against your lips.

“I love you.” You whispered back. You had no idea how much you had needed this. Someone to just care for you and show you love after all the shit slung your way all week.

“Get some rest. I’ll be here when you wake up.” He promised, his deep voice rumbling against you. “When we wake up, I’ll get us some food. Just a big ol’ pile of junk food. You can tell me all about your week and I’ll tell you about the mission. We have all night.” He rambled on, his voice slowly putting you to sleep.

Tagging: @wickedfrsgrl​

[what-the--curtains]

Braving the elements

Chapter 3 : Burn it Down

TW : violence, brief moment of sexual harassment

Notes: Eve is the readers alias but her real name is whatever yours is!

Monday, 11:35 PM, Your apartment

Roman had taken Calvin out for drinks at his club to reward him, and had left you at home alone in what you could only assume was some kind of power move. Thankfully, this would give you enough time to complete your 3 step plot for getting the hell out of here.

“Fuck this, fuck him” you mutter, as you finish packing up an assortment of your clothes and toiletries. Noting how it was kind of sad that your whole life could be packed up into two suitcases you pull on a pair of black leggings and an oversized black hoodie. Lugging your bags out the front door, you place them gently onto the freshly paved street. Hijacking the nearest car, you pop open the trunk and throw in the cases before shutting it. You walk back into the apartment you share with Roman and some of his other higher ups, stopping when you reach his home office. After knocking on the door and with no audible response you pick the lock and push open the door. You walk over to the filing cabinet where he keeps all the physical copies of worker contracts and open up the top shelf. After skimming through what must be at least 50 contracts all marked with an X (for mutant). Jesus, how many mutants does he employ and how come I’ve never seen any of them? You wonder.

“Bingo!” you exclaim upon seeing a file with your name. Grabbing it, along with a few others, and one of Romans access keys you turn to leave, but not before spotting the stolen bag of cash and the box from vault 176 lying on the floor. You pick up the bag and stuff the contracts inside before zipping it up and leaving the apartment for what you hoped was the last time. You toss the bag into the back seat, hot-wire the car and drive off to complete the second part of the plan. You pull the car over outside the main entrance of Roman Enterprises. Tucking your hair under a baseball cap and pulling your hood up you exit the vehicle. You figured that whatever you’d need to keep Roman off your ass for good was on his office computer, so here you were. On your way into the building you notice a canister of gasoline laying in the street. Deciding it may come in handy, you pick it up. You used Romans access key to get through the front door. You were aware that there would be three well trained, and extremely violent, men posted around the office. As you approach the elevator, you hear the raspy voice of one of the on duty guards

”Hey darling, you come for some after work fun just the two of us?” he asks while pressing his groin up against your rear. Rolling your eyes you lower your fist and punch him as hard as you can in the dick. He drops like a sack of potatoes, hands over his nuts, and as he looks up at you, you snap his neck. You get in the elevator and hit the button for the top floor. As you go up you pull your hood down and remove your hat shaking your hair loose. The doors open. You drop the gasoline next to the elevator and strut up to his main office.

“Hey boys,” you smile and wave, “good night?”

“What are you doing here Evie?” asks Ken

“Oh you know, Roman asked me to grab something for him” you say nonchalantly trying to slip past them, but before you can reach the handle someone grabs your wrist.

“We didn’t hear nothin’ about this.” retorts Craig whose hand was now latched onto your arm, you smile “Fine, why don’t we just call him and clear the air?” you take out your phone dial and hold it up to your ear. Craig’s phone rings and he lets go of you to answer it, but before he can you’ve thrown your phone at his face, cracking him right in the nose. Ken stands up, but you kick him in the groin Taking the gun out of Ken’s holster you shoot them both in the head.

