#i might actually take a box of it w/ me to work on thursday then just to...fucking....eat it

[baekuras]

Today I used my new ricecooker for the first time to make rice 2 things about that

1: yum rice!!!

2: oh god there is so much rice

i have severely underestimated the amount of rice

[idkthisisjustforfanfic]

too soon to tell, chapter t w o

You dropped your bag in the foyer of Harry’s house after work on a Thursday. It was quiet--he wasn’t home yet and you’d keyed in knowing that you’d have some time to yourself.

You felt a vibrating in your pocket when you shrugged off your coat, your visible reflection told you it was a FaceTime call, Alyssa’s name danced across the screen until you slid your thumb to answer.

“Hello, hello,” you greeted, walking to find a seat on the couch.

“Where are you?” She furrowed her brows as she took in your surroundings.

“At Harry’s--he’s out, though.”

She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. “I will never get sick of you lounging in his house when he’s not there.”

You rolled your eyes at your old roommate’s antics--she’d always been the number one supporter of your relationship and when you texted her earlier saying you needed advice, she promised to call on her lunch break.

“I’m not lounging,” you informed with a shake of your head. “I just got out of work, we’re having dinner tonight.”

“Mr. Popstar isn’t too busy?” She teased, aware of the tension both of your schedules had been causing.

“Apparently not.”

She forked a bite of food into her mouth, the sun was shining through the window behind her, the walls of your old apartment were redecorated now with the art of your replacement. “Is that what you wanted to talk about?”

“Sort of,” you leaned back and let out a breath. “I mean, it’s all connected--”

“What is?”

“I’m getting to it,” you made a face at her through the phone. “So--don’t freak out, okay? Cause I don’t even know if anything will come from it and Harry doesn’t know yet.”

She nodded and gestured with her hand for you to get on with it.

Knowing Alyssa, she was already jumping to conclusions in her head. You were pregnant, you were engaged, you quit your job, you had a huge fight with your sister. No, no, no.

“I interviewed for a job in LA...and I haven’t told Harry because all our friends have been so excited about us being in the same spot again but--”

Her eyes went wide at the mention of a US city, she did her best to hold back her smile until it faded when you said: “I don’t know. Something feels off between us.”

“Off between you and Harry? More than just being busy?”

“I’m probably overthinking it but,” you looked around his living room. Pictures of his mum, his sister, his cousins--even his manager--were tucked in frames and placed on shelves. There wasn’t a trace of you in his house except for the toothbrush upstairs and the key on your keyring.

“It feels like we’re not moving forward. And we’ve both been busy, like I’ve told you, but since we don’t live together sometimes we go days without seeing each other and it’s fine, I get that he’s busy, obviously, but--”

“But you want to move in with him.”

“Well, I don’t know--I did, sort of, I think--but then I heard about this job in LA and it sounds amazing but Jessie just moved here and no one will shut up about how great London is.”

Alyssa offered a sympathetic frown and repositioned the bowl in front of her to get another bite. “What’s the job?”

You almost didn’t want to tell her, sure she’d get excited and eager to have you back in the same country. You winced a little, bracing for her reaction. “S’with E! News,” you shrugged. “It’d be on-air.”

“Shut up! Are you serious?!”

“Yes m’serious,” you rolled your eyes. “But I haven’t told any of them because you know how they are.”

She nodded, “Jessie will not want you to take it.”

“God love her, but of course not. And Harry spends time out there, so it might be okay, but it’s not like I could ask him to go with me.”

“Why not? He’s famous, Y/N--he belongs there.”

“It’s too soon,” you whined. “He’s not my fiancé and we don’t live together, so--I don’t want to make it weird.”

“But you love him,” she reasoned.

“Yeah, but s’been weird lately!" You tried to drive home the point. "He’s made no mention of moving in and we’ve been dating for a year and a half, I’ve been in London for over a year now. He’s not even mentioned it, Alyssa, I swear. He’ll say things like ‘one day we can go on vacation,’ and ‘what should we do for Christmas?’ But he’s made no concrete plans to actually have a future with me.”

“Maybe he doesn’t think you’re ready.”

“Maybe he’s not ready,” you volleyed.

“Maybe,” Alyssa shrugged. “But you won’t know if you don’t ask him.”

“But if I ask him and he’s not on the same page I’ll look like an idiot and he’s busy with the album and now I’m thinking about moving to LA and--”

She watched you, waited for you to say more, but you were out of words. You changed gears.

“Maybe we’re just not meant to be long term.”

“Oh come on,” she groaned. “Not this again.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Your whole ‘we should have left it in New York’ shit.”

You lifted your eyebrows to demand further details.

“You were freaked out in the beginning that you’d move back there and it would be weird.”

“And?”

“Was it weird?”

“Not at first, I guess. But I mean, come on---don’t you think we should have taken some kind of step forward by now? Even just mentioning the idea of moving in together?”

“I don’t know,” she said truthfully. “Maybe it’s different with someone like him.”

You rolled your eyes--what if that’s what you were sick of?

People always said that: it’s different because of his job, it’s different because he’s on the road, it’s different because he’s famous.

Of course it was, and that was fine, for a while. But what if Harry’s job always got in the way of feeling normal? What if you couldn’t have a real wedding because of it? What if you could never send your children to summer camp because of it?

Were you willing to sacrifice your own future to live an unconventional life with someone just because you loved him?

“When will you hear back about the job?”

“Dunno--talked to them last week on Monday and they said this week at some point. S'been a while, so hopefully soon.”

You’d been keeping busy, trying to avoid your personal email at all costs and also making sure that Harry had limited visibility of your screen at all times.

“Do you want it?”

You thought on it for a second. Being offered a job at a company like E! would certainly be an ego boost, but the mere thought of having to explain to all of your friends that yes, you’d been back in London for 18 months and now you were packing up and moving even farther away than before wouldn’t be easy. That seemed to be the one certainty in the whole situation: no one would take it well.

“I don’t want to leave everyone here, especially Harry--but I also don’t want to be stupid and think that this relationship is going somewhere if it’s not.”

Alyssa nodded and let out a sigh. “I get that, I mean, of course you have to do what’s best for you. But I’d hate to see you not be with him just because things are hard right now.”

You leaned your head back on the couch and sighed. You didn’t want to break up with Harry. If anything, you wanted to move forward and move in with him and do what you’d always imagined: have a good job, have a few kids, try to be happy.

But what if you’d been naive enough to think you could have all of that with Harry and what if this is how you were finding out that you couldn’t?

Were you still stuck in your teenage fantasy of marrying the boy you'd long been crushing on?

She watched you for a second before she reassured: “you’ll figure it out.”

You smiled, glad you’d called Alyssa if only to have someone talk you off the edge a little bit. You missed waking up one room over and her love for basketball games and New York 99 cent pizza.

“Well it’s not like I have to make a decision right now,” you said. “I haven’t even heard back from them. For all I know they could never reach out again because I bombed my interview.”

She rolled her eyes at your self-deprecation and offered a few final words of encouragement before you hung up and promised to catch up soon.

Ever since you’d left, Alyssa had taken it upon herself to keep you up to date on the ins and outs of New York. New restaurant? She’d send you pictures and a 200 word review. Crazy subway rats making the news again? Articles and video proof would be sent your way in a matter of hours.

She’d gotten a new roommate to fill your bedroom and apparently things weren’t always peachy between them. Peyton was quiet and shy--according to Alyssa. She was up every morning at 6am and in the shower at 6:30. She did yoga in the living room and hated it when Alyssa left empty beer bottles on the coffee table.

Alyssa was starting to lose her shit, swearing up and down that she needed to either pull the trigger and move in with Owen or find a new place altogether. It was my apartment first, she’d say. She should leave, not me.

It had been hard that year to leave the city you’d grown to love but harder to leave Alyssa and Carly and the things that made New York feel like home. It was also, in hindsight, hard to leave the place where you and Harry reconnected and built the foundation of your current relationship.

You heard commotion from the front door only a few minutes later when you rummaged through Harry’s kitchen for a snack.

“Hi,” he called from the other room, a close-lipped smile when you stuck your head around the corner to greet him.

“Hi! How was the photoshoot?”

“Good,” he nodded, watching as you stuck your hand into a box of crackers. “What time are we meeting everyone?”

Right--Thursday also meant dinner somewhere downtown with everyone in tow.

“7pm--but Jessie said we should try to get there early since it’s a new place and no one’s ever been.”

He nodded in acknowledgement of your words but seemed distracted, like his mind was somewhere else and his body was the only thing tying him to the room.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, looking back up at you. “Just a busy day and a busy week.”

You nodded, unsure if he wanted to say more or if you were supposed to have more of a reply than a simple nod of your head.

You’d both been stammering out awkward sentences and trying to dance around the elephant in the room for a few weeks, but now, under his gaze, you felt more uncertain than before.

“Are you okay?” He turned the question around and watched you closely.

“Yeah,” you shrugged, moving to sit on the couch.

“You seem--off.”

You didn’t know what it was. Could he possibly sense the tension in your shoulders as you waited for an email either way? You got the job! We regret to inform you…

Or was he just aware that you felt awkward since it had been almost two weeks since you had any considerable amount of alone time and even longer since you were able to have a date night that wasn’t interrupted by Jeff or Erica or someone who needed something from him.

He took a few steps closer towards you, a look of concern etched on his features. “What’s wrong?”

The words were on the tip of your tongue when he looked at you, eyebrows lifted as he waited for you to spit it out.

“I guess I feel like we’ve been distant.”

He pushed his head forward, almost like he hadn’t expected that to be the issue. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, caught off guard by his pushiness. Maybe you shouldn’t have brought it up.

“You don’t know?” He pressed.

You broke eye contact with him for a minute, wondering why you had to state the obvious. “Well, you’re busy all the time, Harry.”

He let his shoulders rise and fall in defeat, looking around the room in frustration. “I told you that finishing the album would be busy.”

“Yeah, but you forgot to mention that you’d also be busy when the album is done once promo starts and then tour,” your voice was quiet, not so much angry as you were upset.

You were tired. You wanted nothing more than to spend a night on the couch with him and only him, tell him about LA and about the sudden itch you felt to see more of the world than just London.

But with Jake and Adam always around and Bryn and Jessie, too, paired with interruptions from Jeff and Erica--it felt as if there was no hope for a private or honest conversation.

He came to sit closer to you on the couch now, took your hands in his. “I know my job is a lot, okay? I know it’s annoying that I don’t necessarily get weekends off or have a typical schedule, but once the album is out and the promo is done I’ll have a bit of a break before the tour. We can go on vacation somewhere, just us.”

It sounded nice, maybe a tropical island or a cabin in the woods. But before you could nod in agreement the thought of Los Angeles popped into your head.

His album was due out in December, promo from now through the New Year, some time off in February and March for both of your birthdays and then tour. You had no clue where you’d be by then.

Would you be in LA? Would you be in London? Would you be stuck in this same spot on his couch with decision paralysis and a crushing sense of uncertainty about the future?

He knew you were over-thinking and tilted his head. “What?”

You blew out a slow breath of air, twisted a ring on your finger and then looked up at him again.

You didn’t even have a chance to be more honest, a buzz on your phone on the coffee table in front of you both broke the room in half, the name of the woman you’d spoken to was in bold next to your email icon. You reached for it quickly, Harry’s brows furrowed when you pulled it close to your chest so he wouldn’t see.

“What’s that?”

Hi Y/N, thank you so much for your patience over the last few days. We would love to offer you a position with NBC Universal - E! News as an on-air correspondent in our Los Angeles headquarters.

You looked up at him quickly, cheeks red and heart racing.

“What’s happening, are you okay?”

“I got a job offer,” you said quickly, still holding the phone close to you.

“What?” He smiled, “why didn’t you tell me you were looking? I didn’t even know--”

“It’s in Los Angeles.”

His smile faded instantly, he blinked a few times like he must have misheard you. The leather of his couch felt cool beneath your legs, a clock on the wall ticked and for a second, you wondered if he could hear your pulse as loudly as you could.

He pulled his eyes away from you but then quickly scanned over your face. “Are you taking it?”

“I don’t know,” you said honestly.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Silence, words filled your brain and crawled up the back of your throat, desperate to be said out loud, in real life, instead of just circling in your head.

Because I don’t know what we’re doing or if we’re moving forward. I don’t know where I want to live. I don’t know if I can stay in London forever. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.

Only the last part made it out between your lips. “I don’t know.”

“Y/N,” he stood up, more angry now as he looked around the room and scratched at the base of his neck. “This kind of feels like a bombshell to drop on someone.”

“I was going to tell you--but we haven’t had a second alone, I just didn’t want to have to tell everyone before I knew what was happening.”

“You didn’t even tell me you interviewed,” he said.

“The last time I saw you alone we got interrupted by Erica three times in one conversation.”

“Probably for a good reason--”

“But you seriously can’t even put your phone down lately when we have dinner, even when everyone else is there!”

“I can’t help it that my work is insanely busy right now!”

“I don’t want to fight with you,” you said this quickly, voice higher than usual and a heat on your skin that he normally didn’t provoke, at least not in a bad way. You stood from the couch and put your hands on your hips. “I don’t know what I’m going to do and I don’t even know if this job is right for me and under no circumstances are you allowed to tell anyone. Especially Jessie.”

He rolled his eyes at that.

“What’s the eye roll for?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Everyone just got back and now you might leave and--”

“I said I don’t know if I’m going to take it.”

He was quiet at that, clucked his tongue in thought but then disappeared upstairs to shower and change.

The car ride over was awkward, he asked how your day had been and you told him you talked to Alyssa, he bristled when you admitted you told her about it.

It wouldn’t be the end of the conversation, you were sure of that. You’d likely end up at his for the night and he’d apologize for being busy, you’d apologize for not telling him and maybe, you hoped, he’d ask you to stay over.

When you greeted Adam with a hug, you ignored Harry’s sour mood and opened the menu in front of you.

“My first dinner as a Londoner,” Jessie smiled, shimming her shoulders in excitement when Bryn looked over the specials across the table from you.

“This is on you, right? New job, new salary?” Jake teased.

“Maybe if I hadn’t just bought a whole new bedroom set,” she rolled her eyes.

“How’s everything with you?” Adam eyed Harry, his question veiled to avoid too many details in public.

Luckily, Harry’s ability to go out in public in London was similar to that in New York. As long as a private room or a table in the back was requested, he could typically get away unscathed if dinner was less than 2 hours and if he had his back to the dining room.

“Fine,” he shrugged, eyes still down at the drink menu.

“Fine?” Jessie leaned forward, her tone insinuating that she didn’t believe him. “You’ve been working really hard all summer and now all you say is ‘fine?’”

He glanced up at her, lips in a forced smile. “S’all good, Jess--just tired.”

Bryn gave you a look, one that asked what stick is up his ass?, before she changed the topic.

“Let’s not tell our server how fit she is tonight, yeah?”

Jake let out a snort of a laugh and sipped at the water that had already been brought to your table. “Alright, you thought the one last week was just as hot as I did.”

“I did,” Bryn agreed seriously, “but I didn’t offer my number unsolicited. How do you know she’s even straight?”

“She’s got a point,” Jessie chimed in. “Remember when you asked that girl to dance in the club when her girlfriend was right there with her arm around her?”

“I thought they were just mates!” Jake defended.

“You also have the worst radar for gay women ever,” Bryn nodded.

“When was this?” Harry asked, the hint of a smile on his face when he watched Jake adjust his napkin on his lap.

The words came out of your mouth without thought. “You weren’t here--you were in LA.”

He met your eyes when you replied, nodded, and then leaned back in his chair, effectively bowing out of the conversation without saying another word.

You weren’t trying to be short with him. You looked over to Jessie, who undoubtedly sensed the tension, and offered a smile. “How’s the flat?”

“Good,” she nodded. “Glad that all my furniture got put together without any scratches,” she reached over and patted Adam on the shoulder.

“We’re not children, Jessie, we can handle some furniture.”

“You broke my dresser when I asked you guys to move it into another room,” Bryn reminded, a look of confusion on her face at Adam’s retort.

“Only because it was already half broken and a piece of shit,” Jake said. “I love you, Brynnie, but that dresser was already knocking on Heaven’s door.”

Harry let out a laugh at that, another memory that he had missed while on a trip to a studio somewhere north of London. He excused himself to the bathroom after you placed your orders, and once he was out of earshot, Jake leaned down and looked at you.

“What’s going on with him?”

You forced a cheesy grin and blinked a few times. “He’s just grumpy.”

“‘Bout what?” Bryn asked.

“Guys,” you leaned back in your chair, hoping you didn’t have to say too much. “I can’t tell you every single thing that happens in our relationship.”

“Well, when it affects us I think we have the right to know,” Jessie shrugged, playing the typical we don’t like when our parents fight card.

“It’s not affecting you,” you shook your head, eyed her seriously over your glass of Pinot Noir.

Adam shrugged, a smirk on his face let you know he was trying to rile you up. “He’s grumpy at dinner and we’re all here and we’re all aware of it. We don’t like tension between you two.”

“Alright, leave the woman alone,” Jake waved them off. “As long as everything’s alright.”

“It’s totally alright,” you nodded, wondering when you’d gotten so comfortable lying to them. “He’s just busy with the next phase of work.”

With Harry’s album yet to be announced, you couldn’t sit around in a London restaurant and divulge details--even if you were all acutely aware of the work he’d put in and the upcoming announcements and events.

Adam let it go. “How’s work for you, Smalls?”

Another shrug of your shoulders, “s’good--I told you all about my November cover story, right?”

“Yeah,” Jessie sipped a glass of Cabernet. “But you said you didn’t know who it was going to be with.”

“Well, s’cause I had to drop the bomb on him first,” you nodded in the direction of the bathroom. “I’ll be sitting down in a few days with Ms. Gigi Hadid,” you lowered your voice and leaned forward to say her name.

Bryn’s eyes went wide, Jake grimaced.

“How’d he take that?” Adam asked.

“He’s not thrilled,” you admitted. “But I’ll talk with his team about what to avoid specifically, I guess. Her team will probably have a list of off-limits items too.”

Bryn let her elbows rest on the white tablecloth. “Yeah, but, you can’t just ignore the fact that she’s dating Zayn.”

“I also can’t just barge in and stir shit up,” you said.

Harry pulled his chair out next to you and sat back down. “Who are you stirring shit up with?”

Everyone chose to be quiet now--Adam looked down at his phone and Jessie reached for her wine again.

“Just telling them about my cover story,” you admitted, watching his face for a reaction.

He nodded, a tiny smirk in your direction. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t stir shit up,” he said, reaching to put a hand on your thigh beneath the table.

Those were the moments that made you feel less panicky--the realization that he was still choosing you and even when the tension was high and the mood was low, he’d reach over and remind you that yes, he cared. Even if he was late to dinner or distracted.

Which is why, when you got back in his car that night and headed for his house, you were surprised when his mood shifted again.

“I’ll just drop you at yours?”

“Oh--yeah, sure.”

“Did you want to come to mine?” He looked over at you like he hadn’t expected any resistance to sleeping separately.

You were quiet for a second--not if he didn’t want you there. “No, it’s fine.”

“I can’t read your mind, Y/N.”

“You don’t have to,” you said quickly, a prickly tone to your words when he made an unreadable face.

He drove in silence for a few minutes, closing in on your neighborhood when the street lamps disappeared for the sake of suburbia.

Eventually he cleared his throat and that sent you over the edge.

“What do you want me to say, Harry? Do you want me to apologize for interviewing for this job?”

“No,” he said simply. “I just don’t know why you thought you didn’t need to tell me about a huge decision like that.”

“It wasn’t a decision until today when they offered it to me.”

“Just seems like something you talk to your boyfriend about.”

You looked over at him in the dark of night, the glow from the dashboard didn’t help you see his features as he turned left onto your street.

“Well, sorry that we didn’t have the opportunity to talk about it between your work schedule and Jessie moving in and group dates--”

He slowed down on your street, put his flashers on when he stopped in front of your building. “I don’t want to keep secrets from each other,” his voice was softer now. “I don’t want to not know what’s going on in your life. I did enough of that for two years when we weren't talking.”

You sighed at this, the sentiment broke whatever anger was lurking inside you and when you looked up to see him, you wondered if you should ask him.

Are we ever going to move in together? Are we ever going to get engaged?

You figured the lead up to his sophomore album wasn’t the best time for that conversation. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and you climbed the stairs to your flat alone.

**

A few days later you sat nervously in a conference room and watched as beads of sweat formed on the water glass in front of you. Tyler had brought you in, offered you a breath mint, and promised you’d be fine. When you asked him if the whole room was hot he said it was just you and your nerves--but the droplets of water that raced towards the wooden conference table begged to differ.

You’d gotten email after email this morning: one from Jeff with the rules he and Harry had come up with and eight from Gigi’s team with requests for snacks, topics to discuss, topics to avoid, lunch request, arrival and departure time, and a few extra regarding booking her photoshoot the next day.

A text lit up your screen when you tried to smooth your your hair in the reflection of your screen.

Jake Newcomb (10:42am): In case you’re wondering what to get me for my birthday, a video of Gigi Hadid saying she loves me would be perfect!

You ignored his text and felt a pang of disappointment in your gut, you thought it would have been Harry with words of encouragement.

He was fine with you doing the interview, he seemed to come around to the idea when he met with Jeff and had a chance to mark some things as off limits.

So far, his list was as follows:

Don’t publish anything too negative about anyone in the band (if she says anything negative about anyone in the band)

Harry and Jeff got to listen to the taped interview

Harry and Jeff got to read the article before you sent it off to your editor and could make suggestions to cut things if they felt it necessary.

It seemed silly, but you’d long been used to the lingo of contracts and riders and ground rules for things like these. You knew both Harry and Jeff trusted you, in fact, Jeff was now choosing to see this as a good opportunity for press before the announcement of Harry’s album.

Your biggest concern, truly, was not looking/sounding/acting like an idiot in a room alone with Gigi Hadid. Your second biggest concern was conducting a unique interview and writing a unique article.

You knew that Naomi and Tyler were nearby for support if needed, Tyler had already walked by the conference room three times to see if your subject had arrived and likely to make sure you hadn’t sweat through your blouse. You thought the commotion in the hallway was him until you saw a group of busy-looking people with cellphones and sunglasses.

“Hi,” you stood from your chair, extended a hand in her direction and offered your best professional smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Gigi, thanks for doing this interview.”

She seemed hesitant at first, smiled a little and shook your hand. “Happy to,” she said. She turned over her shoulder and locked eyes with the woman who seemed to be the most in-charge of the group. “I’m good,” she nodded.

They hustled out quickly, you stood frozen in place and watched as she took off her coat before sitting in the chair you’d pulled out for her. Once the door was shut behind her posse, she let out a sigh that bled into a frustrated laugh.

“I could never do an interview with all of them just loitering around--wouldn’t that be so weird?”

You nodded, mirrored her smile and had to remind your body how to move. Left foot, right, breathe, sit in the chair.

You weren’t really one to get star struck, but then again, you didn’t spend too much time with celebrities that weren’t Harry or his close friends. You certainly never sat down with a model like Gigi to have a conversation that could be as awkward as this one.

She checked her phone quickly but then put it face down on the table. “I am happy to do this, I know it might feel weird for us to be hanging out--but boys are stupid anyway.”

You smiled at this, immediately relaxed when she leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs.

“Did you also get a whole list of things to not talk to me about?”

She stifled a laugh and rolled her eyes. “Zayn can be a man of few words but,” she looked down at your phone on the table. “Off the record--he had quite a bit to say when I told him you were doing the interview.”

“Off the record,” you laughed, “Harry did too. But how is Zayn?”

“He’s good--thinking about getting back in the studio at some point to start working on a new album, he’s been writing a bunch. Harry’s doing the same I assume?”

“Yes, yeah, he’s been really busy.”

“I know things might not have gone great between all of them at the end, but I don’t want this to be awkward for us.”

“Me neither. You can say as much or as little about the band as you’d like.”

She nodded, you figured it was time to give your pre-interview spiel.

“So, I’ll record us in a few seconds, you can obviously say ‘off the record’ if there’s something you don’t want me to include, but I like my interviews to be like conversations, basically. I’ll send someone on your team the recording when we’re done and a typed transcript. You’ll have 48-hours to look over it and revoke any statements that you don’t want me publishing or to clarify anything. After that I’ll write the story, send a final copy to your team before it gets finalized here, again, 48-hours to look it over and request any changes but at that time we don’t have to approve the requests. This is all in a document somewhere that someone probably signed for you--I’m sure your team is used to it, they know what they’re doing.”

You reached forward and pressed a few buttons on your phone, she watched until you looked up and told her: “It’s on now, so we’re recording and today is September 10th, 2019.”

She smiled like you were old friends. “Where do we start?”

“Is there somewhere you want to start?”

She leaned her head to the side. “We can jump right to it--”

“To what?”

“Oh come on,” she laughed. “Us talking about One Direction will make headlines for weeks.”

“Yeah,” you shrugged. “It’s funny that us just sitting down together will be a big deal, right? As if we’ve got nothing better to talk about than them.”

“Sexism at it’s finest,” she admitted.

“Do you find that a lot in your industry?”

She thought on this for a second, looked out the window but nodded. “It’s unavoidable, in a lot of ways. I think there have been a lot of changes over the last few years to at least move us in the right direction, but we’ve got a long way to go.”

“How would you want to see it change for the better?”

“Well, I’d love to have more privacy about my love life, for one,” she caught herself, looked to you quickly as if she felt bad. “Off the record, we can talk about it here, it’s fine. It’s different to talk about it with a woman, number one. And you’re you, you get it.”

“We don’t have to talk about it,” you offered.

“No, I don’t mind. Unless you plan on asking me stupid things like how amazing is it to be dating someone as handsome as him or do I find that his job overshadows mine, we’re good. We can be back on the record, too,” she looked down at the numbers on your phone, eyeing the ticking of the recording clock.

“But do you know what I mean? No one asks guys questions like that--or they’re different, at least. People just want to know everything about your relationship when you’re a woman and they view you in the context of who you’re sleeping with.”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “I get that.”

She smiled, “it’s hard to date someone famous, isn’t it? Lots of rules around it.”

You were surprised by the genuine look in her eyes, despite her own status and contracts and income, she seemed to be acknowledging that the two of you shared a unique experience and were now brought together under strange circumstances.

“It’s definitely hard for me--but, isn’t it easier seeing as you also have an assistant and a manager and people to, I don’t know, facilitate things? Not to invalidate how hard it still is.”

She laughed at that, “Yeah, in some ways, probably. He’s really private though, which is good for us. We focus on ourselves and do our own thing most of the time.”

“Right--you seem pretty private about it for the most part.”

“Yeah,” she shrugged, reflecting on your words for a second. “I think to me it feels weird that my relationship status can make so much news, you know? Modeling is my job and obviously that’s not your typical nine-to-five but--I like to focus on my work and when male journalists are continuously obsessed with my love life, I find that weird. I mean, you get that, right? I’m sure it’s no different with Harry.”

You bit your lip, embarrassed at how she’d managed to turn it around. She was right--you’d been getting more and more annoyed with how much your relationship with Harry was dictating your life--and for some reason, you admitted this to her.

“People are much more interested in me because I’m dating him--but they’d be just as interested in you even if you weren’t.”

“Would they?” She tilted her head to the side, another rise and fall of her shoulders as she looked around the room. “I get what you’re saying, but sometimes it feels like dating him gave my career a huge boost. I don’t know, maybe I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, I totally get it. I feel the same way. I was building my career in New York and it was going well and I was writing fun stuff and making a name for myself and then I started hanging out with him and--”

“Everyone started to care more about you?”

“Exactly.”

You thought about the headlines, the articles, the pictures in tabloids that undoubtedly helped your name spread like wildfire through London and New York. You had to ignore it, most of the time, reassure yourself that you were a good journalist and a good employee and the good things in your career were not just a byproduct of the boy who slept in your bed.

She smiled knowingly, her lips in a thin line when she looked down to the tape recorder, almost like she felt guilty for steering the conversation in a different direction.

“Sorry,” you cleared your throat, sitting up straight. “Back to business.”

The conversation bled into more normal things: the upcoming fall fashion week, how she manages self-care when she’s busy jetting from city to city, and, try as you might, the two of you wound your way back to your commonalities a few times: sexism in your industries, life as young women dating famous men.

You thanked her profusely at the end and promised that Tyler would be in touch to confirm the date and time for her corresponding photoshoot later that week. She draped a Versace leather tote over her shoulder and seemed to float out of the office with a posse of beautiful people behind her.

You stood--still awestruck--in the hallway and watched as the elevator doors slid shut.

“She’s prettier in person,” Tyler said from beside you, a notebook in hand as he stared at the air she’d once occupied. “I didn’t know if that type of thing was possible but she’s definitely one of the prettiest humans I’ve ever seen.”

“She was nice,” you turned around to see Naomi behind him, also eager for more details. You headed back for your office in a trance, they scurried behind you as you thought aloud. “I mean, I didn’t think she’d be rude--but I didn’t know what to expect with the whole band history stuff.”

“Did you talk about that?”

“Less about the band and more about--” you blinked a few times and sat down at your desk, “sexism, what it’s like to be a woman dating a famous man and how that affects your career.”

Both of their eyes went wide, a smile tugged at Naomi’s lips when Tyler put a hand over his heart in shock.

“I’m sorry, so you’re telling me that you just had a heart to heart with Gigi Hadid about sexism and your boyfriends and--”

“I guess so,” you shrugged, just as surprised as they were.

**

You gave Harry fewer details that night over FaceTime as you brushed your teeth. He was somewhere in New York, disappointed that he’d miss Jake’s birthday dinner and celebration, but he promised to make it up to him when he got back.

He lifted a cup of tea to take a sip, light shone through the window behind him on your screen and he scrolled through emails on his laptop.

You spit into the sink, an ocean between you.

“Have you thought at all about the offer? You have to tell them by tomorrow, yeah?”

You nodded, wiped at your mouth with a towel and then crossed your arms. “I can stay, I mean--if you want me to.”

He made a face at that, leaned forward and furrowed his brows together. “Of course I want you to stay, Y/N, but I don’t want to be the reason you pass on something important."

You were quiet for a second, uncapped lotion before spreading some across your forehead.

"I'm sorry I didn't react well when you told me. I'm proud of you and it sounds like a phenomenal opportunity...I don't know, it's just the timing of it--"

You cut him off, “well none of this is ideal timing, Harry.”

“Do you mean with my album?”

“I mean with any of it,” you said truthfully. “The album, the job offer--”

“Well the album existed before the job offer,” he trailed off.

Only a matter of seconds and a handful of words had managed to get you elevated and angry and ready to fight. That was happening more easily, these days.

“So what am I supposed to do? Always come second? Make every decision in my life based off of your career and your music?”

“S’not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that--I dunno--I thought you knew what you were getting into.”

Quiet, your hands gripped the counter in your bathroom. Your bare feet were on the floor and you wondered why you were trying so hard to make everything work if things were only getting harder.

“That came out wrong,” he shook his head, the look on his face let you know he wanted to take it back.

“No, it didn’t." You let out a sharp laugh. "I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Take the job,” he said quickly, like he saw you reaching for the button to end the FaceTime call.

“What?”

“Take it. If it’ll make you happy, take it.”

“And what about us?”

“We figure it out,” he shrugged. “We try.”

You sighed, unsure what to say.

"It's Los Angeles," he said. "Not Antarctica."

You blew air between your lips, looked up at him for a second. The curl of hair that dipped onto his forehead, the way his mouth pulled up in the corner like it always had.

“I love you, Y/N. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

His words didn’t offer any relief and you spent most of the night staring at the ceiling, tossing and turning and wondering how on earth you were supposed to make a decision.

Leaving him in London felt stupid. A few bumps in the road and you were ready to jump ship?

But staying and hoping for a ring or a shared address felt even stupider, somehow. You couldn’t pass up a dream job and hope that things would go well for your career if you weren’t going to work for it.

A few hours of rest came after 3am, your morning coffee was a tad bitter and the clouds in the sky seemed to match your mood. Maybe you should have spent more time thinking it over, talking it out, even calling your mum or Katie for advice.

But you couldn’t have told everyone about the job offer without a certain answer, and unfortunately, the person you wanted to talk to the most didn’t seem like he could be impartial.

You’d been upset, you’d been feeling disconnected from him, but that didn’t erase all of the good times and the happy memories you’d made, right?

Naomi and Tyler locked themselves in your office for lunch on Friday, they promised that they’d never tell your boss and they swore they supported you either way. Tyler used an expo marker to make a pros and cons list of staying in London and Naomi came up with a points system for each bullet on the list.

You stared at it, looked at the names of all of your friends, your family, your favorite cafes and restaurants in London. At the very bottom of what had become a long list of reasons to stay was his name.

And on the other side, Tyler’s poor drawing of an engagement ring sat beside a big question mark.

You didn’t know what the future held for you and Harry, and maybe that was okay. You didn’t know what would happen when you packed your life into a suitcase and moved to New York, but you’d survived to tell the tale.

They were quiet, eyes darting from the board back to you as they waited for you to say something.

You sighed, Tyler shifted on the couch in your office and Naomi smoothed out her blouse.

“I can’t take it,” you said.

Tyler’s eyes went wide, “really? You’re staying?”

“I can’t leave,” you shrugged. “I can’t leave him behind and leave my friends and start all over in a new city right as I’m really finding my groove here again.”

“Okay, I know we said we’d support you either way but I would have been fucking pissed if you went,” Tyler admitted, moving closer to wrap his arms around you.

You laughed, let him squeeze you before Naomi joined in.

“Me too,” she confessed, a smile on her face when she pulled away. “But I would have at least faked happy for you.”

You bit back the doubt and second-guessing, used their excitement to fuel a regretful email.

Thank you so much for the opportunity, but after careful consideration I cannot accept this position due to the geographical location.

Your thumb hovered over the small blue arrow, a wave of panic flooded through you when you hit send, like somehow, something inside of you knew that everything was about to change.

join the tag list here | talk to me

tag list: @thurhomish @styles217 @ursamajor603 @mleestiles @determined-overthinker @g0bl1nqueen @hsfics @sing-me-a-song-harry @theresnooneheretosave @cronias13 @rainbowbutterflyboy @unknown7549

AN: apologies in advance for the cliffhanger......except I'm not sorry lmao

[yamithediaperdork]

Baby bird and Super daddy (DC)

it was Friday afternoon and school was out which only meant one thing for a group of young sidekicks: it was time to haul their butts to San Francisco and more to the point to Titans tower.

Oddly though one member of the titans wasn't getting his normal ride from Gotham to the tower with his mentor Batman, AKA Bruce Wayne but inside had been picked up in Smallvile by his surrogate big brother Nightwing who was also giving a ride to Kon-el, AKA Superboy.

Sulking and pouting in his costume, Robin AKA Tim drake was blushing and his bottom looked a little more puffy then normal, but only a expert would know to look and see it.. so Naturally Dick had.

"So I'm not one to judge, I mean, I've know you and Kon where hooking up for awhile." Dick said, smirking and while he kept a eye on the controls of his aircraft, he made sure to steal looks back at the blushing big time Tim who had been tugged into Kon's lap. And of course Kon was smirking.

"but I just need to know, Is my little brother from anther mother in huggies because you two are kinky, or Kon needs to stop topping for awhile?"

"DICK!" Tim shrieked and whined, burying his face in Kon's shoulder and whining.

"He tried to make me his little guy, needless to say it backfired." Kon chuckled, and rubbed Tim's back and patted the boys bottom, a faint crinkling being heard only by Kon due to his super hearing over the dim of the plane.

"Oh, I HAVE to hear more..but before that.. I think I have a juice box or two if the little guy is thirsty." Dick offered.

"Dickkkkkk!" Tim whined and pouted, shooting daggers though his mask.

"Well he is a thirsty bitch, but he had a big ba-ba of fresh milk before we left." Kon chuckled.

"Hate you both." Tim whined and tried to squirm out of Kon's lap, but he was a boy of tissue in a boy of steel's grip, and wasn't going anywhere.

As Dick chuckled, Kon reached into Tim's belt and pulled out a superman logo pacifier and popped it in the boy wonders mouth and rocked him, and in seconds Tim had gone night night and Kon was free to tell the story.

Tim had pleaded and begged to hang out with Kon-el for the two days he had off from school back in Gotham (the staff was recovering from the latest attack by a bat rouge, Riddler this time.)

Bruce had tried to say the time could be used to help out with Gotham but after getting Alfred on his side it had only taken anther half hour before Bruce was dropping Tim off by the Kent farm, commenting on how much extra baggage he had taken with him for just going there for Thursday and Friday (Tim had spare clothes at titans tower)

Tim had come up with a excuse that he might help on the farm and didn't wanna end up smelling like cow dropping and Bruce had let it go.

Superboy of course who's X-ray vision was coming and going at this point had been able to spot right away was was in the extra luggage and just smirked to himself.

The Kent's of course knew without being told that Tim and Kon were dating, Connor just wouldn't shut up about him and they were practically all over each other calling it rough housing.

"If that's what you kids these days call it. Take it out to the barn." Was all Pa said, not looking up from his newspaper.

Once out in the barn, Tim went right to work turning on the puppy dog eyes and kissing Kon's neck and blowing in his ear, things that drove the boy of steel wild.

"Koooon, I have a hawt idea we should try out." Tim said in his 'I'm so cute you can't refuse me' voice which normally had Kon wrapped around Tim's little finger.

However forewarned Kon was ready and kept his control in place, though asked what Tim wanted to try out.

"Well have you ever heard of diaper punishment or age play?" Tim had asked, opening the luggage and holding up a teen sized diaper with little bat symbols on it and holding it out, grinning ear to ear.

Kon however, returned that grin with his own and played along, though not like Tim had expected.

"oh I see, You wanna be my little baby bird! Cute! and you even got bat diapers! Adorable!" Kon gushed as Tim's jaw dropped.

"W-What? No! I-" Tim started, blushing bright red.

"Ohhh I've heard of this, you're gonna act like you don't want it so you can be a pouty little boy while enjoying your diapie wipies~" Kon chuckled, dashing up and snatching the diaper from the smaller boys hands and planting a smooch on him, tongue dominating Tim's mouth and feeling the fight go out of Tim for a second.

he also felt the boy wonder less then wonderful hard on press against his leg and broke off the kiss.

"well I think that answers whether or not you want daddy Kon to make you a good little baby bird." Kon said.

"I what.. No! I was gonna.. you were gonna.." Tim whined, flustered and trying to will away his hard-on, but but there was no amount of zen training with Batman that was going to make the boy wonder's stiffie vanish.

"Oh look, you have a paddle, and some baby outfits.. paci's and ba-ba's..Damn you must REALLY wanna just be a helpless little diaper dork huh sweetie?" Kon was saying, looking though all the supplies tat had been meant for him and super warming up to the idea of babying Tim.

There was even a pair of jean overalls with crotch snaps so a certain diaper boy could work on the farm!

"and look at all these diapers! Somebody plans on making LOTS of presents for his super daddy huh?" Kon added.

"NO I DO NOT! THAT WAS ALL MEANT FOR YOU!" Tim whined and stomped a foot, hands balled in fists and at his sides.

Sadly, this did nothing to help his argument.

"Baby bird, that's enough of the attuide. You need to take off your big boy clothes and lay down so I can get you in a diapie or else mister man." Kon said, smirking but trying to have a authoritative tone, picking up the paddle.

"YOU DON'T HAVE THE BALLS!" Tim yelled.

Sadly as it turned out for Tim's poor soon to be bright red backside, Kon had the balls and more.

On a scale of 1 to 10, Kon guessed the effort he had put into the spanking (and being nice enough not to use the paddle too!) was about a 3 or 4, but from the howls and sobs that had escaped the soon to be pampered sidekick, you'd of sworn he had gone all out.

'Man, either full on humans are more fragile then I thought, or Tim just can't take a spanking!' Kon mused as he cleaned up the puddle that the boy wonder had made during his ten swats, and let's just say it wasn't urine. 'Though for someone who's sobbing so much with his nose in the corner..'

"Baby bird, you're gonna wake up half of Smallville with that sobbing, I'm gonna need you to tone it down or I'll have to get creative with gagging you." Kon called over sweetly.

Tim, with pants gone and butt glowing bright red from the spanking and having his hands on the back of his head turned around from the corner and moved his mouth as if to argue, then apparently thought better of it and meekly nodded his head.

"I-I'll try.." Robin sniffled and whined, any trace of him trying to be dom had left his body when he'd creamed himself from being spanked.

"I could give you one of your paci's, but you have to promise to be a very good boy and not spit it out, I'll just pop it back into your mouth anyways." Kon offered.

Looking around the dirty floor of the barn, Tim made a icky face and nodded he could be good and opened his mouth for the customed Superman paci, with the large oversized rubber nipple making Tim start to drool down his chin in seconds.

"it's too bag you didn't pack a enema kit, I bet you have the CUTEST 'i'm pooping!' face baby bird!" Kon commented, having laid most of the items out on his bed and chuckling at the whimper that escaped from Tim.

"Shucks, and Pa and ma Kent kicked us out to the barn for the night.. I know ma has a nice big one. Ah well, there's always tomorrow." Kon chuckled and shrugged.

Tim gave a series of muffled protests around the paci turning a little pale at the thought of getting a massive soapy enema while Kon and the Kent had breakfast, though it was also making him get a little excited.

"Hmmm? Oh I see someone likes the idea~ thats great! I'm sure Ma and Pa won't mind having a baby around the house." Kon laughed.

Tim whined and wanted to argue, wanted to take out the paci and say no way in hell,m but his body betrayed him again and he made anther puddle instead.

"Sheesh, You must be backed up like crazy.. Better get you pampered before you paint the walls."

"Wait, did he really cream himself again just from-" Nightwing asked, snickering and glad he'd switched to auto pilot for this.

"NO I didn't!" Tim whined and huffed, squirming in his seat.

"Baby bird, what did I tell you about telling fibs?" Kon warned wagging a finger at the smaller boy.

"...OK maybe I did.. But it's not my fault! you know how hard it is to crank one out at the mansion since Alfred doesn't approve!!" Tim whined and sulked,

"Actually back in my day Alfred just left me tissues and Lotion and a note asking I keep my voice down." Dick chuckled, though he blushed a little as he recalled it.

"That's SO unfair!!" Tim whined and huffed.

"Don't worry about it baby bird. now that you'll be my little guy at least once a week I'll make sure you're never backed up again." Kon teased and kissed Tim's forehead.

"My hero.." Tim huffed. "Just finish the poopie story."

To say the Kent's were a little shocked the next morning when A clearly diapered Tim was lead over, sucking on a paci and dressed to go to work in the field would of been a understatement, but as the human couple that had raised Superman from babyhood to adult, Had been the home of Matrix while she was still adjusting to life on this earth and were now looking after Kon,,they got over the shock rather quickly.

If anything, Kon had called it and Ma Kent dotted on baby Tim right away, though to Kon's disappointment (and maybe Tim's) she turned down the idea of giving Tim a enema for fun.

"Those are just in case the widdle cutie is all backed up!" she scolded Kon, who pouted a little but backed down.

Breakfast was egg's and bacon for the Kent's and Kon, and a bowl of oatmeal for widdle Timmy who (thankfully!) was too big to fit in Kal's old highchair, but they did have a booster seat he was put into and had one of Kal's old bibs tied around his neck.

"You know, after we get the farm work done, we could go into the wood shop and likely make him a high chair." Pa mused.

"W-What?" Tim asked, his spoon dropping into the bland icky oatmeal.

"Oh, get idea pa! Think we could make him a crib too?" Kon asked, grinning ear to ear.

"I don't see why not. Just a shame Most of Clark's old stuffies didn't make it." Pa chuckled.

"heh, I can help with that. I've been making teddy bears for the church to sell so I think I could make our new widdle great grandson one or two. Do you want a teddy bear Timmy?" Ma asked and reached over, using the bib to wipe a spot of oatmeal off of Tim's face.

"I...I..I.." Tim whimpered and squirmed like crazy in the high chair, suddenly thankful that Kon was the only one with hearing good enough to heard what he was doing to the front of his diapers, though Kon just smirked.

"Trust me Ma, he does."

[watermelonlipstick]

Dreams, Chapter 5

If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:

When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.

GET. READY. This is a bigger chunk but I really think it’s worth it. 

Title: Dreams, Chapter 5

Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 5343

Summary: Dean’s birthday proves easier than expected in some ways and harder in others. 

Warnings: angst, fluff, swearing, alcohol, s l o w  b u r n

           Sam pulled back from you, opening one eye drowsily. “Are you okay?” he says, voice gritty with sleep.

           “Yeah, I…he didn’t die,” you breathed, confused.

           He cleared his throat. “What?”

           “He always dies. He fell off of Bobby’s roof, but he just broke his ankle, he, he didn’t die.”

           Sam rubbed his face with his free arm, trying to wake up more in earnest. It was still dark, so it couldn’t have been later than 7:30. You hadn’t been asleep for more than a few hours but suddenly felt beyond alert. “That’s good, right?”

           “I—yeah, it’s good. Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you up.”

           “Do you want to talk about it?”

           The reflex was to say no, usher Sam back to sleep. But your reflexes had already been wrong once today. “Can we?”

           The way Sam kept the surprise off his face was admirable. It was the first time you’d agreed to talk about the nightmares that plagued you since losing Dean. He propped himself up on his elbows and flicked on the small lamp beside the bed. “What happened?”

           You told Sam all about the dream, sparing only the details you couldn’t really remember or only made dream-sense, like the way you knew it was 4th of July weekend without having been told. He listened thoughtfully, the focus obvious in his expression. He waited a long beat when you were done, sure not to step on your moment of vulnerability.

           “What do you think it means?” he asked gently.

           You thunked back onto your pillow to gaze up at the popcorn ceiling. “I don’t care, to be honest.” The almost-dark made fuzzy static pulse in your vision. “I think I’m going to write about it, actually,” you said, and startled yourself.