“Thanks boys.” you say taking the key off Craig’s chain and unlocking the large wood doors leading to Romans office. Sitting down at his desk you use his card to log onto his computer, inserting a hard drive into the USB slot and downloading any files that you could. While it downloads you fetch the canister of gasoline from the elevator doors. The download was complete by the time you returned. You then transferred the info onto a microchip. Taking out a knife you cut a small slit in your arm and place it inside. Using some water from a nearby glass you heal your skin over the chip. Pouring a few cups of the gasoline out onto his computer you make your way to the door before pulling out your lighter and throwing a small fire ball towards the computer. You hear the explosion on your way down. Before reaching the ground floor you put your hair back under your baseball cap and pull up your hood. The bell dings and the doors open. You exit and walk to the boiler room where the gas tank is located. You throw the rest of the gasoline over it and walk to the entrance of the building. Flicking open your lighter you gather a few embers and blow them in the direction of the boiler room. You head out the same way you came in. As you open your car door you hear it, a huge explosion. You turn around just in time to see Roman Enterprises collapse in on itself. Smiling to yourself you start your engine, time for phase three you think as you drive off.

Tuesday, 1:30 AM, Avengers Tower

Nat walks into the main office where Tony, Steve and Wanda are sitting around a table mulling over paper documents looking for information about you. Steve’s head jolts up as Nat enters the room

“You got anything on her?” he asks

“Nothing in her files except one photo of her in a local penitentiary which was taken in June. Looks like whoever broke her out managed to get her entire record wiped.” Nat responds

“Hey guys, are you seeing this” Wanda points to the news.

The news anchor drones “ After what is currently believed to be a gas leak that caught fire, Roman Enterprise has seemingly collapsed in on itself. There were three men inside, but no bodies have been found yet.”

“ Why should we care about this Wanda?” Tony remarks.

“Because I think it has something to do with this,” she turns her laptop screen to the rest of the group “ one of the cameras picked it up at around 1:00 AM."

“Shit it’s her.” Steve says

“Guess we know who she’s working for, or was working for” Nat says.

“ Well, she just openly declared war on Roman which is incredibly stupid and dangerous, but why?” Tony ponders aloud

“Well she wasn’t known for making the most logical choices when we were at school” Wanda mutters.

“Hey guys,” Nat pipes up “we’ve got company!” She points to the screen monitoring the front door. A car had just pulled up and a figure had emerged. It opened the back door of the car and removed a large duffle bag. The figure walks up to the door, and drops the bag down before looking up.

“ Y/N? Shit what’s happened to her face?” Wanda asks.

“ Guess we know why she blew the building up.” Nat says “You know what. I think I like her!” The camera shows you hesitating to ring the bell, shaking your head and turning to leave before finally, turning back and ringing the bell.

“ Whatever she’s here for it’s not to harm us, she would have done it already.” Getting up Wanda takes the elevator to the ground floor. She opens the door to see her old friend bruised, bloodied, distressed and smelling of gasoline You hear the door open and look up to see Wanda standing in the door frame. You stick your arms up in the air “Don’t shoot! I come in peace.”

“I hope that’s fuel and not liquor I smell on you” Wanda jokes dryly. You laugh

[broken-clover]

AU-gust Day 11- Farm

I return with more ridiculousness!

I will admit I am not a total expert on Sonic Lore, but I played Sonic Heroes growing up and I love Big the Cat (I mean, dude loves frogs, it’s only natural) so this might be a bit bizarre compared to the rest of what I have so far, but here’s a quick Sonic fic with team Rose being good buddies!

Amy hadn’t been expecting to spot a familiar face on the train, but it was a delightful surprise to spot a familiar pair of floppy tan ears, with an upbeat chao circling around them.

“Hey, Cream!” She stuck a hand up in the air and waved as she approached the younger girl. “Long time no see!”

“Miss Amy? Hello!” After a brief moment of confusion, Cream smiled and waved back, with Cheese bobbing excitedly and kicking his little feet. “Are you heading to Mystic Ruins, too?”

“Huh? Yeah, that’s exactly where I’m headed, how did you know?” Amy tilted her head and pulled an envelope from her bag. “I got this invitation…”

“Me too!” Cream smiled, pulling out an identical one. “How exciting! Yours is from Mr. Big as well, isn’t it?”

“That’s right. I wonder what he’s up to? It sounded like he was excited to show us whatever it was that he’s been working on.”

Amy pulled the letter out of its sleeve and unfolded it so she could read it again. She had seen his handwriting before, so it was clear to her that he had been insistent on writing their letters slowly and carefully to make them look nice. It seemed that this, whatever it was, was very important to him, and he wanted his friends to see it.

‘Dear Amy, it read, in thick black letters. ’I’ve been working on something very cool! And you are a very good friend. I want you to come see it, please! Please come to Mystic Ruins next tuesday, I will wait at the train station so I can show you! I hope you like it!

-Big the Cat’

“Any ideas what his ‘something cool’ might be, Cream?”

“Hmm…” The rabbit tapped at her chin, with Cheese mimicking her. “He’s a fisherman, maybe he caught a very large fish that he wants to show us?”

“That might be it. Maybe he’s gonna make dinner out of it!”

“I suppose we’ll find out very soon, won’t we? It shouldn’t be much longer to the station.”

The two girls spent the rest of their short trip chatting about what they’d been up to. It didn’t feel like there had been much of a wait when an announcement came over the intercom.

“Mystic Ruins station, we are approaching Mystic Ruins station. Please do not attempt to exit the train until it has come to a complete stop and the doors have been fully opened. Have a nice day!”

“Oh! Cream, this is our stop!” Amy took her smaller companion by the hand and led her out onto the platform once the train had stopped. As soon as they did, both girls spotted a familiar figure at the bottom of the stairs.

“Mr. Big!” Cream fluttered down, trailed by Cheese and Amy.

“Nice to see ya!” Amy flashed him a smile and a wave. “Glad we didn’t show up too early.”

“You came!!” Big threw his arms around the girls and pulled them into a tight, warm hug. In one hand, he held what appeared to be a pile of straw tangled together.

“Of course we came!” Replied Amy. “We’re excited to see that big surprise you were talking about!”

“Daw, well I’m super excited to show you! I’ve been working really hard on it!” When he finally let them go, he dropped the strange thing in his hands on their heads.

“Huh? What’s this?” The hedgehog pulled the object off to get a better look at it. “Is this a hat?”

“Yeah-huh! Straw hats are super important!” Big’s tail wagged behind him in excitement. “Let’s go! I really want to show you!”

The two obliged, though they were undeniably curious, both regarding their destination and the peculiar straw hats. They had to have some sort of relevance, but nothing came to mind- well, maybe that wasn’t necessarily true. As they began to wander a beaten path into the thickets, the waxy leaves dripped moisture, and Amy noticed that she never noticed any water fall down her back with the hat’s brim in the way. Maybe that was it?

“Are we going to your house, Big?” Amy asked, realizing that the route was familiar.

“Sorta!” He replied with a good-natured chuckle. “It’s right by it.”

Cream bounded up to him, with little flaps to help her jump. “Mr. Big, can I ask a question?”

“Yuh-huh!”

“Where is Froggy? Isn’t he usually with you?”

Amy couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed. They both knew how much Big absolutely adored his small friend. Why wasn’t Froggy with him?

For a moment, both girls wondered if their companion’s bright mood was going to be immediately soured by the fact that he’d misplaced his beloved friend again. But to their surprise, Big continued to smile, and laughed once again.

“You’re really good at guessing, Cream! Really good!”

Neither of them were entirely sure what he was trying to convey. Especially with the steadily increasing sounds of something in the distance. But it wasn’t a confusion that lasted long. The tall plants gave way to a neat little clearing where the man’s humble shack stood- but it was immediately apparent that some renovations had been made. A little barnhouse had been built into it, and neat little fences had been erected around a couple of nearby ponds.

“A farm!” Cream chirped with glee. “Mr. Big, your house is a farm!”

Well, that sort of explained the hats. Amy suddenly realized what the odd noises were. “Not just any farm...it’s a frog farm!”

“Heehee!” Big seemed equally excited. “Surprise! I was making a little house for Froggy, but then it kept getting bigger and bigger!”

He led them to the small barnhouse. A good portion of it was devoted to another small pond, where several frogs relaxed on lilypads and let out melodic croaks. “Froggy! Hello!” Big scooped up a familiar specimen and held it out to his guests. “Froggy has a lot of friends now. An’ I feed them and take good care of them!”