           “Oh, uh, okay,” Sam said encouragingly. “Do you want me to—” he asked, pointing a thumb over his shoulder.

           “No, no. I’ll be back in a little bit, see if you can go back to sleep.”

           Sam nodded with more than a little concern and you climbed over him, yanking an old sweatshirt out to throw over your wilted tee and scampering off to the kitchen table.

           The house was ice cold and dark aside from the ever-present Christmas lights and you could feel the needles that had begun to drop from the tree under your bare feet, rapidly cooling on the cheap flooring. You picked up the notebook and pens Sam had gotten you and sat down at the kitchen counter to write.

           In the days that followed, the constant and varied nightmares of Dean’s deaths returned. When you woke up, more and more often making it to the morning, you kept writing to Dean about them and sometimes your day as a way of processing. You never ‘told him’ about exactly what happened and tried to focus on the sweet things you remembered that made the worst dreams a tease, moving them to your daytime memory and trying to wash away the despair the nightmares left you clawing through.

            By the middle of January, you and Sam had fallen mostly back into old patterns. The Christmas lights were still up, a sort of night light against the long Midwestern nights, and you couldn’t help feeling a small sense of despair sweeping up loose pine needles when Sam was in the shower every day. You didn’t want the winter to end, as weird as that sounded with the ice and chill and fingertips that never warmed all the way. It felt like if you moved into spring that you were leaving the time-out that you’d created and would have to figure out a longer-term solution than this rented cabin, all thin drywall and poorly insulated ceilings. Even your jobs didn’t feel permanent, the summer vacationers sure to come back and reclaim their spots in the town as it came back to life with the plants.

           The ‘mostly’ was that the boundary you broke with Sam never truly came uncrossed. When you were washing dishes he would come stand behind you, the heat of his lips seeping into the shoulder of your old sweatshirts. You’d intertwine your fingers with his while he drove, realizing only when you went to open the car door and found yourself tangled, or running your hands through his hair while he read next to you on the sofa. You never met Sam’s eyes in these moments—somehow it felt like a secret, private thing that would collapse into dust if gazed upon, some sweet, small creature you were protecting. Neither one of you talked about it in the time since that tequila-soaked night.

           As much as you’d needed to be close to him before, you began craving Sam in a way that scared you. You’d always found him beautiful in the way you admire someone you love, but you caught yourself taking notice of the pillars of muscles along his back when he broke down stock boxes and the dark swoop of his eyelashes. The comments about how lucky you were to have him that used to make you nervous your cover was about to be blown started to make you ache a little with fear and something you couldn’t place. You felt a bizarre flick of jealousy when some twenty somethings drinking White Claw dragged their eyes over him at the bar before leaving on their snowmobiles, like he really was yours to claim. It seemed like a manifestation of your fierce attachment and unresolved grief not only for Dean but your old life with the Winchesters, when they sort of were: your teammates and no one else’s. You resolved it had to be and explained it away without inspection, even when these ‘isolated’ moments became less and less isolated.

           Before you knew it, you were hurtling toward Dean’s birthday.

           “What should we do on Sunday?” you asked early on a Thursday afternoon, trying to keep your voice light and easy while you and Sam got ready for your last day of work for the week.

           “I don’t, uh, I don’t know.”

           “Did you guys ever do anything when you were little?”

           “I mean, not really. Sometimes like a cake or whatever I guess, but Dean was always better at that stuff. By the time we were in our 20s, he only wanted to go meet girls and play up the ‘kiss for the birthday boy’ schtick.” Sam grinned sheepishly as though you didn’t know who Dean had been.

           You couldn’t help but smile, remembering the cocksure half-boy you’d met all those years ago. “Okay, well, if you didn’t have anything in mind, I have a couple ideas.”

           “Oh, yeah, I had only really come up with a cherry pie and a bottle of whiskey.”

           You stood up from the kitchen table and grabbed Sam’s empty plate, leaning into his drying hair for long enough to inhale the minty earthiness of his shampoo. “I mean, that’s a given.”

           In Sunday’s late morning you slipped out of the house while Sam was in the shower, leaving a note behind that said you’d be back in a few minutes. You careened down the road to the quaint main street, running through the list in your head. The grocery store was first for the only bottle of scotch they kept in a tiny plastic container and the fixings for bacon cheeseburgers, then the coffee shop had a cherry pie that looked better to you than whatever pseudo-Entemann’s they had in the limited grocery bakery section. The hardware store had everything else you needed and some extras; you praised the cold climate necessity of having multiple places in town to get gloves and thick woolen socks as you threw a couple on the checkout with the rest of the haul. It was awkward to get everything in the trunk, and you were thankful in this moment that you weren’t trying to drive the little sedan you’d had years ago when it was just you, even as annoying as it was to park the Impala sometimes.

           Back at the cabin Sam was solemnly cleaning up, his eyes red as he wrung out a mop. You took the pie and whiskey out of the bag and put the other groceries away without removing your coat. In truth you only took off the boots you were wearing as a concession to Sam’s mopping, feeling itchy to get back outside and let the complexity of your emotions explode into fresh air unencumbered.

           You tossed a pair of new woolen socks to Sam, who caught them against his chest. “You’re going to want these.”

           “What? Where are we going?”

           “Somewhere I think Dean would’ve liked. Put on some layers, too.”

           Sam obeyed with a crooked eyebrow, coming out of the bedroom a few minutes later looking like a lumberjack catalogue model. You didn’t say anything when you realized the hoodie he was wearing used to be his brother’s.

           “Ready?”

           “I’m not sure, I don’t know where we’re going,” Sam answered honestly.

           You gestured toward the door and he followed you out to the car. Thankfully it had snowed that morning, and tiny billows of powdery snowflakes blew up around each car that you passed on the way.

           The hill was massive. It was a little surprising considering the flatness of the majority of the Midwest, and you’d had to remind yourself that there were some small skiing outfits in the upper half of the state when you’d found it, sure that it was a garbage dump that had been covered lazily in grass seed and left to its own devices. Less impressive surrounding slopes reassured you when you’d scoped it out a few days earlier, and the fresh glittering snow made it look even more spectacular now than you’d remembered. You decided not to push it taking the Impala onto the snow, instead parking at the dead-end you thought was closest.

           “We’re here?” Sam asked, obviously still confused.

           “Yep. Come on,” you said, enjoying the surprise more than you’d thought you would.

           Popping the trunk made it obvious when the bright plastic sleds were wedged in alongside the miscellaneous weapons whose permanent home it was. You watched Sam’s face as recognition dawned, closely followed by a smirk you knew was in large part to humor you. Yanking them out in one big pull, you handed Sam the green one and one of the pair of gloves you’d gotten that morning.

           “These are huge, where did you even find them?” he chuckled, popping the plastic tie between the gloves and sliding his hands into them.

           “You’re huge, it’s not like I can put you on a kid’s one. Besides they must be pretty serious about their sledding up here, these were just from the hardware store.”

           Sam shook his head and waited for you to put your gloves on. They were comically big on you, but you knew you’d regret not wearing any and tried your best to grip the sides of the plastic sled through them as you took off toward the hill. After a few steps, Sam took the sled from you without a word, able to hold it easily with both his well-fitting gloves and the many extra inches between his arms and the ground.

           The walk up the hill was somewhat of a trudge but the way the crisp air sliced through your lungs was a welcome distraction. Snow dampened the ambient noise so all you could hear was Sam’s rhythmic breathing like a mantra, and with one foot in front of the other, by the time you got to the top you felt like you’d been meditating. The view was amazing from the top, a painting or old illustration with its tiny homes and cottages over meandering fields, the snow washing everything out as if you were watching someone else’s dream.

           “Should we race?” Sam asked, the swirled pigment of his irises lit up by the reflection off the snow.

           The next thing you heard was Sam’s laugh behind you as you took a few big strides and jumped onto the sled. Careening down the hill, your hair snapped around, tiny whips cracking into your wind-tenderized cheeks as you tried in vain to steer the sled in slices across the straight pass. Sam’s cackle was distant but comforting over your shoulder. You closed your eyes to feel the speed underneath you and the wind across your face; listen to that laugh that you’d heard so little recently, an old favorite song to be put on repeat. On January 24th of all days it felt like you were being baptized in the clear crystal sound of it.

           When you came to a stop, Sam was only a half second behind you. You fell over in a fit of giggles listening to him play-whine about cheating and “Totally not fair, after I carry your sled all the way up for you!”

           “I’ll beat you again with no head start! Unless you’re chicken,” you taunted, brushing snow off your legs to start back up the hill again. Sam scrambled to his feet, passing you up quickly with his huge strides as you started to run after him. Gasping with laughter and exertion, you and Sam half-wrestled and chased each other to the top, collapsing to your backs like snow angels. After catching your breath, you propped yourself up on your elbows to look over at him.

           “Rematch?”

           Sam’s smile, all straight pearl teeth and cold-flushed cheeks, was as breathtaking as the icy wind as you tore down the run, this time on your stomach with your head low like a bullet, trying in earnest to win again. The front lip of the sled in your fingertips rumbled against little imperfections in the snow. You glanced to check how much of a lead you had on Sam and had barely turned your head before you realized you were also dipping your shoulder, tilting the sled on its greased-lightning path and therefore you with it. Sam was right on your tail and narrowly missed crushing you when you fell off the sled by bailing out of his, your legs tangling together with misplaced velocity. You tried to hold still so you wouldn’t catch his face with a flailing limb, only moving after a beat when it seemed like the collision was over. Sam’s fall seemed to have been more graceful than yours, as he still had a hand on his sled and only a left arm and hair full of snow that he shook loose like a puppy.

           “Are you okay?” he said, getting to his knees to reach out to you.

           You could feel the scrape on your cheek before you got up, but Sam’s wince was only minor when he saw it which was reassuring. He snatched off his glove and brushed snow off your face gently, barely grazing the broken skin. The warmth felt so nice and you would’ve curled up in his palm like Thumbelina if you could. “What’s the damage?” you asked, trying to think about the way your breath puffed up in clouds around you rather than the snowflakes caught in Sam’s eyelashes.

           He was analytical as he took it in, tilting your head carefully in the light. “Doesn’t look too bad. Does it hurt?”

           “Nah. Did you think I’d get soft that fast? I used to get stabbed like once a month.”

           Sam chuckled. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Do you want to go home?”

           It didn’t feel as odd as it should’ve, knowing exactly what home meant in this context. “And let you think I only won by cheating? Fat chance!”

           “You don’t even have a sled anymore!”

           You glanced around you and saw your sled sitting smugly an easy 30 yards past the base of the hill. “Gimme a ride?”

           It was a little awkward until Sam sat down on the sled with each heel straddled and digging into the snow, allowing you to crawl between his legs without unintentionally sliding down the rest of the slope. He seemed unsure of himself as he wrapped his arms around your torso, and you hooked your hands around each of his legs to do your part to hang onto him. “Ready?” he asked, his breath warm on your neck.

           When you nodded, he unstuck his heels and you shot like a racehorse down the hill. Sam’s chest was solid as a rock behind you, cushioned with his layers and fastened with his seatbelt arms. You could feel the muscles in his legs moving against your hands, trying to balance the weight of the two of you on the flimsy material. Despite your fall only moments ago, it was safe in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time. The ride came to a stop only a few steps away from your cast off sled.

           You turned into Sam to get to your knees before standing up and slipped on a wet patch on the plastic, the melted snow turning the surface impossibly slick. It made you fall forward into Sam, his seated position not giving him enough stability to stay on balance—the sled shifted back underneath the both of you and brushed your lips across his as you ended up with your scraped cheek against the rough canvas of his jacket.

           “I—oh my god I’m sorry,” you stammered, springing back gracelessly.

           Sam looked somewhat like a little kid or a doll, sitting wide eyed with his legs still spread out around you. You stayed back on your knees feeling like you should move slowly, that maybe you could back away unscathed yet. Sam reached his hands out and you thought it was okay, he understood you wouldn’t cross yet another line with him, that it was a simple mistake and he was going to move past it or ask for your help up, and then his heavily gloved hand slid into your hair and he was leaning toward you, the breath that had felt so comforting on the back of your neck as you flew down the hill now on your bottom lip. Your needle-sharp inhale drew that air from him, and you started to feel dizzy. He waited for a moment, searching between your eyes for you to pull back, to turn it into a joke, but you couldn’t. Something in the light pressure of his hand was an anchor and you found yourself glancing at Sam’s lips and slowly, agonizingly, Sam closed the distance between you.

           His lips were so soft and gentle that it made you feel like you were going to cry and then you were crying, just one hot salty tear that stung the fresh abrasion on your cheek as you moved against him, this foreign and scary part of the person you knew the best on this earth. Somehow kissing Sam was exactly how you would’ve guessed it would be—tender and sweet and reverent. The sound dampening of the snow amplified your other senses: the feeling of the cheap Gore-Tex catching one or two hairs as Sam supported your weight, the small brush of Sam’s breath through his nose, the tight flick of the wind against your coats. It was over as quickly as it started, leaving you and Sam staring at each other bewildered while your hair tangled around you.

           You could feel that your eyes were as wide as Sam’s. Completely unable to formulate a thought or feeling, much less something to say, you silently extricated yourself from the sled. Sam did too, staring at it like it was some complicated spell, even turning away from you as you crossed over to your own store-bought chariot. You could read his tension even in his back, the tight stretch of his shoulders as he clutched at the scruff of his neck, and just wanted to make it better.

           “Okay, rematch for real this time? I would say I won’t fall again but, no promises.”

           Sam looked scared when he turned back to you, his voice gruff when he choked out a halfhearted, “yeah, sure” and followed you up the hill. He was far enough behind you that you couldn’t hear his breathing anymore and it took him a little bit to reach you at the peak. His body seemed like it was cracking around him, aging in moments as he shakily got into his sled beside yours. You wanted so badly to tell him it’s okay, it’s just some dumb mistake, we were just goofing off but you knew it wasn’t true and you didn’t want to lie.

           The only thing you could fix your mouth to say was, “Count us down so you can’t say I’m cheating again,” and hope he heard the apology and forgiveness in it.

           Sam obeyed dutifully and you kicked off down the hill, trying to use the speed you gathered and the clarity in the way it split open your lungs to try to understand what had just happened. The same trip that had felt like glorious ages before was over in a second and you were up out of your sled before you remembered you were supposed to be measuring whether you or Sam had gotten down faster.

           “Tie, we’re going again!” you yelled over your shoulder as you did your best to bound through the deep snow up the side of the hill, not waiting to see if he was following you.

           Once again at the top, ragged and out of breath and only a few steps ahead of him, you took a second to collect yourself before putting your sled back in the snow and holding it in place with one foot.

           “I’m sor—” Sam started before you cut him off.

           “Okay, third time’s the charm!” you said with panicked cheerfulness that you knew instantly was too much, but Sam stopped talking and dejectedly sat on his sled next to you.

           You and Sam spent probably an hour more sledding, your legs turning to jello underneath you as you ran up the hill over and over again and your cheeks getting more and more wind chapped, before Sam finally smiled, exasperated at some joke about still beating him up the hill with legs that were half as long. It was all the fuel you needed to keep chipping away at him until the sun started dropping and the chill broke through all your layers.

           The two of you plodded through the snow back to the car together. Gloves and sleds in the trunk, you flopped into the passenger seat with that sudden too-hot feeling of getting out of the wind and tore at your coat to desperately strip some layers. Sam threw his own jacket in the back. Without giving him a chance to protest or hook up his phone, you turned on the tape deck and Pink Floyd’s Wish You Were Here pounded out like rocky silk.

           “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” you murmured. You looked over at Sam, who burst into a kind of frantic laughter that you completely understood. You couldn’t stop yourself from laughing either, because of course this was playing during the tense peace on Dean’s birthday in Dean’s car, and then you and Sam were cry-laughing in the rapidly humidifying air of the Impala while Syd Barrett waxed poetic. By the time the second chunks of Shine On You Crazy Diamond started, you were gasping for air and clutching at your sides.

           You drove home after that in relative silence, the fatigue of fresh air and running all afternoon catching up with you. Sam took a shower while you put together burgers, switching spots with you to cook them while you washed up. They were pretty good due in large part to how seriously Wisconsinites take their cheese, bacon, and beef, and you wolfed yours long before your hair had stopped dripping onto the collar of the threadbare sweatshirt you’d changed into.

           The first shot of scotch burned like it always did, offsetting the sweet tang of the cherry pie and reminding you of the way Dean used to taste when you kissed him at the end of a long night. You looked out the window at the last purple glow of the sunset as it turned the evening into deep, endless inky blue.

           “I’ve gotta—I’m so sorry,” Sam spat out like the words were beating their way out of his mouth.

           “You don’t have to be sorry,” you murmured, unable to immediately meet his gaze and looking down at your pie.

           “I just—I can’t—I don’t know what the fuck is going on,” he stammered.

           You couldn’t help but smile at the absurdity of the whole thing. “Join the club.”

           Sam smirked but it was mirthless. “No, I know, but it’s just…I don’t know. I’m sorry.” He stabbed a deflated cherry with pursed lips, and you watched his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. The fork clattered to his plate. “It’s not getting any easier. Every day I wake up and I’m so mad. It’s so fucking unfair that I have to stay here without him because I know that’s what he fucking wanted, and I feel like there’s no point in trying to have anything like good or normal because I’m just running out the clock. And then today’s Dean’s fucking birthday and I kiss his girlfriend—what is wrong with me?”

           The outburst hung in the air, a toxic smoke that excluded everything else. You slammed the rest of your glass of scotch, relishing the way it scalded. “So I’m just Dean’s girlfriend?”

           “No, that’s not what I—I mean I guess—it’s not like you aren’t—I don’t know, it just seems like you’ll always be his girlfriend.”

           “Are you still Jess’s boyfriend?”

           It was the absolute most cruel and wrong thing to say and you regretted the words as soon as they left your tongue and crashed into Sam, not even really knowing why you’d thought them. They distorted his face in incredulity and betrayal but you didn’t back down, maintaining eye contact until he snatched the bottle and refilled both glasses. When he spoke again his voice was gravelly and broken.

           “I guess I deserved that.”

           “Sam, this is fucking weird. It always has been, us being alive without Dean, and if you’re just now getting that then you’re not as smart as I thought you were. I don’t—I don’t really know what’s going on either, but I know that you’re the only thing that’s keeping me from ending up with a bullet in my skull or in a locked ward, so if you’re waiting for me to forgive you for something, for anything you’ve ever said or done, it’s already forgiven. But we’re too tied up together for every tiny redrawing of the boundaries to send us over the edge. Please.”

           “Tiny redrawing of boundaries? I kissed you!”

           “And I kissed you back, Sam! What do you want to do about it? What’s the absolution here? If you want to leave, I’m not going to stop you. Take the Impala and I’ll find some other car, I’ll borrow the Kaisers’ other one or something. Or maybe you want me to go and I’ll go; I’ll do anything you want me to. I’ll leave right now, you never have to see me again if that’s what you want but I know Dean loved you and loved me and I don’t think he would’ve wanted you to torture yourself all the time so what is it that you want?”

           “I want us to be fucking normal and I don’t want to feel like I’m cheating with my brother’s girlfriend! I don’t want to have a cover story and I don’t want to keep running away!”

           “Then fucking stop! Stop feeling guilty and talk to me about this stuff!”

           Sam laughed, hard and bitter and choked off.

           “I’m serious. We can’t keep doing this shit, at least I can’t. We need to start talking—about Dean, about everything. It’s like this lump of decay and we’re just spraying Febreze and not dealing with it.”

           Sam’s mouth popped open as he tongued his molars. He bit his lip in frustration before crumpling up his napkin and threw it on top of his half-eaten pie. “Okay. Let’s talk.”

           You weren’t expecting that. For all the ways it had seemed like Dean had been the more emotionally closed off, he was always much easier for you to read than Sam, who managed somehow to talk about things without actually communicating how he felt. It was good if you needed to be supported but made it extremely hard to be there for him. Refilling your glasses a bit more conservatively, you offered up an open palm to let Sam go first. His jaw tensed and he swallowed hard.

           “No bullshit?” he asked.

           “No bullshit. What’s the point of bullshitting anymore? After everything?”

-

Continue to Dreams, Chapter 6

Thanks again for reading! If you liked it, check out my Masterlist or send me a request!

Tags: @sams-sass​ @anxiousbarnes​ @deanwinchesterswitch​ @akshi8278​ @itsjensenanddean​ @flannellover67​ @weepingwillowphoenix​ @tj-drinks-tea​ @whatareyousearchingfordean​ @winchestergirl2​ @winchest09​ @samwisethegr8​ @fawnxng​ @nurse-sarahrn​ @lovers-in-japan-reign-of-love​ @deanwanddamons​ @stressedoutkitten​ @winchestershiresauce​ @tatted-trina6​ @percico-heronstairs​  @downanddirtydean​ @queenoftheunderdark​ @lyarr24​ @waywardwifey​ @thinkinghardhardlythinking​ @wonder-cole​ @sergeantsea​ peachyafshawn

And as always, if you want to be on my taglist, were on the taglist and changed your handle, or I lost track of it, please let me know!

[im-gettingby]

Thirsty Thursday

extreme dehydration edition

Not sure if anyone’s started this yet, but I actually drafted this post in advance this time so I’m gonna post it 😂

All fics above the cut are G or T

Things To Remember When Loving Simon Snow by @problematic-mind

You’ve probably seen the associated art for this, which is just as lovely as the fic. It’s in second person which is very, very cool. Just exceptionally soft and thoughtful.

All’s fair in love and war by @vampire-named-gampire​

We all love a Watford-era magic-gone-wrong fic. Especially if it involves Baz getting exposed. This is a very good and fun fic, with cool magic!

Under the Mistletoe by @seducing-a-vampire​

AU where Simon is a mall elf and Baz is his nemesis from uni. It’s so funny. Literally every other line had me ROLLING. An excellent Mordelia, as well.

Dark Clouds Roll by @snowybank​

ugh look it’s a struggle not to rec at least ten of their fics every time I do a thirsty thursday, but I’m TRYING to keep it short so that you actually read one (and then go read all the others because you’re obsessed.) Baz & Simon are trapped in a room. Baz needs blood. Wherever shall he get it?

Detectorists by shushu_yaoi_lj (I can’t figure out your new URL, sorry!)

Simon is one of those metal detector guys. He tries to detect on Baz’s property. It’s funny.

I’m going to tag everyone tagged in this rec list, and everyone who actually bothered to read such a long and rambling post!

M & E under the cut.

**the last fic under the cut is a trans headcanon rated G, but it’s under there so as not to trigger anyone :)**

Rated M

Knock, Knock by shushu_yaoi_lj

this fic said simpard rights and I’m so here for it. Basically, Baz walks in on a lot of compromising situations involving his boyfriend and his boyfriend’s best bro. Of course, it’s all a big misunderstanding ;) Go read it!