“They’re soooo cute!” Cream said. “I used to think frogs were a little creepy, but you really showed me how cute they can be, Mr. Big!”

“All frogs are good frogs.” Big nodded. “You two can hold them, but wash your hands first! Dirty hands are bad for frogs and it makes them sick!”

There were a pair of spigots built into the wall over a little basin. “I guess it makes sense for a lot of frogs to live here.” Said Amy, as she began scrubbing her hands clean. “It’s so damp out in Mystic Ruins, they probably like it here!”

“I can’t imagine what it would be like, being wet all the time.” Said Cream. “But I guess I’m not a frog. They probably don’t know what it’s like having fur all over them, either.”

“There is a kind of frog that has hair!” Big piped up from the other end of the barn, where he was sitting with Froggy. “It’s not really hair, though. Just looks like it. It also has tiny claws!” When the girls came back, he stood back up and ushered them towards the water. “Holding frogs is kinda hard the first couple times, but I’ll help you!”

Big scooped one off of a lilypad. The animal seemed completely unfazed by it, and simply let itself be held. He offered it to Cream. “Here! This one is very calm, he will sit still for you!”

“Woah, they really are all smooth and slimy…” Cream’s expression was a mix of fascination and faint unease. “Am I holding him right?”

“Yeah-huh! Keep up the good work!” After making sure the frog was secure, Big bent over the water again and scooped up another frog. “Amy, here’s one for you!”

She had gone in expecting to be completely fine with the whole thing, but as soon as she felt the wet stickiness of it, she squeaked in panic and flinched back. “It feels weird!”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” Big said, though he still looked disappointed.

Amy steeled herself. “No, I can do it! I can do it.”

“Okay.” He tried holding it out to her again. Amy lifted her hands to accept the frog...only for it to jump and stick to her face.

“EEK!” She shrieked, only barely stopping herself from swatting the thing clean off. “It’s on me! It’s on me!”

“Hold still! I’ve got it.” With a couple of attempts, Big managed to take it off, and he held onto the frog carefully to keep it from hopping off.

Cream gave an empathetic wince. “Sorry, Miss Amy. Are you okay?”

“M’sorry about that.” Said Big, placing the frog back in the water. “That doesn’t usually happen.”

Amy’s expression was blank and unreadable. A bit of slime plastered the bangs to her eyes. After a moment, a faint smile twitched at the end of her lip.

“Heh...ehehe...hahahaha!” Despite the mess, Amy began to laugh, smiling brightly. “I guess that means it likes me!”

[starcountesseevee]

A Rocket Coincidence (Part 18)

Part 17 / Part 19

     It seemed the weeks were flying by in a blur as Kali settled into a routine. Her and Mara alternated days working at Simply Yoga and on her off days Kali found herself bored again as the days grew chillier. Celadon City was far enough south that it didn’t experience a full winter, part of the reason Kali loved it there, she couldn’t imagine how people lived places like Freezington in the Crown Tundra where it was cold year round. Celadon did, however, get enough of autumn-like weather to make the holidays feel like well, the holidays. So to fill her time on her days off Kali threw herself into decorating their apartment and studio for her favorite holiday, Halloween.  

     "Are you sure this isn't too much?" Kali asked Mara for the hundredth time as she hung another string of cobwebs across Simply Yoga's front display window. 

     "It's fine." Mara laughed as she handed Kali another Spinarak cut out to hang. "Are you sure you don't want to come tonight? Jules really is okay with it." 

     "If I go then who will hand out all the candy?" 

     "I'm sure plenty of other places are handing out so it's not like you have to." 

     "I know but I enjoy it." Kali smiled. "So really I'm fine! You don't have to worry about me. You two have fun." 

     “Alright, alright.” Mara grabbed her keys and headed to the front door. “Save me a few pieces then will ya? Oh, and don’t wait up!”

     “No promises!” Kali finished hanging the last bit of cobweb before getting down from the stool and locking the front door while she headed upstairs to change. As she entered the apartment she nearly tripped over Nero and Rowan as the two came bounding over to her only to spin around just as fast, chasing each other back into the living room. Both their sleek black bodies were decorated with white bones chalked onto them courtesy of another bored morning Kali had. She set her keys on the hall tree next to Aslan’s pokeball. This year Halloween fell on a Saturday and while there would probably be an abundance of kids out that didn’t have school the next day Simply Yoga was also in close proximity to places like Echo so Kali was going to have the large Arcanine downstairs with her. Just in case. 

     She would have preferred to have Cliff there for security, among other reasons, but he had another mysterious work assignment elsewhere that he couldn't talk about. Which was fine, she thought as she pushed open her bedroom door. She knew getting into this he wouldn’t be able to be around all the time but that didn’t make her miss him any less. 

     Her costume, a purple Mismagius hat and dress she had found at the Halloween store, was already laid out on the bed waiting for her. As she changed she took a moment to adjust her bra and snap a quick picture, sending it to Cliff with the caption *What you’re missing.* just to emphasize that maybe he should have been there. She didn’t even get a chance to pick up the dress before she got a response.

     *That’d better not be your whole costume.* Kali bit back a laugh as she toyed with how to answer before deciding on teasing him a little more. 

     *And if it is?* She set her Pokegear down to pull on her costume where it remained suspiciously quiet as she finished dressing. As she reached for the hat she heard the ringtone go off and was only a little surprised to see an incoming video call. She grinned, he was too easy. 

     "Relax I'm just teasing you." She answered, laughing at the relieved look that crossed his face as he noticed how much more covered she was. 

     "Well maybe I just wanted to see more of the other costume." He backpedaled, trying to sound suggestive but Kali had a feeling he was trying to cover a bit of jealous worry.

     "Oh this?" Kali extended her arm holding the Pokegear as far as she could and with her other hand teasingly pulled the bottom of her skirt up to flash him a bit of bare thigh.  

     "You're killing me dollface." Cliff groaned, glancing behind him to make sure no one else was nearby. "If I wasn't at work I'd be having you take that whole thing off."

     "Oh what's that? I think I hear trick-or-treaters?" Kali cupped a hand to her ear like she was listening carefully.

     "Maybe you can call back after the kids go home and we can continue this, hmm?"

     "I dunno, it might be late." She teased.

     "I would stay up till sunrise to get to see you take that off, doll."  

     "I'll think about it." Kali blushed, dropping the hem of her costume.

     "I'll be thinking hard about it too. But right now I gotta go."

     "Alright, mountain man. I'll talk to you later." She blew him a kiss before ending the call.

     Kali put on the final touches of her costume and headed back downstairs, deciding at the last second to grab Ember's pokeball as well so Aslan would have some company. The two got settled on the floor in front of the receptionist desk, the large Arcanine taking up most of the room while Ember curled up on his back.

     Flicking on the storefront light Kali stepped outside to survey her work. She had replaced the lights in the large display window with purple ones and hung cobwebs in front of them to create shadows. Fake Spinaraks were nestled into the webbing and a few fake Zubats hung down in the middle as if flying; it was spooky enough without being over the top scary. Kali wasn't a big fan of bloody and gory Halloween displays meant to scare and preferred to keep things kid friendly, after all Halloween was her favorite holiday partly because of the fond memories she had of going trick-or-treating with her mom when she was a kid. 

     Hearing the unmistakable laughter of a group of kids Kali ducked back inside to grab the basket of candy, turning back to the door just in time to see three young children approach. One of her regular patrons waved at her from behind the trio who were oohing at the window display but when they spotted the large basket of candy Kali was holding their attention quickly shifted. They ran up to her with a shout of 'trick-or-treat' before diving into the basket to pick out their favorites. 

     For the first hour or so there was a steady stream of kids but after the two hour mark it slowed down. Kali was leaning against the doorframe considering calling it a night when she spotted a young man about her age escorting a small girl dressed as an Eevee, his face familiar but she couldn't quite place him. He apparently had the same feeling because he was scrutinizing her as they approached, the girl clinging shyly to his leg. 

     “Go ahead, Dee.” The girl released her grip on his pant leg and took a few cautious steps forward. He looked back up at Kali, recognition dawning on his face. “Oh! It’s you! From the Silver Conference, we tied in the semi-finals!” 