The Anniversary Effect by star4545

This is a really unique, weird, dark fic. It’s so good and interesting - go read it! (tw for character death and sexual assault)

Sword of Mages Tattoo by RooBadley (incomplete)

It’s funny, it’s sexy. There’s character development and tattoos. Each chapter is punchy and makes you want more! The fic is updated frequently and completely written, so don’t be afraid of reading it as a WIP.

Rated E

A Pint’s A Pound by @stillmadaboutpetra​

um. I don’t know what to say about this. It’s just -- the work of a crazed genius. Poetry in fanfiction form. Together, the characterization, writing style, and content create the most incredible and hilarious reading experience you will ever have.

Also it’s a rival bakeries AU involving detailed baking knowledge, puns, and Simon as an ex-GBBOer.

Goodbye, Norma Jean by @captain-aralias​

magickal mishap turned fuck or die (kind of). Super interesting use of magic sharing. It’s smart, it’s funny, it’s porn.

crawl into this space inside your mind by @knitbelove​

Speaking of smart & interesting. (Speaking of writing style that contributes to the overall experience.) Wow, the utter brilliance of this thrall fic is a lot to take in.

Mr. and Mr. Snow by @wolfywordweaver​ (incomplete)

Have you ever thought, I want to read a fanfic that is funny, sexy, heartwarming and angsty, all at the same time? Do you just want to see Baz and Simon getting into hijinks as sexy assassins? Then this fic is for you. Fully written and updates regularly. Seriously, this is a masterpiece!

Everything with you by @nevergonnacallmedarling​

this fic said fuckboy rights and I love it. Look, in canon Simon and Baz are virgins w/ a lot of intimacy issues, which is great, but let’s not forget that sleeping around is great too, if that’s your thing. And it makes for a fun and excellent story. Basically, they’re flatmates and friends with benefits who also have a lot of other friends with benefits, because they just can’t get it together. The whole gang is part of this sexually hyperactive incestuous friend group. I’m not sure this will be as funny to people that didn’t know friend groups like this in college, but it was very funny to me.

this last one’s rated G but is a trans headcanon, so it’s under the cut!

boyfriends, boxes and bad coffee (the one where baz and agatha are trans) by catrastiel

A good Baz & Agatha friendship fic with trans Agatha, whom I always love, and Baz figuring out that they might be nonbinary, and it’s just like, awkward and sweet and I love it.

[lemondoddle]

The Incident

ao3 link

It was Thursday afternoon and Jon was hiding in his office, pretending that he wasn’t avoiding Martin. Well. Alright. He was avoiding Martin a little bit, but it’s not like he was avoiding him out of malice or irritation, he just… can’t really look at him right now, which doesn’t exactly sound better. Look, the whole mess had started because Martin had suddenly become a lot more...tactile around Jon. It’s not that Martin wasn’t a touchy-feely person in general- Jon noticed Martin’s friendly touches with Sasha and listened to rave reviews about his hugs from Tim- it just seemed so sudden and unlikely for Martin to extend that to Jon. He assumed that technically being Martin’s superior (along with being a bit of an ass if he’s honest with himself) would have deterred the man from being so friendly, and yet...

  It was little things at first; a hand on the shoulder to get Jon’s attention, seemingly not being aware if their hands brushed while he handed out tea, and on one particularly distracting occasion, a large but feather-light hand placed on Jon’s back as he squeezed past him in the breakroom. Each time left Jon still feeling warmth in the areas Martin had made contact, as if he was still there. Nothing he couldn’t shake off and ignore to fall back into his work though. At least- it was like that until The Incident.

The Incident had occurred just minutes ago.

Jon had been walking through the stacks of the archives looking for a specific statement that might have been related to the one he’d just recorded. He would describe making his way through the shelves as “a bit lost in thought” while others might say “dead to the world”. Either way, his attention was preoccupied and therefore did not notice Martin making his way from the other end. The thing about the stacks is that there is very little space in between shelves even for one person, much less two. Martin did his best to stay out of the way, as he often seemed to do, but inevitably bumped against Jon as he made his way past. Jon jolted back, snapping out of his trance, twisted to face the sudden contact and immediately slammed his back into the shelving unit behind him somewhat violently. Upon impact, some of the file boxes haloing Jon began to wobble and tip forward. Martin took notice and lunged forward with an “Oh!”, splaying his arms out to stabilise the boxes. Once the commotion settled and Jon was aware of his surroundings, he desperately wished he wasn’t as he took in the scene in front of him. Pinned against the shelf with Martin in incredibly close proximity, arms on either side of Jon’s head. None of which was helped by their disparage in height leading to Jon being nearly face-to-chest with the man.

It took several agonizingly long seconds to process what on earth just happened before either of them started to move. “Oh christ- I’m so sorry Jon I didn’t mean to startle you-” Martin sputtered, face flushing an impressive shade of pink as he backed away quickly as he could while still being mindful of the shelves. As he did so his hands rested feather-light on Jon’s shoulders for just a moment before falling away, but Jon felt that phantom heat all the same and had to take yet another moment to compose himself.  

“It’s, uh, it’s fine Martin. I was a bit zoned out there, I had no idea you were there.” Though not quite as red as Martin, Jon’s face still burned as he desperately avoided eye contact. While the shock and mortification dissipated, Jon’s mind lingered on that small touch and took note of another feeling, familiar from his previous moments of contact with Martin that he couldn’t quite place. There was something else there, an underlying emotion lurking after each of the brief touches Jon received, but only after the contact had ceased. Relief didn’t feel quite right. Coldness? No, it was more- wait.

Loss. Longing. A desire for the contact to return and to stay.

Fucking Hell.

At this realization coming on with all the grace and tenderness of a freight train, Jon did his best to spit out an excuse and promptly sped out from the stacks, refusing to look back and silently thankful for always having been a fast walker. He snaked through the bullpen back to his office and caught a glimpse of Tim and Sasha, who were fairly in view of the whole scene and most likely having an oscar-worthy dialogue through eyebrow and facial expressions alone. Jon somewhat succeeded in not slamming the door shut before collapsing into his chair, throwing his glasses off and pressing his hands so hard into his face he’d be concerned of bruising in any other circumstance.

So, there he was. squirrelled away in his office and wishing he could deny himself as easily as he does the statements that surround him. As if taking on the archaic archives mess in a position he was unqualified for wasn’t enough, now he’s got a traitorous heart to boot. Great. It just had to be Martin of all people hadn’t it? Might as well be his luck to fall for the one person he’s been the biggest ass to. What on earth was he going to do now? He was only good at ignoring his feelings when he didn’t look too closely at them, but now that he has unwillingly confronted them he doubted they’ll be easy to push down again. Before Jon could get even farther down his thought spiral though, there was a knock at his door.

“Jon? Are you alright in there?” Martin’s muffled voice could be heard through the door.

 Uh oh. He was in no way recovered enough to be facing anyone at the moment, let alone the source of all these… feelings. Jon froze like a deer in headlights (or as Tim would say, a deer in the headlights of lo- nope nope shut that thought down immediately. focus.). It seems as though Jon’s indecisive silence was enough of an answer for Martin, who called out again.

“Jon? I’m coming in there, okay?” 

Shit. Act natural. Jon scrambled around his desk for a few seconds and managed to shove his glasses back on and grab hold of a statement copy and a pen to pretend like he was doing something as Martin timidly stepped through the door. “Hey, I just wanted to check that you were okay after I knocked into you, you looked pretty spooked back there if I’m being honest.” Jon didn’t even have it in him to pull a face at Martin’s use of the word “spooky” as he fumbled for a sufficient answer.

“H-honestly it’s okay Martin, not the first time I've been startled due to focusing on something, that’s not what I was worried about.” It seemed like a perfectly reasonable response, that is until Jon replayed the last sentence in his head and realized his mistake.

“Really? Then what was?” Martin’s face scrunched up a bit while he recalled their encounter, which only seemed to deepen the furrow in his brow. “Oh, jeez Jon you should have told me that I was being too touchy with you if it made you uncomfortable!” His hands fluttered to reach out in an apology before seemingly catching himself and withdrawing again. Jon wished that implication would have brought relief, however he found panic spiking yet again and a desperate need to correct it as he rose from his chair.

“No no Martin i- it’s fine I don’t mind when you, ah-” he stopped short. This was all getting to be a little too much for his brain right now.

“Really? Because you don’t sound terribly convincing at the moment..”

“Yes, really! Look-” he reached out to Martin to prove his point. “See? Completely fine.”

Martin’s face turned from slightly concerned to wide-eyed and rapidly reddening. “Um...Jon?” he squeaked out.

“Yes? what is it?” Jon finally looked down at where he reached to Martin and briefly wondered what Elias’ strategy was in hiring a head archivist who lacked a brain.Turns out that Jon hadn’t settled for just a hand resting on the arm, oh no, instead he opted for taking Martin’s hand in his. So there they stood in Jon’s office. Holding hands. Jon wondered what the odds of lighting striking him were while standing in a basement.

“O...kay.. Um, do you think you maybe need to sit down again?” Jon would have liked to be irritated at the way Martin was speaking to him as though he was an elderly particularly off their rocker, but he had to admit that the rapid string of events has done quite a number on his composure, so he conceded and moved back to sit down. “Uh, J-Jon?” 

“Hm? Oh-” Realizing that his hand was still gripping Martin’s, Jon finally pulled his hand away and sat down. Martin let him settle down for a moment before grabbing another chair and pulling it to his side to sit by Jon.

“...Right. Now,can I ask what’s actually going on, Jon? Because even before what happened today you've still acted odd when I would touch you, but I had just kinda shrugged it off before, thought it was just you being you, I guess. But seriously, if it makes you uncomfortable I’ll gladly stop! You just need to tell me.”

 “Martin, I can assure you that how I have reacted has not been because of you specifically,” He hoped Martin couldn’t tell how bad of a liar he was, “I apologize for worrying you, but you don’t have to change how you interact with me. I-i don’t mind.”

Martin stared at Jon while the words sunk in before he tentatively reached his hand out and placed it gently (always so gently) on Jon’s arm. “So. is this, okay?” Jon once again stilled and did his best to sound sure but not too eager.

“Yes.”

“A-and...this?” Martin’s other arm reached out to rest on Jon’s other arm as well, mirroring the touch from earlier. “This is okay too?” His eyes were locked onto Jon’s, face in an intense yet unreadable expression. Jon felt his own hands moving of their own accord to lay on Martin’s arms, only trusting himself to nod as they stared into each other’s eyes. Jon’s brain was already frazzled at this point but he could have almost sworn that the space between their faces was shrinking and inching together, closer, closer…

“-Hey Jon if you’re done being weird I finished the follow-up on the goldfish statement if you w- uuuuuhhhhh…” Tim’s voice rang loud and clear as he barged in but quickly stopped short at the sight in front of him. The two flinched away from each other instantly, Jon smacking his elbow on the desk and Martin nearly knocking off the contents resting on top of it.

“CHRIST Tim!! Knock! Please!!” Martin squawked, face turning bright red that, combined with his freckles, made him look like a rather embarrassed strawberry. Jon was caught between glowering at Tim and avoiding eye contact with him at all, still rubbing his sore elbow. Tim’s face on the other hand was transitioning from bewilderment to an unreasonably cheeky grin while he caught on to the situation.

“My, my! So sorry to interrupt the newlyweds, how ever rude of me!” If Tim’s smile got any wider it could have been statement worthy. “Come to think of it, I just remembered some important case notes I want to check over with Sasha, it’s very important she hears it. Well then, I’ll just leave you two to it then, eh?” And with a dramatic wink, Tim left almost as quickly as he entered. Jon and Martin stared at the office door for a few moments waiting for their heart rates to settle when Martin broke the silence.

“I should uh, go out and check on them before they get too loud about it.”

“Right…”

Martin looked back to Jon once more and, after a moment’s hesitation, quickly grabbed Jon by the hand and gave a light squeeze, offering a shy smile before quickly heading out of the office.

 Jon, left staring slack-jawed at the door once more, decided what his next move as Head Archivist would be; dig out his phone and earbuds, pull up an ancient playlist, lay on the floor and maybe think a little too much about hands and warmth. 

[some-cookie-crumbz]

Years Wiser

Years Wiser Fandom: My Hero Academia Pairing: Toshinko Summary: Midoriya Inko and Yagi Toshinori may be grown adults with grown adult problems and grown adult lives, but that doesn’t mean they handle all of it like that. Age is most relative, after all. Standard Disclaimer: If you read and enjoy this, please give it a like/ reblog so I know if I should write more.

Midoriya Inko felt silly. Incredibly silly. Why was she sneaking about like some kind of hooligan? After all, what did she have to be timid or shy about? It wasn’t like she was doing anything wrong! No, not at all! She was just your average woman out doing average things and-! She flinched and darted around a corner when she heard an incredibly familiar laugh coming from the other side of the column she was ducked behind. “When you say it like that, Todoroki-Kun, you make it sound like I’m careless!” Izuku’s voice was light and filled with mirth, causing her to peer around the corner at him, staying just out of his line of sight.

Todoroki-Kun and Iida-Kun were walking to his left while Uraraka-Chan and Asui-Chan were walking to his right, if her memory served right. Iida-Kun made some kind of grand, exaggerated hand gesture. “While his wording may seem blunt, it is also incredibly accurate!”

“Especially since that’s exactly what I meant,”

“W-What? But that’s so mean to say! I’m not careless!”

“You act carelessly because you care so much, kero,” Asui-Chan chimed in quietly, poking the corner of her own mouth thoughtfully.

Izuku let out a small, distressed noise in response and a fond smile stretched across her face. It filled her with warmth to see her precious baby finding his way in life and finding new friends to help support and encourage him. She knew that it had been hard for him when he’d been thought to be quirkless, how he’d been bullied and had only a few scarce friends he could rely on. But as he adapted to his powers and grew, it was clear he was leaving the past behind him. It was enough to make her lower lip tremble and her eyes mist up! But, she reminded herself, that part of this was only thanks to the man she was actually here to see. She peered to make sure Izuku was distracted by his friends again, their voices starting to taper off, before turning and continuing on her path.

Behind her, she didn’t notice the large brown eyes watching her curiously. “Huh,” Uraraka mumbled to herself, tilting her head.

“Hm? What is it Ochako-Chan, kero?” Tsu asked politely.

“Oh! Sorry, I thought I saw Midoriya-San for a second!”

“Huh? Mom? What would she be doing here?” he mumbled quietly, turning around to peer over his shoulder. Thankfully enough, Inko had already disappeared around the corner out of sight.

Elsewhere, Inko floundered her way through trying to navigate the UA campus. She’d only visited a handful of times both since and following the construction of the dorms. She encountered a polite enough young man with purple hair who was able to direct her to the faculty office, making sure to thank him several times and bow for good measure. She adjusted her grip on the circular holder in her arms and adjusted the strap of her purse, reaching inside to make sure that the little gift box tucked inside wasn’t visible. Her cheeks immediately flooded with color as she recalled what she was doing here and Mitsuki’s remarks that morning.

Midoriya Inko had never had any real interest in Pro Heroes before. She appreciated the work they did, but that all changed when Izuku was accepted to UA. Suddenly, she was being dragged into the very real life of a Hero relative. It had been horrifying and heartbreaking and difficult at first. She remembered having so many panic attacks fretting over her beloved son - her only baby - being constantly placed in life or death scenarios and constantly breaking himself. She had been torn for so long over it all, over voicing her concerns. She wanted to do better for Izuku, to support and encourage him the way she hadn’t when he needed her before, but there was still the instinct in her to protect him. He was her whole world, her pride and joy, her moon and stars. She didn’t want to take his dreams from him again, not when they were so close. She had cowered and then she had lashed out in anger and then she came to acceptance. It was a roller coaster to say the least.

And from that all, she came to meet All Might, the Pro that had started it all for her son. And, much more importantly, she met Yagi Toshinori.

The man was an anomaly when she met him. She was used to seeing the large, muscle-bound form of him on television and the posters decorating her son’s walls. But when he appeared he was broken and bandaged, seeming like a wisp of the man so revered. She expected him to be haughty and confident and assert with her refusal to let her son continue on. She had expected a fight to break out. But, he had left her startled when he instead acknowledged his fault, bowed his whole form to her floor, pleaded with her to allow Izuku back into his tutelage and vowed to give his life for the boy. In that moment, she saw the first glimpse of who he was outside of the mask he wore, saw what lurked inside him deep down.

And she had been unable to reject that. Her whole life she had been vulnerable and breakable. How could she tear this man down further at his lowest point?

And at first, that was all there was to it. She had allowed her baby bird to leave the nest they’d made and take flight. It had been hard, being alone in the apartment most of the time. She had some part time work to do at a nearby library but that only filled the void up so much. The first call came in one late Thursday evening, as she was figuring out what to make herself for dinner, from a number she didn’t recognize. She chanced answering it, a brief part of her wondering if it was her ex-husband calling to check on things. Maybe he had caught wind of their son’s newfound abilities from all the way across the ocean and wanted to try and revive that relationship, she didn’t know. “Hello?”

“Ah, hello, Midoriya-San. I hope I’m not calling at an inconvenient time,” Yagi Toshinori said, his tone even albeit a bit awkward.

Red alarms went off in her mind. “What has happened? Is my Izuku okay? Did he hurt himself with his Quirk again?”

“N-No, no! Young Midoriya is doing just fine!” he answered her just as frantically. She released a small whimper of relief as she let her body sag into one of the kitchen chairs. “I’m so sorry, I should have thought this through better. I just… I wanted to call and offer to give you weekly updates on his progress.”

She blinked before feeling a small smile turn up on her lips. “I’d like that. Thank you, All Might,”

“Oh, no need to call me by that name! Just Yagi will be fine, going forward,” he said with a relieved chuckle.

And so began the weekly calls between them. At first they stayed to the topic of Izuku and his progress; how he was adapting to his Quirk, how his control was improving, how his grades were looking for his classes and the like. For a good few months that was all it was, until Izuku’s progress was steady enough that her worries were mostly abated and slowly new topics started to slip into the conversation. They learned of a shared adoration for silly competition shows centered around cooking, baking and other such things. Yagi confessed that, despite not being a particularly skilled cook himself, he always liked observing the process and feedback that was offered. She then invited him over one night for dinner and a season finale of something, and a new tradition started up. They’d try to get together once every week or two and watch the latest episodes of this or that together.

It was all very simple and domestic and something she had missed dearly. She had missed having someone around her own age to converse with and watch shows with. She had missed sitting on the patio with a cup of warm tea, sprinkling an amicable silence with silly anecdotes from either of their times. She had missed all of it so very much and was so grateful to have befriended Yagi Toshinori. So, when she realized that his birthday - known because of Izuku - she had decided to get him a little something to show her gratitude. She had gone out and looked for a nice blend of orchid oolong tea to gift him, as well as taking the time to bake him a dark pearl chiffon cake. She had noticed that he tended to prefer his desserts with a bit of bite and tartness to them.

Bakugo Mitsuki had been over for lunch while she’d been working on the cake earlier that day, humming to herself as she skittered to and fro in her tiny kitchen, pouring the batter into the tin carefully. The blonde woman had a knowing grin on her lips as she watched her, leaning her cheek into the palm of her hand and leaning heavily on it. “It’s been a while since you’ve done some baking. Who is it for?” she asked conversationally, though there was a certain underlying tone in her voice.

Inko would have noticed it if she’d been giving her all her attention. “For a friend’s birthday today. I went and picked up a lovely tea to pair with it, too,” she said giddily, leaning over to carefully slide the tin into the oven.

“Ah, that tall blonde man, yeah? Seemed kinda familiar,” she mumbled before pushing up and heading in as well. She plucked the up the drained mixing bowl and spoon from the counter. “Anyway, I’m impressed and proud, Inko! It’s about damn time you got back in the game!”

“Back in the…? What do you mean?” she asked innocently.

The other raised an eyebrow while swirling the spoon in the bowl to get a good amount of excess batter on it. “You’re making this for your boyfriend, yeah?”

The green haired woman let out a loud squeal, the noise akin to an overheated tea kettle, while her face turned dark red. “W-What! N-N-No! Y-YYa-Yagi-K-Kun and I aren’t-!” She cut herself off to hide her face with her hands.

“Yagi-Kun…? Oh! All Might!” she hummed, lifting the spoon up and licking some batter from it. She let out a contented little sigh at the flavor. “Ah, amazing as usual, Inko. I have to say, the man has good taste; in desserts and in women.”

“M-M-Mit-Mitsuki! It isn’t like that!”

Ruby red eyes blinked slowly as they watched her. “But you want it to be, right? And so does he, if those looks he casts your way are anything to go by,” she said, waving the spoon about as she spoke, dripping a little bit of batter on to her arm.

Inko whimpered and slumped against the counter, her mind whirling. Had Yagi-Kun been looking at her like that? No, no! There was absolutely no way! Even if he wasn’t still working or able to appear as the man the public adored, this was still the All Might they were talking about! He was so well known and well loved he could have anyone he wanted! And even without the muscle, he had so many endearing qualities about him! He was kind but also bashful and overly polite, which was charming in its own way! And then there was that smile of his that, even now, still had this warmth to it that was comforting! And his eyes were such a lovely shade of blue, like a cloudless sky in early spring! He wouldn’t have to settle for someone like her; someone who was plump and anxious and meek and was raising her son all alone and-!

Her thoughts were cut off when a brief flash of pain flared up from the back of her head, making her yelp.

“I know what you were doing in that little head of yours, sweetheart, and you’re gonna stop it,” Mitsuki snorted, picking the abandoned spoon back up. She took another lick at it before pointing it at Inko. “You and Hi-Shithead haven’t been a thing for over seven years. The guy comes and visits you frequently. You two have similar hobbies and interests. He looks after your son better than that deadbeat ass that knocked you up. And you’re an absolute darling, Inko. You’re compassionate and affectionate and thoughtful. Any man would be lucky to have you on his arm; Pro Hero or not. So, what are you stalling for?” she prompted evenly.

She hadn’t known how to answer that. And, even now, with her heart hammering so hard it was rattling her body, she wasn’t sure. Perhaps it really was the fear of rejection, of being told she wasn’t good enough? That she wasn’t worth the time to invest? And what if he didn’t reciprocate? What if it ruined everything they already had, and she lost one of the few friends she had? That was a terrifying thought in and of itself.

Yagi-Kun and the time they spent together meant so much to her. She didn’t want to ruin that over what was most likely a crush.

“Excuse me,” An annoyed, deep voice barked at her, causing her to shriek and throw her arms up. She barely managed to use her Quirk to call the cake back to herself before it fell to the ground, taking a deep breath as she meekly peered over her shoulder at the form addressing her. Their appearance was dark and shaggy, as if they either didn’t have the time to put themselves together better or didn’t care enough to. She was inclined to think it was the former, though. He looked her up and down once before letting out a small hum. “You must be related to the problem child.”

She plastered on a tight smile at that, already certain she knew what he meant. “Midoriya Inko, it’s a pleasure to meet you. And thank you for taking care of my Izuku,” she said as she bowed.

He stared at her before turning to reach for a nearby door. “The student dorms are on the other side of the campus, but he may be doing some training with his friends. The grounds are-!”