     “Yes!” Kali smiled, racking her brain for his name. “I thought you looked familiar, too. Cole, was it?” 

     "Yes!” Cole laughed nervously. “I'm sorry, I don't remember yours. But I do remember you used all Eeveelutions!" At this Dee’s eyes lit up and she stopped digging through the candy. 

     "Really! All Eevees?"  

     “Yupp!” Kali smiled warmly down at the girl who was staring up at her in wide-eyed awe. “Do you like Eevees? Is that why you’re dressed as one? What’s your name?” 

"I love Eevees!" The girl exclaimed, her shyness gone. "My name is Delilah and I want to be a trainer too! With all Eevees!" 

     “Nice to meet you, Delilah. My name is Kali.” She said mostly for Cole’s benefit. “Have you ever met a Flareon?” 

     “No…” Kali didn’t think Dee’s eyes could get any wider. She glanced back at the street but no one else was coming. 

     “Would you like to?”

     “You really don’t have to-” Cole began but Kali shushed him before calling for Ember who trotted happily to the door.  

     "It's so cute!” Delilah gasped excitedly as Ember approached. She reached a hand out but stopped herself and looked back at Cole. “Can I pet it?”

     "That's up to the nice lady." 

     "Can I pet it, please?" 

     "Of course. But hold your hand out for her to sniff first." Dee cautiously obeyed, crouching down closer to Ember who sniffed the offered hand before trilling and rubbing her head into it. Kali smiled, watching the two before turning back to Cole. “Your…”

     “Niece! Delilah is my niece, my sister’s kid.” 

     "She's cute. I didn’t know you lived in the city.” 

     "I don't, actually. My sister travels a lot so I help out from time to time while she's away so Dee doesn't have to move around." 

     "That's sweet." 

     "So, uh, do you...work here?" He glanced up at the sign. 

     "Yeah, my friend owns the place. I work here in between training." 

     "That's cool. Do you train somewhere in the city? I’m always looking for a new place to practice. Maybe we can train together sometime? I’m, uh, sure Delilah would love to see your Eeveelutions in action.” He glanced down at the young girl but she was paying them no mind. 

     “Oh, yeah, sure! There’s a park a few minutes from here I go to a lot.” They both glanced back as they heard another group approaching. “Well, hey, I don’t work on Tuesday. Why don’t you two meet me here around 10? And we can go?”

     “That sounds great.” Cole smiled before crouching down. “Alright Dee, we’ve got to go.”

     “Aw, okay.” Delilah was obviously disappointed as Cole took her hand.

     “See you Tuesday.” Cole and Delilah waved goodbye and Kali gave a small wave back before greeting the group that had just come up. 

     After they left Kali leaned back against the doorframe, looking up at the night sky as Ember sat down at her feet and began cleaning her paw. Ten more minutes, Kali decided, then she’d call it a night. After all, she had a call to make.

Part 17 / Part 19

[lightningbuggie]

for a prompt could you write a short blackwatch!sombra x blackwatch!mccree? it's an au that i quite like, but i can never find any stories for it. feel free not to though! that's totally fine too

McCree was always hesitant to trust new personnel - a trait that stemmed from his Deadlock days - and today was no exception. He didn’t truly understand the purpose of a ‘hacker’ anyway, he couldn’t imagine hacking was any more resourceful than a gun. Reyes apparently thought it was, considering he personally spent months tracking down the recruit in question, and weeks further convincing her to join Blackwatch. Had McCree been asked, he would have said their team was big enough with the cyborg and the witch, but ultimately Reyes made the call and decided they needed one more. 

They brought her in late after work on a Tuesday night, apparently on her request. McCree couldn’t remember the last time Reyes took someone else’s orders so willingly, but he’d obliged her every demand. None of them were even allowed to be at headquarters during her tour, for her ‘privacy’s’ sake. Neither McCree nor the others were particularly pleased.

The day he finally saw her was a whole two weeks after her initiation. They had just finished a mission briefing in a conference room far too grand for their tiny team, and McCree couldn’t understand why Reyes was sticking around after adjourning - he was normally the first to leave. The cowboy quietly left the room with the others, but hung around by the door, taking one last peek inside once Genji and Dr. O’Deorain were out of sight. Back in the meeting room he witnessed a flash of purple, revealing the vibrantly dressed hacker lounging in a seat he had assumed was empty. He watched as she and Reyes chatted for a moment before shaking hands and heading out different doors. The commander approached the door McCree was standing by and he quickly sidestepped away as the door opened. He wasn’t quick enough to get out of view however, as Reyes barely took one step out the door before his eyes found McCree. 

“Settlin’ in the new recruit?” McCree asked, trying not to sound embarrassed.

Reyes held his gaze for a moment before ignoring the question and walking away with a huff.

Genji actually brought her up first. The two of them were going over some floor plans for a building they were meant to break into, and McCree brought up the concern of security cameras.

The cyborg just shrugged, “I’m sure Sombra can take care of them.”

“Sombra?” 

Genji raised an eyebrow as if he didn’t understand McCree’s confusion, “Our new hacker.”

McCree didn’t realize until that moment that he hadn’t even known her name, “Have you spoken to her?”

“Yes. She offered to help upgrade my cybernetics. She seems capable.”

McCree didn’t know what to make of that. He’d like to think Genji had good insight, but he could hear the Deadlock crew in the back of his mind reminding him to never place anyone else’s judgement above your own.

Moira spoke of her next. McCree had entered her office for a pre-mission checkup, something he often put off as long as possible to avoid leaving himself in the hands of the witch. 

Dr. O’Deorain kept her examinations minimal. McCree seemed healthy enough, but she wasn’t happy with the state of his mechanical arm - as was evident by her constant poking and prodding of the metal.

“I intend to run a few minor tests on this.” She told him, cold and clinical.

“How long’s that gonna take?”

“I’m not certain. Sombra raised some concerns on the matter of remote hacking, though we’ve yet to discuss the process or potential solutions. ”

“Not like you to listen to other people’s suggestions, doc.”

She gave him a pointed look, then raised an arm in the direction of the door. McCree took the cue and left. 

It was two nights later when McCree interacted with her for the first time. It was well past when he should’ve been asleep, but the cowboy was busy sitting in their training room going over floor plans for their upcoming operation. He’d been ignoring the ticking of the training room clock, but the ding signalling midnight was finally enough to send him packing back to his room to get some rest. He only made it as far as the living quarters entrance however, before he was stopped by the sight of a dim purple light seeping through an adjoining hallway. He followed the light to its source, a seemingly unassuming door made special only by the violet glow seeping through its cracks. McCree tried the handle and to his surprise the door opened without issue. 

The room was dark, illuminated only by a series of monitors in varied sizes. Most of the screens displayed coded information, while some showed weapons diagnostics, and the largest presented the floor plan McCree had been pouring over all night. He turned his head to the chair sat in front of the monitors, which seated the infamous hacker as she scrolled through some code on screen 2. 

“Close the door if you’re coming in.” She replied offhandedly in a Spanish accent.

Ah. Spanish. All of a sudden ‘Sombra’ made a lot more sense. He closed the door behind him and stepped into the room. This time he took in the other aspects of the space, noting a couch, full bed, and mini fridge occupying the area behind her desk. Far more lavish than any of the other rooms he’d visited, his especially. 

She spoke up again, “Did you notice the same thing I did?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The plans.” She pointed a manicured nail at the largest screen. “Gabe’s plan could use some work.”

He’d never heard anyone refer to Reyes as ‘Gabe’ before - she was either too valuable to lose or two minutes from being fired. Ten minutes ago he wouldn’t have been confident guessing which, but now seeing how well Blackwatch was treating her, he had some idea. 

He cleared his throat, “Reyes wants us to infiltrate through the east entrance, but I was thinking-”

“The west is closer to the target, why risk being in there longer than you have to?” She finished. 

Her seat was turned around, finally facing him. Her eyes were a shade of purple so electrically bright he couldn’t help but stare. He’d already noticed her half shaved head from his last sighting, but now he could see the implants lining her skull in perfect clarity. She was like nothing he’d ever seen before. 