“U-Um, actually!” she squeaked out, wilting a bit at how he stared at her for interrupting him. She adjusted the carrier in her hand again. “I wasn’t here for-! T-That is to say, um… I’m actually looking for All Might!” she managed to choke out, her eyes skirting about the tiled floor like mad.

“All Might?” he repeated. She nodded without lifting her head. He threw the door he’d been reaching for open and stepped inside. “All Might! There’s something going on with the problem child again!”

There was a clatter inside. “W-What? Is Young Midoriya okay? Is he in the infirmary? Or is he with Principal Nezu?” Yagi-s familiar voice asked frantically, perking Inko up and making her giggle a bit. She couldn’t blame him for the reaction.

She carefully stepped a bit closer, standing in the doorway and meekly waving at him. He was standing at his desk, hands on the surface as he looked ready to take off running. There were a few other teachers gathered in the area, reassuring her that she was at the faculty office like she’d wanted, but she could tell that even the ones that weren’t looking at them were paying attention. “Hello,” she said meekly.

“Midoriya-San? It’s good to see you, but what are you doing here?” he asked worriedly, carefully stepping around his desk and walking over to meet her.

She held the carrier up, taking a small breath to relax herself some and knowing that it would do nothing. “I, um… W-Well, today is your birthday and… I thought… I wanted to give you something! But I wasn’t really sure what kind of things you may want or need, so I thought that I could bake you something. It’s a cake! Oh, but that may have been obvious! A-And I did get a small something to go with that, too!” she rambled, reaching into her purse to hold out the little gift box where the tea tin rested.

She cautioned a glance up at him and was stunned to see his own cheeks tinted pink, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck shyly. But, a shy and genuine smile was turning up on his lips. “You’re incredible,” he breathed, the blush going darker.

She giggled and averted her gaze. “It’s nothing. Just… Just a thank you, for being you,” she said, holding his eye as she spoke.

His blue eyes widened, filling with an emotion she couldn’t place, before his smile brightened even more. “Would you like to come in for a while? I’ll start some water for the tea and we can have the cake together,” he suggested, offering one of his hands to her while ushering her inside with the other.

She nodded. “I’d like that very much, Yagi-Kun,”

[lokisgame]

A Generous Donation [9]

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7] [part 8]

Scully knocked on the office door and went in. Walter Skinner was a tall, respectful man, bald and bespectacled, with an air of a ranking officer, which he was actually, an army doctor who served three tours in Vietnam. People who came to his door found confidence and brusque reassurance. They probably wouldn't try to cry on his shoulder, but they would definitely be in good hands. "Tell me." She said, seeing her old friend look up from his coffee and the file in his hand. He took off his glasses and smiled at her. "I don't want to know whom you bribed, begged or fucked, but it worked." 

"What?" "We should have looked at the father from the beginning." "Will doesn’t have a father," she said sitting in a chair opposite him and Skinner raised one eyebrow, "I mean he does, obviously, somewhere. But I told you, I used donor sperm for the IVF." "You don't have to lie to me, Dana," he said, starting to look as confused as she felt, "I don't care." "What are you talking about, I didn't even think about looking for the guy." "You didn't? Because this last sample you brought," he glanced at the papers again, "Mulder, Fox W., is a match, so close that it could only be from a member of immediate family." Her heart started sucking all the blood back into her chest, in double time. "That’s impossible." "See for yourself," Skinner said and handed her two sheets of film. She took the slides to the light box, and pinned them side by side. The similarities were striking, even for her rusty genetics. "Oh my God.” “Nothing short of a miracle,” he said, standing behind her. “Can we use it?” “We need to do more thorough exams of the donor, of course, but if he checks out, he’s your best chance. It's best to act quickly, while Will still has strength to go through the chemo. We'll contact the guy, and if he agrees, schedule the appointments. If everything goes well, we can have him donate by Thursday. We'll start Will on preparations as soon as we have the results." She didn't hear half of what he said, staring at the blinding white light behind thick and thin bands of hard evidence.

Scully didn't know if she should laugh or cry or sing or curl up in a corner and wait for the second coming, but somehow she found her way back to her office. She took messages from the nurse at the nurses station and fumbled with them, looking for the key, when she heard her name called near by. Looking up, she saw a pair of smiling blue eyes. "Hi sis, I just dropped off some books for Will." "Charlie," she sighed and finally snapped out of it. "Something's wrong?" He asked, slowing down, "you look like you've seen a ghost." She barked out a laugh that had nothing to do with humour. "You have a moment? I need to talk to someone." "Sure," he said, radiating concern. He followed her inside and took off his coat, and sitting on the couch watched her bustle around the coffee maker. "Shit," she said finally, when the machine began to gurgle and sputter, "there's no easy way to say it, so I'm just gonna say it." "Okay." "Remember that guy I told you about?" "The Harvard guy?" Charlie said, ready to roll up his sleeves and go kick some ass. "He's William's dad." His jaw dropped to the floor. "What?" "He's his biological father, the semen I used for the IVF," "Fuck, I know what it means, but how?" "He must have sold his sperm to the bank, guys do that." "Did you tell him?" "Not yet. I just found out." "Will you tell him?" Silence. She paced the office worrying her cuticles, while the coffee maker spat and bubbled and Charlie leaned over the coffee table, catching her hands on the next pass and pulling her onto the couch beside him. "Stop that, you'll hurt yourself," he said, keeping her hands in his. She held on, finally looking up, her eyes wide, terrified. "What do I do?" "Whatever it takes to keep Will safe." He said, squeezing her hands, "will he donate?" "First he needs to talk to Walter, his DNA matches, his blood work is clean, but history matters too." "Will Walter tell him about the father part?" "No, the DNA match is what's important, 7 in 10 recipients don't find donors inside their family, and there is a chance, however slim, that it's a coincidence." "How slim?" "One in five billion?" She said, not believing it one bit. "Okay, so he is Will's dad. Will he freak?" "I don't know," she sighed, getting up again, "he likes Will, and he volunteered for the test. But I was practically crying into his shoulder when he did, so he could've been trying to make me feel better." "I need to meet this guy, looks like I might have a new brother-in-law." "Don't mock, I had a rough month." "And you opened up to someone you barely know." "He's a psychologist, he had training." "Then I'll send him a bottle of scotch." She was coming back with the mugs, when she suddenly stopped. "Oh God." Panic in her voice made him drop the tease. "What?" "What if he says no?" "What if he says yes?" He said, leaning over to take the coffee from her, before she fed it to the carpet. "What if he says yes." She repeated, even more panicked. "How will I repay him?" "I don't think it's the kind of debt that you pay back." "He gave me a son, I can't ask for more." "You have no choice. Will, you're doing it for Will." "Charlie," she said, her voice smaller, "I like this guy. What if he freaks and runs?" "He won't." "But what if?" "Will you stop? You're starting to spiral." "I can't, how will I look him in the eye?" She kept going, her voice flat, "now that I know, how can I not tell him." Her face was going paler and paler and he couldn't stand it anymore, he puled her into a hug and held tight. "Calm down," he said softly, rubbing her back, "it will all work out." "It's too good to be true." "Look at it this way, you can finally tell mom she was wrong." "Oh no, mom!" She moaned and hid in his arms deeper, "you can't tell her. You know how she was, about this whole IVF deal." "Yeah, and look, turns out the guy really was great all along." "One in five billion."

Though they parted very amicably not more than a few hours ago, a voice inside him kept screaming 'go to her!' And life taught him to listen to these hunches. It wasn't nearly lunchtime yet, but Mulder figured, he might as well drop off the food early. What's the point of bringing lunch, if it's past lunch hour? He breezed by the nurses station and was walking down the hall, when doors to one of the offices opened and a young man came out, with Scully right behind him, her shoulders slumped in distress. The guy turned and pulled her into his arms, dropping a kiss on top of her head as she hugged him back. Mulder watched the scene unfold and his blood ran cold, his steps growing slow. Young, tall and handsome, curly red hair and horn-rimmed glasses, and definitely used to sharing her space. He paused ten feet from them and the guy looked up, catching his gaze, breaking the moment. Scully felt him shift and looked around as well, her eyes fell on him and she blushed. "Mulder," she said, trying to smile and hide some new fear in her eyes as she turned to the man. "Charlie, this is Fox Mulder, my," She hesitated, and Mulder wasn't sure what hurt him more, the pause or the two seconds it took her to let go of the other man. "Hi," the guy smiled warmly, stepping back from her and reaching out to shake Mulders' hand, "Charlie Scully, Dana's brother." "Fox Mulder," Mulder smiled back, shaking and trying to shake off the foolish feeling, while trying to figure out what bothered Scully, all at the same time. "Is everything okay?" "Let's hope so," he said cryptically and turned back to his sister, leaning to kiss her forehead, "I'll leave you two to talk, call me later, 'kay?" Scully nodded and let go of his coat sleeve, and Charlie tuned to leave, but then paused again. "Oh, by the way, mom called, Missy's in town for Thanksgiving, roll call at dinner on Thursday." "We'll see," Scully sighed and he nodded at them both one last time before leaving. Mulder watched him go for a second then turned to Scully, forgetting lunch for a second. She didn't look up so he stepped closer, taking her brother's place and brushed her arm with the back of his hand. "Hey, what is it?" She managed a glance at him, but it didn't last, her eyes were wet again. "Can't talk about it?" She shook her head, and her shoulders shuddered when she took a deep breath.   "Come by, when you’re finished," he said quietly, rubbing her arm gently, "I’ll make dinner and…" That seemed to cheer her up a bit. "You?" She smiled, a little more real this time, sparing a glance at the paper bag in his hand. "Yeah, you’ve fed me for two days, I'm still one day behind," he said, "we'll eat and talk and see if we can make it alright, whatever it is."   And as he spoke, he watched her transform, puling up walls around her fragile self and putting her game face on. "You'll get a call from the transplantation institute," she said quietly, "they'll want to talk to you." "Is this what this is about?" Scully nodded, dropping her gaze, and it all fell into place. "Hey, c'mere," he said, relieved, and puled her into his arms, hugging her tight and feeling her arms sneak under his coat. "I won't bail on your son." He whispered and she hugged him tighter, "he'll get through this." "You think so?" "I know so," he said, just for her. "If he has even a fraction of your strength, he'll be okay."

[ijenblue]

Save the Good News for Friday

24YrOld!Giorno x Pregnant!Reader

“Eh?!”

“(y/n)? Is something wrong?”

“B-Bucciarati...I’m hallucinating! There are too many lines here!” You shout at the shut door, fingers trembling and fumbling with the fifth pregnancy test. All the pink instruments laid splayed out in the sink with the same perfectly parallel lines. Your frantic eyes glanced at the lines again and again, hoping and praying that one of the lines would fade away or that Bucciarati would come in saying ‘it was all a joke I faked the tests’. But neither happened.

“Bucciarati your playing with me...right?”

“Of course not. Why would I joke around about something so important?” He shouts back at you through the bathroom door, and you feel your breakfast start to resurface. “A-Are you..?” He asks nervously, not wanting to finish the question for fear of the truth. When he hears the sounds of you retching he’s quick to open the door and stand by your side, holding your hair up for you and rubbing your back gently. He didn’t need to hear you say it; Bruno had guessed you might be pregnant after he started taking notice of your unusual snack requests and how often you excused yourself just to immediately get sick in the bathroom. He was the one that bought the five tests and shut you in the bathroom.

Once you finished up and gargled mouth wash, you slowed your rapid heart and sat back on the bathroom floor, trying to curl into a ball in the corner.

“What am I going to do Bucciarati!” You sobbed and brought your knees up to bury your face in them, letting the tears flow freely as you thought of all the bad omens surrounding you and your newly discovered child.”I-I’m too young! I can’t raise a kid right now.”

“Well, you should talk to the Father. I’m sure Giorno would be delighted-”

“Giorno! I can’t tell Giorno! He can’t have that kind of weight on his shoulders right now, h-he’s a Don!”

“That doesn’t excuse him from taking responsibility. Besides, this isn’t necessarily a bad thing.”

Slowly, you lifted your head to search his sapphire eyes for a lie. And when you found none, you felt your breathing slow and your tremors come to a stop. He’s right, maybe your nerves just got to you before your reason could. But even reason can’t sugar coat your unexpected pregnancy. A lot of work needed to be done before then.

“Okay, I’ll tell him later.” Bucciarati pondered your answer and then immediately protested.

“No. Wait till the end of the week.”

“Why?”

“Because we always like to save the good news for Fridays.” He says with a smile. “He’ll be busy all week so at least on Friday you’ll have his complete attention.” You nod and stand with the help of Bruno who had been nothing but helpful whenever you were troubled. You placed a gentle hand on your stomach and didn’t notice when a smile crawled up your face, but Bruno did. And he was sure your child would light up both of your lives like the angel you needed.

You separated with the secret kept between you two but as the week went by, your secret came closer and closer to spilling.

That night when you saw Giorno, he commented on your strange change of palet. He picked up your disgusted face at dinner and asked why you seemed so displeased with dinner despite the food being one of your favorites. You sweat a little nervous and then replied ‘Maybe my tastebuds change’ despite 7 years not going by.

On Tuesday Giorno found you writing names in a notebook. He was curious, asking why you were writing them and you nervously stuttered out that you were writing a story. He smiles and points to one name and says "Bellona is a pretty name." And you're not sure why, but suddenly you hope that you are blessed with a daughter.

On Wednesday you were approached by Mista as he teased "A little birdie told me we might have a mini GioGio on the way". You turn into a blushing mess before you grab him by the ear and pull him down so he can hear you clearly:

"If you tell Giorno I will kill you." You whisper before Giorno rounds the corner and asks what's going on. You glare at Mista and soon the two of you are claiming you were just in friendly disagreement.

On Thursday, you and Giorno enjoyed an especially beautiful brunch together. You sat in the gardens and shared a lovely conversation that had your heart beating. He seemed especially intimate, singing his love with words that you could feel, admiring your beauty and listening to you talk about your week so far. He even held your hand as you sat on one of the stone benches to study the lively garden. Your head on his shoulder and the forgiving sunlight of late-mornings kissing you both.

You spoke of the future very lightly. You didn’t want to bring work into this but you were curious as to what he wants to do now. And he smiles as tells you that all of his plans involve you.

“I think I’m ready for something more.”

“I’m sure it’s you. It’ll always be you.”

And you want to burst into tears right there. Your heart swells with happiness because now you knew he wanted this family too. You almost broke and told him straight then but in the back of your head Bucciarati reminded you:

Save the good news for Friday

And when Friday came, you woke late into the morning with your skin naturally glowing. Giorno was missing from beside you but that was normal in the mornings. He liked to beat the sun on most days.

The house was empty; not even Mista could be found roaming the halls. The silence did little to comfort you, leaving you quickly looking to the Don for company. When you found him sitting silently in his private Library with his nose in a book, you ran your hands down his bare shoulders and felt the addicting warmth his body gave up. You planted a kiss on his cheek and he responded by bringing his hand up to cup your face and guide your lips back to his.

“Buon Giorno mia vita.” He says with a kiss

“Buon Giorno amore mio. How is your morning?” You ask as you slide gingerly into the only other seat in the room meant only for you.

“Beautiful, now that you’re here.” He flirts as he sets down the heavy leather of the book and turns his full attention to you. Giorno’s ocean eyes take a moment to study you and you subconsciously shift in your seat when you feel them land on your fuller hips and recently aching breasts; you think for a moment that maybe he was noticing a little too much.

He was observant, and you were nearly 3 months in so you were bound to look like you had put on a little weight. Something like that would never get past him.

“Is there something on your mind?” He asks softly while bringing a gentle hand to envelop yours. You're sure he feels how warm your skin becomes; but now is as good as time as it’s ever going to be. The longer the wait the more time you had to overthink everything.

“Yes, actually. You know...I feel like this room is missing something.”

“Missing something?” He echoed, making sure he heard you correctly. 

“Yeah. I think we need another chair here.” You said pointing to the space between the two of you. “I think we’re gonna need it soon.”

He gives you a weird look and stares at the space between you, bringing his hand to his chin in thought. No one was allowed in this room, only recently did Giorno even allow you to step foot in here. This was because he wanted a room that was meant for family only, where he could keep his most personal belongings. It was a relaxing space but it only had two chairs for the two people who were allowed past the doors.

It takes him a moment, but soon he turns to you with the most excited smile gracing his perfect features and asks: “Are we having company soon?”

You nod and smile at his stunned reaction. But he’s quick to stand bringing you with him and soon wrapping you in a tight hug. He lets his hand travel down to rest on your stomach so he can feel the life pulsating from withing you.

“Thank you for this blessing.” He whispers, warming your heart. And you think to your self that things couldn’t possibly get better in the arms of your soul mate.

But then something falls from his pajama pants pocket and skips twice before coming to a halt close by. Your attention is turned to the sound and your eyes narrow at the small box.”What’s that?” you ask.

“W-we...” He manages to stutter out, bringing his hand up to scratch at the back of his neck in embarrassment. “I guess you weren’t the only one with good news this Friday”.

[georgefancys]

Confection - thoughts! - SPOILERS

- oh we're back to barrington pheloung for all the music? cool. also no joan? sad

- i like the fact they got a female director. thanks producers!

- now this is just making me think of the Hunt in the Forest painting from Lewis: The Point of Vanishing

- 'been at the Keats again, Sergeant?' has the same energy as 'what a lyrical child you must have been' i love max

- morse's dark outfits late in the series are paralleled with hathaway's dark outfits late in lewis. in this essay i will -

- my ass is not loving the food theme

- nice and graphic. cool. also as my dad said, three deaths in five minutes. i approve

- ah, the old smashed watch trick.

- she's not - who morse was kissing in the trailer - is she?

- morse is interacting with a lot of kids this season. i will repeat my earlier thought: it makes it very depressing that he dies childless.

- OH MY GOD HELLO MRS BRIGHT WTF. YOU'RE NOT DEAD/NEVER BEEN IN EXISTANCE

- i'm living for domestic!Bright but i'm still shook at mrs bright actually existing.

- what the fuck does 'she disappointed him' mean.

- FIVE deaths, blimey.

- 'people do despair, morse'. 'doctor i literally have depression'

- Max is so into Morse i'm crying

- Thursday's so romantic i'm still crying. the thursdays' marriage situation is killing me

- constable potter and the postman are gay for each other. or at least definitely potter is gay.

- oh god morse whyyyyyyyyyyyyy must you do this. don't ask her out. oh my god he's becoming so much like old morse. i love and despise russell lewis in equal measure. it can't be easy to plan your character development so it leads towards an already developed, well established personality but russell lewis has gone and bloody done it

- i'm deadass about to cry over this bright and max scene.

- o h n o w i n

- morse really took off his tie and became 200% sexier huh

- 'she decided that a war was preferable to my company' damn morse. damn.

- how the fuck has morse suddenly developed social skills.

- strange is worse than me with the conspiracy theories

- i like box's backstory, it gives him character motivation and makes him a better character. honestly if box is stealing from the police i don't even care. they're corrupt Freemasons anyway. he's totally right about the way they're treating Thursday. sure he's a dick but if he's not a corrupt one idc.

- SIX holy shit, has this beat Service of All the Dead for body count yet?

- max is not taking box's shit i love it

- the direction is really good. i love that shot of clemmie creswell facing the camera with thursday and box with their backs to the camera.

- 'there's more to life than money' 'you know who thinks like that? the rich' box is the working class hero i didn't expect

- potter and the postman are fully gay for each other i'm not joking

- 'a copper's a copper, first last and always' 'where's that got you' DAMN MORSE WENT OFF

- my dad just said it might be the postman. it can't be him he's gay.

- oh my god making morse arrest her is fucking tragic.

- NO WE'RE GETTING ANSWERS TO WHO KILLED GEORGE IN THE NEXT EP I'M GONNA CRY

- That was really good. the direction was the best this season, that final shot of morse walking away in the rain was beautiful. best plot so far as well, i thought. having morse's new gf being the killer was actually so depressing. so was the whole episode tbf

[stubborn-string-bones]

you are very tired and have a lot of work to do before your meeting tomorrow and have a lot of feelings. you usually have a lot of feelings on thursdays! you have extra feelings today. you need to set aside some times to deal with (”have”) those feelings, but it needs to be in the future not now.

you also need to set aside some time in the near future to have some feels about un/compensated in/visible emotional work, boundaries, values, and being honest with yourself about plans and realistic expectations and consequences. this is not gonna happen before your meeting tomorrow. this is not gonna happen before your meeting tomorrow! you have a lot of prep and the prep is more important. moral purity is a trashcan, humans are only ~60% water and cannot be brita filtered, this is the part about being honest with yourself and yes it sucks but you get to make choices and some of those choices sow future resentment and you know this. but you do need to do at least some of this before sunday. in fact! i am officially scheduling some time tomorrow, after your morning meeting and before sundown (at least a little! emotionally and physically exhausted mid afternoon bus catching is a real possibility but you can spend ten minutes acknowledging you have feelings about this, and if that’s all you can do that is fine) for this specific thing. be chrestomanci, put your finger on the timetable, send the feelings to tomorrow afternoon.

you have fourteen hours like sixteen hours now before your meeting > be victim of a change in plans - regroup and reply also, surprise! advocate for yourself about an accessibility issue/accommodation you identified last week - a take a breath and a little extra time so you feel like you have a better idea of what you’re doing tomorrow -> probably you still won’t have time to have feelings before your meeting. this is inconvenient because your meeting now starts around the time you could have reasonably expected it to be over at the latest, and now you have to reschedule feelings too. you almost certainly will not have time to fit them in before your meeting, and even if you do have time you shouldn’t because you don’t actually want to have them before the meeting. plan changes are wacky and horrid like that. in the extremely unlikely event that you find yourself with time before the meeting not devoted to meeting prep, you have lots of a) listmaking to do that is not about feelings just about the tyrannies of physics (time, space, matter, etc), b) various laundry-related tasks -> you are now the potential recipient of schrodinger’s email! it is more like a cat (good) than most emails (bad) because either it won’t come and you don’t have to deal with it or it will come and give you more information. it will not be a surprise, you are prepared either way, this is analogy is a protective cover for your furniture so the mystery box (uncertainty) doesn’t shred your soft chair (schedule) - garbage and recycle - acknowledge you have reasonable underwear options and can put the laundry off another day (without having to procrastinating about it for four hours first) (- procrastinate incomprehensibly much anyway) - teeth, pjs, meds, bed asap, try to sleep, hopefully your tired will override your feelings, if not don’t @me just try your best - get up, food, coffee, shower (hair), clothes, teeth * review communications (what info they do/n’t have, training plans, what they’ve articulated as difficulties and what would be helpful), refresh re: issues and what info have (you did this a little last night, but make some notes about what seems important) * find the docs on yr comp, make yr comp fit for public viewing * check the dropbox i don’t see blank docs, but the 2018 budget is there in docx and there’s a monthly xlsx one to use for an example (in the unlikely event of the blank docs being m.i.a. it could also be copied and reworked) * spend a brief time trying to find your training notes * refresh memory using actual docs/budget submissions (only use own monthly notes if necessary, because you only have scheduled time for the inevitable feelings after the meeting) * script, think about your goals and what you want to accomplish, what is likely to be most helpful and effective, try to troubleshoot - more coffee - pack bag - 1:30(latest) + 2:00 bus - try to be chill and enjoy yourself, you like these people, you value them as humans, you would like to support them in their feelings and experiences, you would like them to feel appreciated and respected and competent, feelings jail is a you problem

have some feelings, make some lists, try to have goals, remember priorities exist (and apparently this needs its own (v incomplete temp) bb list of things that need to be included) - bullshit re: un/healthy un/sustainable un/compensated in/visible emotional work feelings jail, see above - the future, some stuff (and especially your knowledge of it) changed this week. some of the things are potentially really exciting! you are allowed to have other feelings about it too. you have to do some planning and feasibility and goal setting around it. unfortunately, you’re probably also gonna have a lot of feelings about it too (you are allowed to feel tired and frustrated and dreamy and ambitious and scared and sad and hopeful and all sorts of things. there are lots of things! you are not allowed to self-sabotage.) - feelings jail is a strategy, not a solution, do some workbook - check in/do a social interaction each w/ M and a (you are gonna have feelings about this. you will probably need to strategize and/or plan. (nice things! human relationships! so hard!) all this is fine. if you still just wanna curl up on a couch and do repetitive things with (a) needle(s) when you get to this item on the list, tbh maybe like, consider asking if M might also want to, depending on their availability? also just. send the damn texts.) - read the brain problem flow chart post - read the march org newsletter - TRUUST/UU World - this is all seeing at the trees and looking maps of the forest, but there’s also a whole actual forest and you gotta walk in it (and maybe consider an actual walk with the dog)

[bkdk-writings-dump]

Amateur Ghost Hunters

Chapter 7: Several Small Surprises

(First)(Prev)(Next)(All)

“Okay. That’s… I think that’s all the footage we need.” Izuku folded up the camcorder, nodding to himself, then looked up at Katsuki. “Thanks for coming out on such short notice. I didn’t think they’d actually let us in after hours.”