“That’s what I figured.” He took a step forward, maintaining eye contact. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.”

“I’ve heard a lot about you, McCree.”

“I can say the same. Everyone’s been talking ‘bout you lately.”

“Am I employee of the month?”

“If the doctor likes you, it’s hard to tell.”

Sombra tossed him a mischievous smirk as she stood up. “Sombra.”

He tipped his hat to her in return. “Shadow, huh?” 

“Si, vaquero.” She looked pleased to know he spoke Spanish. Sombra nodded towards the couch and he took a seat, while she walked over to the mini fridge and began rummaging through it. “I’m going to suggest the west entrance tomorrow, I’d appreciate it if you mentioned it too.”

“Sure. Though Reyes mentioned something about that route being too close to where they house their mechs to be viable.” 

She stood up holding a bottle of rum and two lowball glasses. “Nah, I can deal with that.”

“Oh yeah?” McCree was going to comment that it was quite late for a drink, but watching her crack open a new bottle of fairly pricey alcohol was enough to convince him to stay for one. “How do you plan to do that?”

Rather than answer, Sombra just tossed a glass in his direction. His reflexes were normally lighting quick, but seeing as he was caught off-guard, he was just a second too late to reach for the glass. He didn’t have to worry about it breaking however, as his mechanical arm caught the glass with ease, operating completely out of his control. McCree watched in horror as his arm, now sentient, held the glass still as Sombra waltzed over and poured an ounce of rum into it. 

McCree brought his eyes back to her as she poured her own glass. “How’re you doing that?”

She just smiled and wiggled her fingers, purple light emanating from her nails. “That’s my job.”

“I’m gonna ask ya kindly to give me back control of my arm.” He warned. She did, and McCree almost dropped the glass as he suddenly regained command of the appendage. Thankfully he managed to hold onto it, which was good considering he was going to need a drink after that. “Thank you.”

Sombra took a seat on the coffee table itself, her legs resting inches from his. “That’s how I’ll deal with them. If they try to use the mechs I’ll just shut them down.”

“What if they try the same thing?” He asked, taking a sip of his drink. 

“Yeah I know, I’m working on it. You have it easy, your friend Sparrow is a glowing green target. Too easy to hack.” 

“How does hacking him work? Make him throw the mission?”

“And more. I could make him help the enemy if I wanted to.”

McCree downed his drink and set the glass on the table. “Well here’s hoping you don’t.”

Sombra grabbed McCree’s mechanical arm and pulled it on her lap, causing the cowboy to sit forward and press his shoulder against her as she examined his tech. Her nails glided over the indentations, leaving a comfortable cooling sensation in their tracks. He glanced up to watch her features, her brows furrowed, lost in concentration as she tried to solve a problem he couldn’t see. He had to chuckle at the strange intimacy of the moment, but immediately regretted the action as he watched her focus drop. 

“What?”

“Nothin’, just expected you to be dry and serious, but you’re provin’ me wrong. You this comfortable with everyone you work with?”

She let her voice drop an octave, “Only if I like them,” and followed the words with a shameless wink.

McCree chuckled, “You know, my old partner used to tell me to never trust a pretty face.”

She gave him back his arm and studied his face, “You shouldn’t trust anyone, period.”

“Sounds like a rule straight outta Deadlock.”

“More like Los Muertos.” She stood up, swishing her drink around in its glass. 

McCree followed her. “You were in Los Muertos?”

“Mhm,” she hummed as she sipped her rum, walking him to the door. “But that’s a conversation for Friday.”

“Friday?”

“I have an idea for how to set up a stable firewall for your arm, but I’m gonna need a few days. Same time?”

“You sure you want me coming by so late?”

Her smirk returned full-throttle as she opened the door for him, leaning on the door frame with her drink at her lips. “I’ll see you then, McCree.” 

He tipped his hat to her and headed back down the hallway towards his room, using every ounce of strength to avoid turning back as he heard her door shut behind him. The walk back was quiet and introspective. He could practically hear Ashe screaming in the back of his head to be more cautious, but nonetheless as his eyes scanned the ground beneath his feet, watching the light fade with every step, he knew his dreams would be basked in a purple glow.