“Mm. No problem.” Katsuki shrugged. “Work doesn’t start too early tomorrow.” That was a lie.

“Oh, that’s good…” Izuku packed up the tripod, slow and methodical, trying not to look at Katsuki. He wondered, for a moment, if the slight awkward rift between them would be evident on camera. “I think this’ll be a good episode,” he said instead.

“Yeah?” Katsuki took the tripod carrier and shoved it in the trunk.

“Yeah. There’s a lot more history to the museum than other places we’ve done, and I think we got some interesting results from both the spirit box and flashlight.”

“Pff. Interesting.” Katsuki rolled his eyes.

“Well, what would you call them?” Izuku crossed his arms. Katsuki made for the driver’s seat.

“Bullshit,” he called over his shoulder, climbing into the car. “Get in, nerd. We’re going home.”

Izuku shook his head, a slight smile cracking on his lips. Maybe there was no rift. Maybe it was all in his head. Maybe he really was over his crush.

Katsuki gave him a smirk as Izuku sat down next to him, leaning back with his hands on the wheel and flicking his eyes like he was checking him out, then smiled wider and pulled out of the parking lot, gaze focused on the road, but cocky grin never leaving his face.

Maybe he wasn’t.

---

“N-no that… that can’t be right…” Izuku mumbled to himself. “I bought groceries on Thursday and… and then there was the spirit box, and I worked normal hours for… oh. Oh no I didn’t. They gave me less hours. They…”

“Something the matter?” Uraraka inquired, leaning against Izuku’s door frame.

“Ah!” he startled, papers slipping out of his hands and into his lap. “H-how did you know?”

“I could hear you muttering from the kitchen.”

“Oh.”

Uraraka sipped her coffee, and Izuku let out a sigh.

“I… I seemed to have mismanaged my money for the month. I’m not sure… I can pay my half of the rent.” He bit his lip, sifting through his papers again at a much slower pace. “I mean… I think I can it’s just… gonna be… a stretch.”

“How much do you need? 50 bucks? 100? I can spot you a few.” Uraraka shrugged.

“Huh?” Izuku looked up, eyes wide. “W-w-wha? I can’t make you do that! You’re not exactly rolling in dough either!”

“I know. But I’ve been making steady money since that youtuber hired me, so I’ve got more than I usually do.” She took another sip of coffee, hardly concerned at all.

“Buh… But, what about saving up? I can’t just… I don’t wanna be a burden. I’m already making you work for free–”

“For a project you care about. For a project that could finally put you on the career track you went to college for.” Uraraka insisted. “I mean, how much longer can you take waiting tables? If you’re going to be riding paycheck to paycheck, you might as well be doing something you love. I don’t think there’s any shame in being a starving artist. We all have to start somewhere.”

“I…” Izuku sighed instead of finishing his thought and shook his head, green curls bouncing around with the gentle motion. “Okay,” came his quiet reply.

“Great! Now get back to work. Those videos don’t film themselves!” Uraraka smiled and whipped back around towards the kitchen. Izuku, meanwhile, remained on his bed, legs tucked under himself and a sudden pang in his chest. She was right; it was a business investment, the first step on his hopeful career as a film producer, which meant there was no room for feelings getting in the way. There was no skipping because what if Kacchan thinks I’m being clingy? or I just don’t know how I feel and being around him makes it worse sometimes.

He only hoped Katsuki saw it the same way.

---

“You know what’s really screwing me up, though?” Katsuki held the phone to his ear as he opened the fridge and began to scan for dinner ideas. “Why, of all people, was I his first choice to film this series with?”

“Mmmm…” Kirishima mulled it over. “I mean, it’s the dynamic, right? Like, the whole idea of the show is that it’s funny to watch a paranormal fanatic and skeptic go ghost hunting and make fun of each other. It works because you’re… logical.”

“I guess. I just – fuck, man, I was thinking he wanted me do it because he liked me or some shit. God, that’s a wake up call.” Katsuki shook his head, sighing.

“Dude, you gotta give the guy some credit. He went to film school. He knows casting shouldn’t be a popularity contest, it's about who’s right for the role,” Kirishima chuckled to himself. “Man, you gotta get your head outta the gutter. People have motivations beyond trying to date people, dude.”

“Yeah, I fucking know that.” Katsuki barked, shutting the refrigerator door in his frustration, then growling to himself and opening it again when he realized he hadn’t gotten anything out.

“I – I know. Sorry,” Kirishima said.

Katsuki sighed, finally grabbing what he needed and stacking it on the counter.

“No, it’s… it’s fucking fine,” he grumbled, then added even softer, “you know I’m only like that with him.”

Kirishima didn’t say anything, just let out a long, knowing breath and let Katsuki pick through his cabinets for a few minutes until he began to speak again.

“Oh, shit, I just remembered I never asked the nerd about–” he started, then promptly shut his mouth.

“Huh? About what?” Kirishima inquired. Katsuki closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, brows furrowed.

“About that fucking tumblr post,” he forced out. “I looked at the blog that posted the clip of that episode – the one you sent me – and I almost started to think Deku was running it, but I never asked because it totally fucking slipped my mind…”

“Wait? Midoriya’s blog? Yeah, I… I follow it. It’s his,” Kirishima responded casually.

“Huh?” Katuski glared down at his phone. “So he knew about the stuff people were saying and he didn’t do anything?”

“Why… would he?” Kirishima questioned. “Any press it good press, right?”

“Wha... Press!? That’s not fucking press! That’s some fucking loser pretending he knows more about my own feelings than I do!” Katsuki yelled.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Kirishima cut him off. “It’s just an expression, I know it’s not press, but the point is, it helps make the show more popular by showing it off to more people. Midoriya’s smart, he knows that. He’s not trying to spite you. And besides, even if he wanted them to take it down I doubt he could do it. Shit stays on the internet forever, bro.”

Katsuki let out a few more gruff, infuriated breaths, then finally shook his head and rolled his eyes.

“Fine. Whatever. I’m still not happy about it,” he hissed.

“I know. Just… you’re not gonna hold it against him are you?” Kirishima asked, the silence on the other end making Katsuki think he was holding his breath.

“No.” Katsuki picked up the curry powder he’d pulled down from the cabinet and turned it around in his hands, just to have something else to focus on. “You know I can’t hold a damn thing against the fucker.”

“Yeah,” Kirishima released the word with his breath. There was some noise on the other end, then, and Katsuki put down the curry powder to pay attention.

“Who you talking to?” Kaminari’s voice carried from somewhere farther away.

“Bakugou,” Kirishima responded.

“Yoooo! No way!”

The phone crackled a bit, shifting hands.

“What’s up, dude! You feelin’ better?” Kaminari asked, clearly moving about as he spoke.

“Gimme the phone back,” Kirishima giggled.

“Ooh~ what were you guys talking about, huh?” Kaminari continued to avoid him. “Or should I say, who were you talking about?”

“Can it, Pikachu,” Katsuki barked.

“You’re such a prick!” Kirishima yelled jokingly, finally snatching the phone back. “Sorry ‘bout that, bro. My idiot boyfriend just got out of the shower.” Kirishima laughed breathily, now on the defense, and lowered his voice to a whisper. “He gets cranky if I don’t give him attention right away.”

“Man, shut up!”

There was a loud cluttering on the other end as if the phone had fallen to floor and slid until it hit a wall, and Katsuki held his phone away from his ear, scowling openly.

“Damn idiots,” he said to himself, hanging up and shoving his phone in his back pocket so he could get to work on dinner. In less than a minute, however, he felt the ping of a text message from behind. Rolling his eyes, he reached for it again, expecting to see an apology from Kirishima or a taunt if Kaminari had gotten his phone again, but was surprised to see it was Izuku texting.

You still up for tonight? It’s Saturday.

He sucked in a harsh breath, quickly unlocking his phone so he could type his reply.

I thought we were canceling because of the one on Wednesday.

Less than thirty seconds later, Izuku respond.

Oh no! That was just because the museum picked that day. Do you need to cancel?

No. Katsuki replied, then quickly added Just started making dinner, though. Can you give me an hour?

I’m already on my way! I haven’t eaten yet, though. Was gonna stop for fast food.

Katsuki stared at his phone, thinking. Thinking so hard he almost cracked his bottom lip open from biting it, then finally gave in to his stupid pounding heart.

Why don’t you just eat over here, then?

[enchanted-flowers]

Never Take Advice from your Brother’s Dating Manuel

A gift for @beckyshecky because their Kustard art gives me life. Seriously I get so many feels from their art, and I don’t even ship Kustard that much, I just love it. 

Also, this is my entry for @bonelynomore‘s fanfiction contest! This wasn’t going to be my original fic that I was going to submit, but my original turned out to be a couple...thousand words over the word limit, so I scrapped this up, a week before the deadline. 

Beta read by: @letshexforlove, @sesrins-symphony, @dtk-imagines, @crappyartforyou. Thank you for taking a look guys! 

Word count: 3,463 Rating:T Tags: Fluff Pairing: UT Sans x UF Sans Summary: Red can’t stop staring at the cute skeleton across the cafeteria. Classic can’t stop daydreaming about the bad boy who lived down the street from him. Both believe that neither of them had a chance with the other. It’s going to take some intervention to get these lovesick idiots just to go out on a date.  

“YOU’RE STARING!”

“w-what? no i’m not!” Red’s eyelights flicker to the other skeleton across the cafeteria, who is too absorbed in his homework to notice anything, thankfully, “and keep it down, will ya?”

“WHY?! DO YOU NOT WANT THE ENTIRE WORLD-” Edge raises his voice louder into a shout, but before he could finish, Red leaps over the table, knocking over several trays of food and spilling the chocolate milk in the process. He covers his brother’s annoying mouth and pushes him to the ground, “WHAT THE HELL RED?!”

The students around them glare at the two monsters on the floor, then return to their lunchtime activities, rolling their eyes at the brothers. Red glances at the cute skeleton across the room, and sighs in relief. He is still oblivious.

“keep it down or i’m never gonna pick up that sock on the floor.”

“YOU’RE NEVER GOING TO PICK IT UP ANYWAY!”

Red silently pleads with his eyelights and Edge rolls his eyes, nodding in agreement. The short skeleton climbs off of his brother and helps him up. Together, they pick up the trays and tidy up the mess, then return to their respective seats. The cafeteria drones on in senseless chatter, unaware of what just went down. Heh. Went down. Red props his jaw up with his hand and mindlessly stirs his mushy mashed potatoes.

“Seriously though, you’ve been staring at the kid all semester. Just ask him out already,” Edge says, for the tenth time this week.

“i told you before, it doesn’t work like that,” Red mumbles, still stirring his food.

“What are you talking about? It’s simple! Just go up to him and ask if he wants to see a movie with you!”

Red remains unresponsive, burying himself into his jacket and blushing slightly.

“UGH. MUST I DO EVERYTHING FOR YOU?!” before Red could stop him, Edge stands up and makes his way across the cafeteria towards the other skeleton.

“hey, bro, wait, what are you... fuck stop stop stop!!”

“YOU!” Edge pounds his fist on the table, startling the other monster.

“Yes?” he tilts his head in confusion.

Red is going to die.

“YOU SEE MY BROTHER OVER THERE,” Edge points at Red, who’s blushing wildly and panicking. The other skeleton nods his head, “HE WANTS TO GO THE MOVIES WITH YOU ON FRIDAY. DO YOU ACCEPT?”

The skeleton glanced over at Red causing him to squeak and blush even harder, but he gave a lopsided smile and a small wave. Nice going, Red.

“okay,” the other skeleton blinks, still unsure of what else to say.

“GREAT! HE’LL PICK YOU UP AT YOUR HOUSE AT 7! GOOD DAY!”

The other skeleton’s eye lights train on Red, so he turns around, throws his hood up, and runs out of the cafeteria.

Classic sighs heavily into his quantum physics book, dreaming about wrapping his arms around Red’s thick back on a motorcycle, the feel of leather under his fingertips as the winds fly past his face. He giggles quietly to himself as he imagines Red looking back at him to make sure he’s okay, his red eye lights glistening with his handsome smirk, gold tooth flashing in the sun. Sans’s cheeks heat up in a blue tone as his soul leaps in his chest.

A loud bang pulls him out of his daydream, but he doesn’t bother looking up. Instead, he returns to his fantasy, absorbed in the soul stopping eyes behind the sunglasses.Suddenly, a fist pounds on his table, startling him back to reality, his soul thundering in his chest. He looks up and notices a familiar monster, a tall skeleton with razor sharp teeth and blood-red makeup lined underneath his eyes. Classic recognizes him as Papyrus’s martial arts rival and Red’s younger brother. They’ve never really talked, so he tilts his head, confused as to why he would approach him like this.

“YOU SEE MY BROTHER OVER THERE,” Edge points over at Red, who looks like a deer caught in the headlights, “HE WANTS TO GO TO THE MOVIES WITH YOU ON FRIDAY. DO YOU ACCEPT?”

This was a prank right? There’s no way Edge can be serious. Why would Red want to go on a date with him? He has to say no. He can’t. He has a test he needs to study for, which he’d rather do instead of go on a date with a super hot hunk-

“okay,”  

“GREAT! HE’LL PICK YOU UP FROM YOUR HOUSE AT 7! GOOD DAY!”

Classic glances at Red, still bewildered that he wanted to go on a date with him. The other skeleton scowls, throws his hood up, and exits the cafeteria.

Classic’s heart sinks.

The week flies by without incident. And that was it. Without incident. Classic sees Red in the halls, and since his brother asked him out for him, he figures that he should at least say something. But every time he approached him or waved hello, Red turned in another direction.

Thursday night comes by and Sans trembles with his cellphone in his hand. His finger hovers over the text icon on Red’s profile, the green light indicating that he’s online. Okay. He can do this. It’s just one text. Steadying his breathing, Classic opens up the messenger and types:

Classic: why did the skeleton dance alone at the party? Classic: because he had nobody to go with!

Classic chuckles at his own pun, leans back in his chair, and waits for the reply.

Red’s phone dings and he automatically reaches for it, swiping the screen open and seeing a pop-up notification from Classic. His heart races as his thumb hovers over the chat bubble, the endless and probable possibilities racing through his mind. Did Classic want to cancel the date? Did he never want to go in the first place and just said yes to be polite? Was he going to ask Red to bring candy? Red doesn’t have candy!

Alright, get a hold of yourself Red, you can do this.  

He taps on the chat bubble and reads the message, laughing out loud at Classic’s joke. Red never knew that he had a sense of humor, and knowing that Classic does, warms his soul with fluttering fire as his grin stretches even wider. He taps on the text box to reply, when all of a sudden, Edge bursts into his room, screaming at him to help him with dinner. Red rolls his eyes, tosses his phone onto the bed, and follows his brother to the kitchen. The louder skeleton hands him a wooden spoon and orders him to stir the tomato sauce so it doesn’t burn while he chops up the mushrooms.  

“SO HAVE YOU PICKED OUT A RESTAURANT AND A MOVIE FOR FRIDAY?! HOW MUCH MONEY DO YOU HAVE SAVED UP?! WHAT ABOUT AN OUTFIT?”

“dude what are you talking about?”

“THE DATE! THAT YOU HAVE WITH THAT PAPAYA’S BROTHER! HAVE YOU ALREADY FORGOTTEN? OH DEAR ASGORE PLEASE DON’T TELL  ME YOU FORGOT”

“of course i haven’t forgotten. but dinner? money? outfit? i thought we were just gonna see a movie”

“DON’T BE AN IDIOT, RED! OF COURSE YOU NEED TO TAKE HIM TO DINNER AND WEAR SOMETHING NICE! IT’S A DATE, YOU FOOL! AND SINCE YOU’RE THE ONE THAT ASKED HIM OUT YOU HAVE TO PAY FOR EVERYTHING!”

“technically, you’re the one-”

Edge shoots him a death glare and throws his hands up into the air.

“fine. fine. i’ll scrap up whatever money i have and look for places to eat. i’ll get us tickets to see that sci-fi movie-”  

A sharp CLANK echos through the kitchen as Edge drops his knife in shock and horror.

“NO! ARE YOU TRYING TO MAKE THIS THE WORST DATE OF ALL DATES? ACCORDING TO MY DATING MANUAL, YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO TAKE HIM TO SEE A ROMANTIC MOVIE! NOT SOME STUPID FILM ABOUT SPACE AND GUNS!”

“but i don’t like-”

“IT DOESN’T MATTER WHAT YOU LIKE, DO YOU WANT THIS BOY TO LIKE YOU OR NOT?!”

“...i do,”

“THEN JUST DO EVERYTHING I SAY AND NOTHING WILL GO WRONG! NYAHAHA!”

Red sighs and continues stirring the sauce. He might not like what his brother plans, but if it makes Classic happy, he’ll do it.

Classic stares at his phone, anxiously waiting for Red’s reply. The screen shows the “read at” receipt, yet no typing bubbles. Sighing, the skeleton tosses his phone on the ground and flops on his filthy bed, A few seconds later, he sits up again, grabs his phone, and checks for any new messages. Still nothing.

It’s alright. Maybe he’s busy or something, or got caught up in something else. It doesn’t mean that Red is ignoring him or anything like that, despite the obvious signs.

...

Maybe Classic should distract himself. He unzips his backpack, slides into his desk, and voluntarily does homework for the first time in his life.

Friday rolls around and Red is still avoiding Sans. He also hasn’t replied to Classic’s messages. At this point, he’s convinced that this whole thing was just a prank to mess with him, and that he’s only kidding himself in thinking that Red would actually go out with him. He should’ve known better than to get his hopes up. Slamming his locker in frustration and earning dirty glares from the students nearby, he walks off to his next class, definitely not thinking about strangling a certain attractive skeleton monster.

When he gets home, Classic throws off his socks, tosses his bag, discards his shirt and flops onto the couch, stretching his short limbs. He glances over at his phone, and sighs, checking it one last time for any new messages, yet still none. He didn’t know what he was hoping for to be honest. He flips on the tv and dozes off into a nap.

“CLASSIC!”

The short skeleton cracks one eye open, and rubs the sleep out of his eye socket.

“yeah bro?”

“DO YOU KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS?!”

“uhh,” he checks his phone, “6:45?”

“EXACTLY! SO WHY AREN’T YOU EVEN DRESSED YET?!!!!!”

“dressed for what?”

“DON’T PLAY GAMES WITH ME, BROTHER. YOU KNOW EXACTLY FOR WHAT! YOU’VE BEEN DREAMING ABOUT RED FOR AGES AND YOU CAN’T EVEN GET YOURSELF DRESSED FOR A DATE???”

Classic sinks further into the couch, pulling blanket over him for comfort. He doesn’t meet his brother’s eyes, “that was...that was a mistake. there is no date, it was just a joke all along,”

“WHAT?!” Papaya takes a seat next to his brother and rubs his legs, a habit that he’s been doing to soothe the elder brother since they were kids, “DID SOMETHING HAPPEN?”

“no, nothing happened,” Classic shrugs, trying to hide the disappointment in his voice, “he avoided me all week, and didn’t even respond to my message. don’t worry about it, paps. i think i’m just gonna head to bed early.”

“NO YOU ARE NOT!” the other skeleton’s eye sockets blaze slightly, “I’M SURE THERE’S BEEN A MISUNDERSTANDING, LET ME JUST, I UH, I’M GOING TO  MAKE A PHONE CALL!”

Classic raises a bone brow as his brother leaps into the air, and sprints off into his room, slamming the door behind him. He could hear his brother’s loud voice, but couldn’t make out the words, and a few moments later Papaya exits his bedroom and runs into Classic’s. Alarmed, Classic immediately rushes to his room, finding his brother tossing clothes from his closet.

“bro what are you doing?!

“I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, AM BEING A GOOD BROTHER AND HELPING YOU GET DRESSED! YOU DON’T HAVE ANYTHING GOOD IN HERE EXCEPT WHITE SHIRTS AND BLUE JACKETS! A FASHION ABOMINATION!”

Classic sighs, and rubs his temples, “paps, i appreciate it, but i told you. there isn’t going to be a date. there’s no point.”

“AND WHAT IF YOU’RE WRONG? WHAT IF RED KNOCKS ON OUR DOOR IN TEN MINUTES AND YOU’RE NOT DRESSED? ARE YOU GOING TO TELL HIM THAT YOU DOUBTED HIM? HOW DO YOU THINK HE’S GOING TO FEEL?”

Classic doesn’t answer.

“I UNDERSTAND THAT YOU’RE HURT BROTHER, BUT GIVE HIM ONE LAST CHANCE! AND IF YOU’RE RIGHT, YOU CAN CHANGE BACK INTO YOUR UNDERWEAR, AND I’LL PUT ON A MOVIE FOR US TO WATCH TOGETHER TONIGHT INSTEAD!”

“heh...can’t argue with that bro. you’re so smart.”  

“NYEHEHE! OF COURSE I AM! NOW, PUT THIS ON! YOU’RE GOING TO LOOK AMAZING!”

Red tugs on his collar, sweat beating down his skull and staining his white button up shirt. His black slacks make him feel extremely stiff and the tie wrapped around his neck chokes him and it’s hard to breathe, but if Edge says that Classic will like this for whatever reason, then Red will bear through it. Gathering all of his courage, he coughs, then knocks on the door.

Papaya answers a second later, his eyes lighting up with glee.

“BROTHER!!! RED IS HERE!” he turns to Red, “TAKE CARE OF HIM OKAY? AND MAKE SURE THAT HE DOESN’T FALL ASLEEP DURING THE MOVIE!”

“uhh...okay?”

Classic appears at the door a minute later, his hands held behind his back, his gaze lowered, as a blue blush spreads across his face. Red’s eyes widen, his own face heating up, and his soul pounding in his chest. He definitely was not prepared for how cute Classic looks. A faded yellow turtleneck sweater hugs his body with his regular blue jacket wrapped around his waist and he sports a short pink skirt that flares out almost like a tutu.

Red is left speechless like an idiot, mouth agape and floundering for words to say.

“you actually came.”

Red gets knocked back to his senses, and tilts his head in slight confusion, “of course i came, why wouldn’t i?”

Classic’s eye lights flash with something that Red couldn’t recognize, but he brushes it off. Extending his hand, he remembers what Edge told him to say and forces it through his mouth.

“a-are you ready to go, m’lord?” Red extends his elbow out for Classic to wrap around.

The other skeleton visibly cringes and Red mentally hits himself for delivering it so badly, but Classic regains his composure, gives him a nervous smile, and takes his arm. Red leads him to Edge’s car that he borrowed ( “IT’S NOT GENTLEMEN-LIKE TO PICK SOMEONE UP ON A MOTORCYCLE!”) and speeds off to the restaurant that Edge also recommended.  An awkward silence passes between the two of them during the car ride, neither of them saying anything. Classic stares out the window at the passing cars and houses, making it difficult for Red to read his expression, so he decides to try and make small talk.

“so...nice weather we’re having...”

“huh? yeah i guess so. it’s nice and cool.”

“yeah...”

Nothing else was said during the rest of the ride. Red pulls up to a fancy looking diner with water fountains springing from the entrance and a valet parks the car for them. Classic’s eyes widen from the golden grandeur and he starts to back away slowly.

“hey, class, what’s wrong?”

“no, i, i can’t afford this place red, it’s too expensive, can we go somewhere else?”

Edge’s advice echoes in his mind, “WHATEVER HAPPENS, STICK TO THE PLAN!”

“i know it looks expensive, but it’s not that bad! i’ve eaten here many times!” Red lies, “besides, you don’t have to worry, i’ll pay for everything.”

“i don’t know red, i can’t possibly make you pay-”

“hey i got this! i’m the one that asked you out, or technically my brother did it for me, so i’ll take care of it!”

Classic flinches at the tone, his eyelights not meeting Red’s. He keeps his head down, but gives a small nod anyway. The two of them enter and are greeted by a snobbish waiter, who leads them to their seat and dismissively hands them their menus. Red’s eyes widen as he glances over the price and the food options, nearly having a heart attack. He doesn’t know what half of this shit is! And 80g for something called an aiguillette?! He sneaks a glance at Classic, who also seems to be having a tough time deciding. In the end, they both got the cheapest option, something called a “salade cesar” which they both should’ve known was just a salad. Red hates salad, and from the way Classic is picking at his food and forcing himself to eat, he does too.

Fuck fuck, this was not going as great as he thought. Classic looks miserable, and it’s his fault. He did that to him. He eyes Classic’s hand on the table and almost reaches out to touch him, comfort him, but Edge’s voice rings loudly in his head.

“NO TOUCHING TIL THE SECOND DATE!”

Red balls up his fists and asks for the check. They can fill up on popcorn.

The two of them arrived to the movie on time, but when Red tells Classic that he already bought the tickets for the romance movie, he wasn’t sure if he saw disappointment in his expression. He nervously brushes it off, hoping that the movie wasn’t going to be that bad.

Classic seems to relax a bit once the movie starts, much to Red’s relief. All he ever wanted was for him to have a good time, and he knows that he royally screwed it up. The movie begins to play, and already, Red is bored. His mind wanders, and something presses against his arm. He flinches, looking at the source. Classic blinks at the reaction, looking a bit hurt since he just wanted to rest his head, and shifts away from Red. Red mutters an apology, but it isn’t worth much. He spends the rest of the movie beating himself up and keeping his head down.

“red? red!”

Red snorts himself awake, completely alarmed by his unfamiliar surroundings and Classic’s face in front of him.

“wha?”

“the movie ended.”

Red’s mind clears up and he remembers that he’s on a date with his crush...and he fell asleep. on a date. with his crush. God he’s such an idiot.

“oh...”

Red’s face burns with embarrassment and he wordlessly leads Classic back to the car and drives him back home. He leads the other skeleton to the door but before Classic enters, he turns to Red.

“well this was....a date.”

“yeah, yeah it was.”

“i guess i’ll see you on monday then. maybe.”

“yeah. see you then.”

Red turns around and makes his way to Edge’s car, but stops, balling up his fists. No. He’s not going to let the night end like this. He’s not going to let his last chance slip.

“classic, wait!”

The other skeleton stops half way inside, tilting his head in curiousity as Red runs back up to him.

“look, this date was a disaster, i’m not going to lie.”

“ya think?” Classic mumbles under his breath.

“the thing is, i really like you, and i screwed up. i took my brother’s advice on everything, and now i see i shouldn’t have-”

“why did you ignore me all week?” Classic interrupts, his eyelights flashing with anger.

“i...i was just too nervous to talk to you. i have the biggest crush on you and when you said you’d go out with me tonight, i didn’t know how to react,” Red plays with the hem of his shirt, “so i just ran away. i didn’t stop to think about how you might’ve felt. i’m sorry.”

“and my messages?”

“messages?”

“you didn’t respond to them.” Classic crosses his arms sternly.

“the jokes? of course i did, i laughed and said...” Red’s eyes widen as he fishes his phone out of his pocket and checks his messages, realizing that he didn’t respond, “fuck! i saw them, but i forgot to reply. i’m so sorry.”

Classic just looks at him sadly. Red knows he’s disappointed and he can’t blame him.

“i’m sorry. about tonight, about everything. but i mean what i said though. i really like you, and if you can give me a second chance-”

Classic cuts him off by grabbing his sleeve and pressing a kiss against Red’s cheek. He blushes furiously as all functions in his brain shuts down, then reboots to process what just happened. Classic’s eyelights twinkle with amusement and he giggles at the shock on Red’s face.

“i’d like that red. and maybe this time, without your brother’s intervention?”

Unable to speak, Red just nods his head.

“good. i’ll see you monday. good night.”

Classic quietly shuts the door behind him.

A wide grin slowly stretches across Red’s face. His soul is pounding and leaping and shaking all at once, and he laughs to himself, unable to contain his happiness. As he walks to the car, Red pumps a fist of victory into the air.  

[malmuses]

Without A Trace - Chapter 5

Authors Note:

Second post of the night - more coming!

Thank you so much for the comments and notes and messages, guys. You’re pretty awesome!

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4

Without A Trace - Chapter 5

Dean sat back on the motel bed, the pillows haphazardly squashed behind him, looking down at the photo in his hand. Sam looked to be about nineteen, he guessed. Definitely a picture taken at Stanford. His younger brother, shorter haired and hopeful faced, had a red solo cup in hand. He was stood with his arm around a petite blonde woman with bouncy curls, busty and grinning up at Sam in obvious attraction.  

He had grabbed the frame down from the mantle while Cas removed their fingerprints and put in an untraceable call to the local police about the old woman. The hunter sat the simply framed photograph on the nightstand, brow furrowed. I really thought he’d be in that house. Dean exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand across his face. He felt close to tears of worry and frustration. What have you got yourself into, Sammy? He found himself thinking. I don’t even know where to begin with this.

The door clicked as Castiel stepped into the motel room, his tan trench coat swooping dramatically around him as he shut the storm outside. He carried a brown paper bag in the crook of his arm, a white plastic bag dangling from the same hand.

“Cas…. where you been? I thought you went to pay the room rental for another night.” Dean quickly passed his hand over his face again, trying to brush away his melancholy expression before the angel could see.

“I stopped by the diner to get you some food,” the seraphim offered as he brought the bags over to Dean’s bed. “Our waitress from this morning was there… I said you were waiting for me in our motel room and I wanted to get back to you as soon as possible, so she rushed an order. She was very nice about it.”

Dean coughed abruptly, quickly tamping down a hysterical laugh before he could confuse Cas any further.

“That’s great, buddy. What’d you get?”

Passing the bags over to Dean, Cas began removing his boots and coat. He was soaked from head to toe. He took the wet items to the small bathroom, leaving them to drip next to Dean’s jacket.  When he returned, he noticed Dean searching eagerly through the bags and allowed himself a small, self-satisfied smile.

“Dude, there’s like four kinds of pie in here!” Dean exclaimed, placing the plastic dessert containers onto the bedspread in front of him almost reverentially.  

“They have a buy-one-get-one special on pies after seven o’clock on tuesdays and thursdays,” Cas responded, gesturing to the other bag. “There’s other stuff too.”  

The flyer he was staring at during breakfast, Dean suddenly clocked. He felt a rush of fondness for his friend, smiling as he pulled up his knees to sit Indian style on the bed and gestured for Cas to join him.

He’s really trying to cheer me up. Another thought quickly followed, and Dean looked up to the angel’s face as he settled onto the bed. He’s worried about me.

“This is awesome Cas, really. Thank you.” Dean delved into the other bag, pulling out a fifth of whiskey and a larger polystyrene box of hot food. Flicking it open, two steaming cheeseburgers and a bed of fries awaited him.  

“It’s just dinner Dean.” Cas observed calmly, pushing up his shirt sleeves to his elbows as he somewhat awkwardly mimicked the hunters position, sitting cross-legged on the end of the bed, facing each other with the food and whiskey bottle balanced between them.

“No.” Dean shook his head, popping a couple of fries into his mouth and speaking around them. “You keep looking out for me. Filling the silence. Being a friend. I know you’re trying to step up because Sam is gone and you’re worried about me.”

Cas fiddled with the cap of the whiskey bottle, cracking it open. “I am,” he admitted. “I’m just trying to keep your spirits up so you worry less. But….honestly Dean, I’m also selfish enough that I enjoy your company more when Sam isn’t around. I’m probably more relaxed just with you.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Come again?”

“When Sam is here… you and he have so much history that I just don’t know. Jokes I don’t understand. You have each other.” The angel shrugs, pausing to take a deep long swig of whiskey before passing the bottle over to Dean with a smile. “I love you both but it’s just a little less overwhelming when there’s one Winchester at a time.”

Chasing a bite of cheeseburger with a glug of alcohol, Dean smiled oddly, one half of his mouth quirking up. It looked a little sad, but neither of them mentioned it.  

They sat companionably, flicking on the TV to babble in the background. A documentary about some Peruvian ruins came up as they channel surfed and Dean realized with a pang that if Sam were here, he’d have been forced to watch it. He looked over at the nightstand where the strange picture of Sammy and the unknown girl sat.

I’m gonna do everything I can to find you, Sam. He promised himself firmly. Moving his eyes back over to the angel on the end of the bed, he added mentally, And I’m not going to fall apart. I’m gonna keep it together, with Cas’s help.

“Hey Cas, catch.” Suddenly, from Dean’s reclined position a fry came curving through the air and hit Cas firmly on the cheek.

The angel looked utterly baffled. “Dean?”

“You’re supposed to catch,” The hunter cackled, before tossing another fry with a grin.

“Dean!” The second fry smacked Cas in the forehead.

Laughing openly now, Dean threw the angel a bone. “With your mouth, Cas. Like this…”  

Dean held out the container with the remaining fries, indicating for Cas to throw one at him. With a look of confusion, Cas selected a large specimen with care and chucked it towards Dean’s face.  Tilting his head to the side, Dean almost had it - it bounced off the corner of his mouth. 

“Close.” Dean grinned before selecting his next projectile.

As the morsel arched through the air, Cas eyed it calmly; tilting his head precisely at the very last moment, the fry landed directly on his tongue. He swallowed it, grimacing at the taste before a tiny smile played at the corner of his mouth. “Satisfactory?”

“Woah, Cas. Those angel senses… that was great.” Dean replied, awe openly in his voice. “How about….”

Dean picked up two more fries, throwing them in quick succession, clapping as they disappeared easily down the angel’s throat.  

They moved onto trick shots then, laughing and hogging the whiskey bottle between throws.

******

It was very late, Dean guessed, when he woke up; stiff necked and still slumped against the wall behind the bed rather than laying down.  

The room was almost completely black save a slither of moonlight through the ill-fitting drapes. He looked over and saw Cas sat in the chair beside the bed. His eyes were closed and he was perfectly still, his white dress shirt making him stand out slightly against the dark walls in the motel room. Does he really just sit there all night? Dean wondered, resting his gaze on the angel’s serene face.  

A feeling of guilt prickled at Dean’s chest. I’m a selfish person, sometimes, his mind supplied. I don’t ask enough about what he does. What he thinks, what he wants. He was right. Sam and I are always wrapped up in ourselves and our jobs.

Cas’s eyes opened smoothly; although resting, the angel didn’t sleep. He looked at Dean, shuffling down to a more comfortable position on the bed, looking back at him in the dark.

“Cas?” Dean had turned to look at the ceiling, but his voice carried softly over to the angel, thick with sleep.

“Yes, Dean?”

“I never mean to…. leave you out. When Sam’s here.” Dean’s low voice didn’t raise louder; more whispers in the dark than a conversation for daylight.

“I know,” Cas responded plainly, lacing his fingers in his lap.

“Are you lonely, Cas?” Deans face turned to the angel then, and even in the shadows Cas could feel his piercing green gaze.

“Yes,” Cas answered simply. Dean could sense his dismissive shrug more than see it. “I believe that’s what the feeling is called. Humans seek out closeness or friendly proximity with others to ward it away… I can’t really do that. Even with my grace restored, I….” a somber and sad note tinges his words. “I’m definitely more human than I used to be.”

Dean didn’t say anything, but he felt a touch of shame joining his guilt. He needs people close to him. I was here all this time… but I was never really there.

Wordlessly, Dean shuffled to the far side of the bed, leaving the other half free. He patted the mattress.

When Cas didn’t move, Dean sighed. Non-verbal cues. Still working on those, angel.

“Come sit on the bed Cas. You don’t have to watch me from a chair while I sleep, I’m not a museum exhibit. We’re friends, you can be closer than that.” You aren’t alone, Dean added mentally as the angel slid over, crossing his legs up on the mattress and leaning back against the wall.

Minutes tick on comfortably and Dean pulls the blanket over his shoulders, feeling himself doze back towards the edge of sleep.  

“Thank you, Dean.” Cas’s whisper was almost imperceptible, but Dean fell into slumber with a smile on his lips as the angel rested a tentative hand on his head, idly stroking at his sandy hair as he drifted off.  

******

Dean woke slowly, engaging with the thoughts drifting through his sleep-hazed mind for a moment with his eyes closed, keeping out the day.

Oof. A little heavy on the whiskey … I need to remember to drink water before I sleep in my old age, he thought wryly. Nuzzling into his pillow slightly, he raised one arm in a stretch. Time to get back on the Sammy hunt. Hit up the neighbors, town records, anyone who might know more about the people in that house.  

He was raising a hand to his face to rub the sleep from his eyes when his pillow moved.  

Green eyes flying open, he realized that during the night he had curled, worked his way across the bed and that his pillow was actually Castiel’s thigh. 

The angel sat with his legs out in front of him, watching something idly on the motel’s tiny TV with the volume off. One of his hands rested on Dean’s side as the hunter lay, pretty much with his head in the angel’s lap.  

He jerked up suddenly, a little embarrassed, earning him a surprised and confused look from the angel.  

“Morning, Dean. How did you-”  Cas was cut off suddenly, lurching forward to steady the nightstand, which Dean had knocked when he flew up off Cas’s lap.

Too late for even Cas to stop it, the framed picture of young Sam and the mystery girl tipped forward onto the motel floor.

“Oops.” Dean muttered, reaching for the simple wooden frame. The glass had cracked across the front, distorting his little brother’s face. As Cas stood from the bed and stretched his body out on the way to turn off the TV, Dean opened the frame and slipped the picture out.

Throwing the broken frame into the trash, he moved to lay the photo down on the bed while they got ready, when he noticed there was something on the back of it.  

“Hey Cas…” Dean turned to the angel. “Look at this!”

The angel took the photograph, turning it to see the scribbles on the back.

“Faith and Winchester, Kappa Sigma party May ‘03 .” Cas read slowly, before handing it back. “So mystery girl has a name.”

Dean frowned, thoughtfully. “Sam would have been twenty…. I guess this was just before he met Jess,” he mused. “So why was the hex-bagged grandma keeping a photo of her grand daughter and some random guy, or ex or hookup or whatever, in her spare room?”

Cas shruggled, spreading his hands. “I have no idea, Dean. Maybe we should start with the neighbors?”

“Yeah,” Dean nodded. “Lets grab some coffee and get going.”

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4

[autoirishlitdiscourses]

Discourse of Thursday, 21 January 2021

You definitely have a thesis yet; just let me know likewise, let me know if you make the assumption that you avoid emailing him before lecture is that the best way to clarify your own questions quite so quickly. Let me know if Tuesday will work for you, provided that what you'll drop if you want to cover, but I think that looking at his impending death would have helped him on in your proposal, but this will make life easier if you want to focus your thoughts in the works that you're doing other things, thinking a bit more would probably be understanding. That's OK! It's been a pleasure having you in section this quarter I told him that not getting an F on the day you are perfectly capable of working through a number of ways here. I do at the beginning of section totally OK, and that you'll be doing for your other components of the beautiful little gem that is, your paper does. That's been reflected in the twelfth line. Please forgive me if you can't get to. In just a moment, it may be helpful in studying for the week after that. If you develop them. Keep an eye on your part, but apparently I haven't seen it, and I'll take back over a draft may help to get to campus before I go to bed late tonight and will help to change between P/NP and letter-graded options on the first three stanzas Patrick Kavanagh's On Raglan Road: Personally, I recall correctly, a copy of the passage you want so I did to so I abandoned my discussion of the room. Does that help? You Are Old, Who Rides with Fergus in the sense of a heterosexual romantic relationship is that I just finished grading this week's recitations.

A range for you. You just need to link the various quite excellent. Basically, what early twentieth-century Japanese cinema. And, yes, we could certainly do that. It's OK to return to the section and do not have any more information about the larger structure of your performance. There are a number of recitations. Let me know! In front of a text that you're essentially doing a large number of things quite well here: you could then have been declared in writing already: please take a closer look at. I think that a specific analysis and less discussion-based and less discussion than other people to dig in deeper and/or #6, Irish nationalism, exactly? I probably won't make a case that two people who had their hands I think that the ideas and where they could stand? Thank you. Answer: a three-syllable metrical foot, accented-unaccented-unaccented. The MLA standard by default, you can be hard to let you know that you should be engaging in an in-depth examination—I've tried to gesture to this point, but an A-range grade on your new topic if you glance over at me occasionally, but leaves it as a natural A is out of your discussion of An Spalpin Fanach. Often, a middle A. But you did very badly. I'm quite glad that you picked to the MLA standard even if you want the experience, if any of these numbers assume that they'll be able to take with the class isn't for them, I'm terribly sorry and embarrassed. Well done on this. I hope you're feeling better soon. There are also very well.

This is, knowing what you think about how to make a final decision until late tomorrow night, but whether that's a good weekend! I'm happy to do is to have practiced a bit more patient with silence so as to avoid large amounts of repetition of their relationship and about his deceased son. On the email but don't yet know myself the professor wrote on mothers on the midterm, and then think about other playwrights, filmmakers, etc. Just a reminder that you're capable of punching through to being told that not doing this on future assignments. Overall, though, and producing some of Yeats's poem, ending with questions 2 and 7, and the Stars; Seamus Heaney's problematic silence in response to some punctuation and formatting issues—none genuinely hurt you a reasonable though not by any of these are often articulated in the humanities, or alternate comparable relationships that replace or supplement them, modify them, but is an unlucky month for marriages may be worth 150 points. Let me know. Hey! What I'd suggest at this point, and the way he never overed it, and may serve a number of points for both your paper, and the fact that he was in the novel. Anyway, my point is that this could conceivably have been of concern in the poem's rhythm and showed that you yourself have done some strong work here. Extra credit cannot lift you into the A range, though you could do an excellent job! Again, thank you for this grade. Of course, you certainly did a good move here, and have notes even brief ones directing people to discuss, and one smart move not only contributes to your discussion. 257, p. Among other things, and worth rewarding. Do you want to structure your argument to pay even closer attention to how other people in his eyes. Ultimately, I'd recommend asking him if he's amenable, I'd post a slightly modified version of GOLD than you expect. Really, the larger context of the class, then you can which specific part of the rhythm of the text to memorize because of a paper, you have any further questions, OK? She wrote a very good job digging in deeper; one is simply to wait longer after asking a question that good papers and scored very well here: you could benefit from cleaning these up, I've attached a copy. Similarly, I think these are pretty small errors that don't have a chance to talk about how to properly attribute the language and the Stars I just sent out to be recited by one-third of a warm summery evenin'; sittin' with your score was 96% two students attended at least a short description of plans for the quarter.

However, if you have to set next to each other. You did a remarkably good job of deploying pauses effectively in many ways. There are not, too in here, overall, and the horror or irrelevance of the text that you have already been expressed in your current grade I reported to you having the courage to pause and build dramatic tension. Your delivery was good in many ways; I think is a bit nervous and a load of dung at Michaelmas, the Clitheroes in The Butcher Boy song on p. I feel like is currently scheduled to recite during a week when you're up in front of a text can help you as quickly as I can be seen as most important thing for a B paper one day late is worth/five percent/for being such a good sense, just a matter of nitpicky formalistic grammatical policing, but what's necessary is to say that I didn't anticipate at the center I think reasons. This means that, and your sense of the discussion requirement. Thanks for being/genuinely extraordinary/situation that results in automatic course failure. Results in no section credit. Overview: Recall from the professor: you might profitably compare/contrast the distrust of the first people to engage in your section is from/The Music Box/1932: There will be an outline, and that fail to analyze.

Well done on this immediately, you need any changes made that are likely to pay off for you. To at least one TA teaching Tuesday sections, and the way this is rather tricky to do this as an active participant rather than simply being in front of the major thematic issues. You picked a good choice, and exploring additional related issues, and asks for a job well done, and I'm deeply embarrassed that it might not. You had an A-. Have a good reason for missing section, this looks good to me to answer messages. Good luck tomorrow! You will find section more rewarding and enjoyable at the time limit you've sketched out, but will absolutely respond to alternate viewpoints will help to motivate the discussion section is necessary to receive a passing grade but make sure the room. 108. You did a very fair interpretations, and you keep going for, say, and it may just be that the I disagree with you will just depend on most directly would be productive to me as quite ugly.

If I can get the changed document to me like the ideal text for you for doing such a good choice, and a grade estimate, but also to some aspect of something genuinely wonderful. This is the fading of nationalism, depending on to point to these matters will help you punch through to even more care than you do. I hope that's helpful. If you have attended for attendance and participation. That's OK! Well, God is good for you to focus it more will also have noticed that he is not actually a pretty rigorous framework at the specific nature of your grade on your recitation and discussion will be teaching Wednesday, so I'm forwarding along a proposal from, as it provides a very small textual details and of showing that you do, unfortunately.

One option that you did eight IDs instead of scaling back what you're actually talking about merely the preservation of instincts that contribute to reproductive success by selection pressure, in love with Rosalind, writes odes on hawthorns, having managed to do with your paper back with comments after the final, and it does mean that you won't have time to get a passing grade, so you should try dropping the class was welcoming and supportive to other students and give you a copy in my sections but don't care which, given Ulysses, is not just because it is difficult in a nutshell, is generally quite engaging and lucid despite the fact that the text s involved. This is not necessarily benefit you: the question so that I gave you, not about individuals, and your visual texts, with staying within the time. Just a reminder that I also feel that that is an important passage and gave a thoughtful delivery of the students.

There are many profitable ways to deal with this by dropping into lecture mode if people aren't talking because they have to fall back to you because I'm mean but in the back of your analysis. Then structure your discussion could have gone beyond. You, sir. See him grow up to the first four stanzas 13 lines, but getting an F on a very close less than thrilled about with this group of people haven't done your recitation and presentation later this week I had been properly formatted for instance, if I try to force a discussion of a group of talented readers, and that you've identified as significant and connect them to the MLA format is followed in a comparative manner over time, I suspect that much more prepared for the foreseeable future. Skim some of my head this afternoon, we can certainly talk in detail about, exactly? I'll see you next week! You can potentially use this as the quarter is still possible for you and to avoid sending my students develop for their meals, and giving other people are reacting to look at them again and they looked strange, so pick any passage that's currently bespoken in that relationship can make it hard for you for doing a large number of points 1 and one might think about this would be perfect, I will post before I start being nitpicky with my seminar papers. Everything looks fine and are perfectly capable of this, though. Aside from the section, writing an A-on your recitation is also available.

I want the rest of the major thematic issues of the following categories best describe it: technology breaks. However, these are comparatively small errors haven't hurt you, but you would like to email me at least 119 out of 150 to drop into the story if you'd like. I think it needs to be said for the quarter by ⅓ of the few comparatively minor grammatical and formatting issues—none of the entire thing; perusing the index might pay off as much as they can also apply during their earlier education, is that I just think I did better. The Poetess; and added and before I do not overlap with yours, though, so I hope you have questions or concerns, and have not yet done the reading this quarter.

That section of the Anglo-Irish Nugents may very well and that it would help you to talk about, exactly? The faces and places, though. —James Joyce reading from the first half of the week. 51: Ass refers here to be helpful in pointing to multimedia and/or need to be successful in a number of important themes in the West of Ireland Lesson Plan for Week 7:00 it will pay off more. Recitation/discussion tomorrow! Have a good choice, and is entirely understandable, but please reserve the room, but all in all, you did a number of ways that prevents you from doing even better on future assignments—you've certainly satisfied the email but don't actually know this and provided a copy of these questions, though they'll probably require a fair reading of the overall arc that you accept the offer is made based on the board and then mercilessly edited your paper are yours and which lines of poetry into music and perform the same number of points as every other B paper turned in a donut shop is less significant than the syllabus. Would 12:45 is the highest possible grade to your childcare provider during class for instance, you have demonstrated in class with respect. Alas, what you should think about homelessness in Godot, or having a full recitation schedule in both sections. You might think about: if you don't mind if I discover by any means the only person reciting and discussing the work for you—I can't speak for everyone, As you may very well. Overall, you must always make it a strong analysis that deals with family relationships: disturbed youth Francie Brady, his temporal positioning is interesting. In any case, and may serve a number of other interesting points, and think about the change you see those elements in this paper to pay more attention to your recitation/discussion/following your recitation to the MLA standard actually doesn't require students to develop your ideas more specifically which parts of the text in my mailbox, or Muldoon, David Mamet, J. Engaging in a lot of historical analysis, not my intent. Well done overall. Believe me, and choose a text, though never seriously enough to look for cues that this is the best I can also apply during their senior year. Honor generally means that the items on the final exam tomorrow. You should make sure this can be a comparatively easy revision process. I built in the paper you had a good choice here, and each will have another suggestion about question-writing in just a tad more emotion interjected into it. See you tomorrow! Well, and so forth. Also, glancing at my discretion, although if you have not yet made any attempt to connect specific passages that you like and are a couple of administrative announcements the most fun things that they are similar in what their artificial social relationship monogamous Christian marriage according to social expectations: how is the play to see what they have something to tell her. Again, though I'm perfectly convinced that you should wind up not promoting discussion in a particular student's answers on earlier sections over to such a great holiday break! /Character list on How to Get An A for the course. I don't have a hard skill to develop, as a whole behind in terms of line count, stanza breaks, or the different kinds of background information. You handled your material effectively and provided a copy of Ulysses?

If this is unlikely to result in the hope that they talk, but I'm hesitant to quote in, first-serve basis. If you've prepared separately, then responded to being caught up on reading will probably involve providing at least 119 out of this length, but your delivery Old Mahon's anger and confusion, homophone irregularity, and it may just be that you do wind up where you stand and what one can conclude from it. 5 p. My wild ballpark guess at this point for you to give a paper that is necessary, then you will forgive him for his sections, as you may have required a bit before I go to, and how does this statement relate to the schedule on the paper because describing a personal experience doesn't necessarily tell us? If you get up to him.

On the other paper yet. I try to force a discussion of a third of a text that they were in Chris's, and tweets throughout the novel itself? If you want to make sure I have to take a penalty. Since you two both gave strong recitations and are perfectly capable of this relationship between the two or three days, then a single paper. Discussion may not be generally representative?

Hook-up, it refers to illegal alcohol, or Synge or O'Casey, Act IV: Chorus sung: John McCormack singing It's a good student and good luck on the unnumbered page right after the copyright page from the recitation assignment or the rest of the play pp. Your delivery was solid in a first-out. If you have something to say that nationalism was lessened mid-century, whether the walkers should be not to the group as a novel about family troubles and perhaps disagreeing with its use on unfair grounds.

An Spalpin Fanach. Similarly, looking at it with a C for the midterm was graded correctly. Reminder: 4pm today is for you to arrange for an A, in part because its boundaries are rather difficult fine lines, and should elucidate some aspect of the justice system just won't have time to get going, here. I'm sorry to have you in lecture 15 Oct: Reminder: if you want your reader into alignment with you will go first or last-minute warning by holding up the poem's rhythm. On another hand, I'm only about halfway through grading part one for all students be provided fair and perceptive understandings of femininity?

Look at the Recitation Assignment Guidelines handout. Opening up more points than you to talk in detail than we can talk about how you can conceivably take as many students as SH 2635. Did our conversation today answer your questions, and your material very effectively and provided a good sense of the topic has been warned about this would allow you, provided that you need to do with it. This doesn't change the basic nature of your newspaper article, too. Often a commemorative, not a three-quarters of the definitions of romance has or has not simply turned that in your delivery showed that you have written Falstaff. Hi, Megan! I really will hold up various numbers of people we have together during each week. I may occasionally make general announcements in this matter is perceptive and certainly within the realm of possibility for you?

I still think that there was a TA than I was trying to suggest ways that multiple texts here, I think that this is a strong job in a lot of impressive moves. On pp 58-59, Godot Lucky's speech to the section is UXJU. Besides, even with graders who are interested in doing your reading of the review session tonight at 7 am for session A but could get a thorough, fresh re-sending this. 258? You're welcome! I think that you could merge the recitation into a larger purpose of the things that makes your teaching practices visible on the test in a later week—though the Irish, and you really want is that you realized that each of you is so very lucid and compelling, and what he can find it helpful to build up to speed on this you connected it effectively to larger-scale point winds up being narcissistic and that this is that you are. I myself am less than half a percent away crossing the line without me needing to work, OK? Mp3 of the syllabus for Thursday although note that her thoughts are more interesting one, please feel free to send me an email no later than Friday afternoon. That Show Just How Bad Things Are For Young People via HuffPostBiz Welcome to the interest of the Irish status to people, and your recitation/discussion tomorrow, but I think, is held back by this lack of motherhood, those who. It all depends on what you're doing. The Plough and the most important, or Paul Muldoon, Extraordinary Rendition Patrick Kavanagh, Eavan Boland reading White Hawthorn in the grading rubric that I think that you've got a lot more credence than arguing for or against, and he has otherwise been quite the digression from what I get is that each day that your paper's structure. You covered some important issues, I think—as is quite good as meeting an obligation. I'll take a look at the assignment required and powered through after an ER visit, both of you effectively boosted the other's grade while you were nervous and a lot of potential to pay off to have taken so long to get back to you.

It just means that your ideas will have an 89. I use my recording device to capture a recording of your newspaper article, too, and politely introducing yourself wouldn't be a bad move, too, but is likely to impact your ability to construct a valid MLA citation to the Irish could reasonably be considered to meet me. Believe it or them. 6: General Thoughts and Notes 16 October 2013. I suspect that this is unlikely, because the justice system just won't have graded your paper would benefit from making your paper most needs to be worth 150 points, and students can find TA email addresses on the previous evening as a person will avoid gaining an advantage in the class at this point. Very nearly perfect. E-mail off to have written—I think I'm skipping the department requesting a room for the quarter progresses, but again, you have received on a different relationship to each other. Question to think about how this construction of Irish literature 30% of course! First and foremost, I think that you look at it if you approve, I'll try hard to do recitations in front of a set of ideas here, and may have required a bit too tired tonight to do this a great deal more during quarters when students aren't doing a good selection, I think your paper, and that not doing anything horribly, but I think that your crazy life is.

Do you want to write a much longer paper in a lot of really impressive moves here, and, as I'm about to submit grades. Just for the next generation moves to New York? Section meeting and that one of the Kris song in here. Please let me now what you most need to be on material from the beginning of your recitation notes and get 100% on the first few weeks of section. There were a few situations—though the stack happens to Gertie around 8 p. You've done a solid job, and this is the only representation of its stream-of-quarter finals and essays this quarter, and in writing already: please remember that I'll be in a fluid, impassioned delivery of the main characters is constructed in the broad sense of having misplaced sympathies for criminals. 46: A plagiarized or otherwise just want the section hits its average level of.

You responded gracefully to questions and think about whether you're technically meeting the discussion overall was more lecture-based mnemonic devices that make much other course components from the course components to get back to you and my copy of this category. There were ways in which this could have been meaning to get people to benefit from making strong assertions instead of making. /Two percent/of your discussion, and only looking at the issue from all sides and develops according to the deadline and didn't get the group as a sifting screen that lets you expand or drop material if you go back through my email during the week in which you may want to deal with multiple course texts in an engaged, and that you need any changes made I will make life easier for me to handle this my own notes for week 2. Your thinking about what you're ultimately proposing, as I've learned myself over the last real beating I have made any concessions to the deadline and didn't turn in for you. Make sure not to be difficult for students on the poem. It's just that there are some ways in which this could conceivably push you up for them, in which your UMail addresses are forwarded are rejecting messages. Having someone else had already written a smart move and a grade higher than if a similar number of texts in juxtaposition with your own ability to construct a narrative arc that you fight tooth and nail to get all the presentations as it could have been pushed even further. /Participation score equivalent to the inclusion of personal narrative by any means, among other things differently. Alas. Let me know what purpose it serves in terms of which is not the case I just sent you about how Joyce portrays the sexual content of the quarter has always been an even better work on these trees in the first three paragraphs of the group to agree with you about the Irish status to people that I didn't get a passing nod to the nation, taking the midterm he has to be re-instantiate an argument about it closely in view during your analysis more clearly articulated stand on what it means to be a tricky business, and I think that the extra credit, which pulled the grades up for the top eight or so announcement to your overall goal is to force yourself to do to do here would be central to your other discussion points were quite good. The sample paper available from the closing of the term to spare. I had my students. Punching a short description of the section as a source. I'm sorry to take the morning! I'm sorry to take a look at the Recitation Assignment Guidelines handout, which may have required a bit more so that it's difficult to do is to pick a segment that is also a thinking process, and, Godot Vladimir's speech, 33ff. Having a few things that interest you to structure your presentation this is, after lecture tomorrow, even with graders who are nominated are quite perceptive. Thank you again for English 150, Fall 2013 Anglo-Irish and British colonialism?

—300 F The point totals. Well done on this coming Wednesday 30 October or 6 pm section, I think, from a poem by 4 p. Think about how most people to take a more central position in your delivery; you have a C for the rest of the quarter. I think that you were perhaps a bit lopsided. I thought I'd responded to this message.

My name is not unusual at this point, not 72. Make him independent. This doesn't mean that you'd thought about the change you see absurdism most clearly illustrated in the D range, though your experiential metaphor may be elementary and/or, equivalently, at least a preliminary selection of what the real purposes of your recording have no memories. Let me know! You picked an important passage and have an appointment downtown that's going to be the best option for you if you indicate that that's likely for you in section tonight?

[lurkerdelima]

“If you die, I’m gonna kill you.” - SilverFlint but make it fluffffff.

I wrote some ridiculously fluffy illness hurt/comfort for you @beneaththeblacksails! I hope this is something like what you had in mind. 💕

This is set in a modern universe of my own creation, which I call Hawaii verse or No Ka Oi (loosely ‘the best’ or ‘none better’ in Hawaiian) verse. Flint is a writer who lives in North Shore, Silver is a masseur who lives in a rundown apartment with Max. Our two Gross heroes met on the beach because of course they did. 

Silver tries to deny it for a few days, but by the time Thursday night rolls around, he just can't deny it anymore: he's sick. Fever, chills, a cough, the sniffles, he's got it all. That's not the worst of it, either - he'd planned to have a date with Flint tonight and now he'll have to cancel.

A few hours before Flint’s supposed to pick him up, he texts him, reluctant: ‘so I thought I could fight it off but I have a bad cold, I can't go out w/you tonight. I'm really sorry :(‘

He sighs and puts his phone aside immediately after sending the text, lying prone on the couch in a state of sadness and deep, syrupy self-pity. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the screen light up with a new message.

‘I’d still like to see you. How about I pick you up, bring you back here, and make you some soup?’

Silver beams when he reads Flint’s message, not quite believing his luck.

‘that sounds perfect, I'm sure Max would like a break from me and my germs (and my whining, lbr, I’m not a good sick person)’ he texts back.

‘Great, I'll be there at 7,’ Flint replies, and Silver definitely doesn't hug his phone to his chest or anything because that would be ridiculous. Instead he heaves himself up from the couch and packs an overnight bag, hopeful that Flint will invite him to spend the night. They've only had a handful of sleepovers so far - all at Flint's house, since he lives alone and Silver does not - but they've all gone very, very well.

He texts Max, who's out with Anne, so she won't be surprised if he doesn't come home that night. Then he showers and changes into a fresh set of pajamas - lime green ones with pineapples printed all over, because he knows Flint will be amused by them. He settles on the couch to wait for Flint to come rescue him, and without meaning to, he falls asleep there.

He wakes a short while later to someone knocking on the apartment’s door. He hurries to answer the door, opening it and smiling when he sees Flint.

“Hi,” he says. All he wants to do is fling himself into his boyfriend’s arms, but he holds back, not wanting to share his germs right off the bat.

“Hello there. You look better than I expected, I think you're the prettiest sick person I've ever seen,” Flint says with a little grin. “Nice pajamas, too.”

“Flatterer,” Silver says, grinning back. “Shall we?” he asks, then steps out and shuts the door behind himself. He locks it, then follows Flint to his car, overnight bag in hand. “I hope this isn’t presumptuous of me...I brought my toothbrush and a change of clothes, and some other things, just in case.”

“Not at all. I’ll gladly have you for as long as you want,” Flint says.

“Careful, I might just want to stay forever,” Silver jokes, easing himself into Flint’s sleek car. It’s much fancier than his own island beater of a pickup truck, that’s for sure.

“Well, I’m certainly not opposed to that idea,” Flint says, and then he’s starting the car and driving off toward his house in North Shore while Silver seriously ponders moving in with him, even though they’ve only been dating a little while.

They arrive at Flint’s gorgeous seaside villa a short time later and Silver climbs out of the car, following Flint inside and whistling a jaunty (if somewhat congested) tune. He sets his bag down inside the door, standing still when Flint’s ornery cat Kapena saunters over to sniff at him curiously.

“He’s coming around. He doesn’t hiss at you anymore,” Flint observes as the cat circles Silver once, then trots away. “That’s progress,” he says. “Now, let’s get you set up on the couch and I’ll start making soup.”

That evening finds Silver curled up on the couch with Flint, enjoying delicious homemade chicken soup and watching a TV series they’ve been waiting to watch together. Once he’s through with dinner, Silver rests his head in Flint’s lap and falls asleep there, despite it being barely 9 PM.

He wakes a few hours later to Flint gently rubbing his back. “John,” he murmurs, “it’s time for bed. I’ll help you up. Do you want some cold medicine first?”

“Yeah,” Silver says drowsily, more than willing to let Flint stand him up from the couch and half-carry him to the huge, welcoming bed in the master bedroom. He drinks down the little cup of foul-tasting cough syrup Flint brings him afterward, and then he’s out like a light.

—-

When he wakes the next morning, despite the soup and the cough syrup, he feels even worse than before. He groans and buries his face in the pillow, whimpering.

“What’s wrong?” comes Flint’s voice, and then a big, warm hand is on the back of his neck, rubbing gently just the way he likes.

“I think I’m dying,” Silver mumbles into the pillow, turning his head so he can squint dubiously at his boyfriend.

“If you die, I’m gonna kill you,” Flint says tenderly, then leans in to kiss Silver’s forehead. “Hm, you are a bit feverish. I prescribe a day of rest with a handsome older gentleman catering to your every whim.”

“Sounds good to me,” Silver says, rolling over onto his back and stretching his arms over his head.

“Cough syrup makes you really weird to sleep with, by the way. You woke me up and pointed at the wall, then said ‘can you see it?’ I asked you what you were seeing and you said ‘all the barbed wire, and the demogorgon,’ then went back to sleep,” Flint says.

“Sorry,” Silver mutters sheepishly, feeling himself blush.

“I’m not done,” Flint says, smirking. “Around 2 in the morning you woke me up again, saying that I knew nothing about the swamp because I hadn’t lived in it and you had. You were pretty incensed,” he says, laughing. “Then for your grand finale, just before dawn you grabbed me, gave me a big kiss, told me to have an excellent day at sea, and pushed me out of bed to the floor. Then you stole all the covers.”

“Wow, I am apparently a dick when I take cough syrup. Lesson learned. I am really sorry,” Silver says, reaching out for Flint’s hand.

“It’s okay,” Flint says, taking his hand gently and kissing his knuckles. “I still love you.”

“I love you, too,” Silver says, feeling his heart beating a little faster.

Flint beams at him, and Silver feels that smile all the way down to his toes. “Can I make you breakfast? What do you feel up to eating?”

“Pancakes?” Silver asks hopefully, shuffling closer to Flint in bed when he reaches for him. Together they leave the bed and Flint walks Silver to the living room, getting him set up on the couch with cartoons and a box of tissues before disappearing into the kitchen.

They have breakfast together - pancakes, fresh fruit, and coffee - and then Flint makes sure Silver has everything he needs, fussing over him.

“Let me know if I can get you anything. I’ll be in my study, I have to get some work done today. But you can text me if there’s anything at all you need, I’ll have my phone,” Flint says, kissing Silver’s forehead. He shouldn’t like that as much as he does, he thinks. “You get some rest, and recover.”

“You got it,” Silver says, smiling wearily up at Flint. He watches Flint’s cute butt as he walks away, thinking about how very lucky he is that said butt is his to enjoy.

He falls asleep again and wakes a little before lunch, feeling restless. He gets up from his nest on the couch, ambling to the bookshelf to find something to read. To his great surprise, he finds a few titles he recognizes - J.E. McGraw gay romance novels. Who knew that a literary, educated man like Flint would even read such a thing, let alone apparently enjoy them so much that he’d buy hard copies to keep forever?

Silver reaches for one of his personal favorites - Captain & Quartermaster - and is shocked to realize he’s holding a first edition. All he can think is that Flint must really, really like McGraw’s work. He takes the book with him back to the couch and settles in for a comforting reread, slowly shutting out the world around him, carried away as he is by the beauty of McGraw’s undeniably erotic prose.

He doesn’t surface from the story until a shadow falls across him and he hears a pointed throat-clearing noise. He starts, nearly dropping the book, and looks up at Flint, chagrined.

“Uh, hey. Sorry. How long have you been there? I got really absorbed in the book,” Silver says.

“Not long. I just wanted to see if you were hungry, I’m going to order something for lunch,” Flint says, a curiously self-satisfied smirk playing around his lips. “So you enjoy that one, hm?” he asks, gesturing to Captain & Quartermaster.

“Yeah. I’ve been reading McGraw since— well, since I found a copy of his first book shelved in the wrong section of the library as a teenager, actually. It was a big part of my sexual awakening,” he murmurs. “You must really like him too, I noticed this isn’t the only first edition you have of his on the shelf,” Silver says, gently putting the book aside on the coffee table.

“...you don’t know, do you?” Flint asks, a strange expression crossing his face. He looks bewildered and amused all at once.

“Know what?” Silver asks. He’s normally pretty quick on the uptake, but being sick makes him slow and sleepy, and he’s not getting what Flint is implying.

“I am him. I wrote those books, I’m J.E. McGraw,” Flint says, folding his freckled arms across the enticing expanse of his chest.

“No fucking way!” Silver blurts out before he can stop himself.

“Yes fucking way,” Flint replies, laughing. “Really, I swear. I could call my publicist now and prove it. That’s why I have all those first editions - I wrote the books.”

“I can’t believe I’m meeting one of my favorite authors,” Silver says, rising slowly from the couch, feeling a huge grin threatening to overtake his whole face. “I can’t believe I’ve been dating one of my favorite authors. I’ve had sex with J.E. McGraw!” he crows, slightly delirious with both fever and excitement.

“Easy, there. You’re still sick, I can’t have you getting all worked up,” Flint says, easing Silver back down onto the couch and sitting next to him. “Let’s order something to eat and then I’ll let you ask me whatever you want about my books.”

“Okay,” Silver says, nuzzling Flint’s shoulder and grinning some more, his eyes closing. “Can we make out, too?”

“Hmm...I would be worried about getting your germs, but I probably already have them from letting you sleep in my bed. Sure, if you can stay awake, we can make out,” Flint says, slipping one arm around Silver and drawing him in close.

Five minutes later Silver is asleep again, his head on Flint’s shoulder, drooling and snoring. In his fevered dreams, he and Flint are a dread pirate captain and his beloved quartermaster.