#it sounds kinda like a washing machine being done but the washers here don’t have Jingles so

[willow-dino]

If you’re gonna have an alarm at 3am. WAKE THE FUCK UP TO IT FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. ITS NOT EVEN A VIOLENT GOOD ALARM ITS A FEW BELLS AND JTS SO IRRITATING. I ALREADY WOKE UP FOR NO REASON J DONT NEED YOUR BABY ALSRM GRTTING ON MY NERVES FOR THE FORESEEABLE FUTURE TOO.

[garbagevanfleet]

Brightest Blue (series)

SURPRISE VALENTINE’S DAY UPDATE!

PART FIVE

Pairing: Josh x reader Warnings: flirting, alcohol, mentions of smoking  Summary:  Things are changing. New state. New school. New roommate. You just pray things are going to click into place. Notes: This chapter is so cute to me. Pajama party anyone?  As always, thanks to the actual best editor alive today, @lantern-inthenight​ 

MASTER POST

taglist: @valleyd0ll​ @satingrass-maidensfair​ @guitarfingers​ @thebohemianpenguin​ @peaceisouranthem​ @oblvions​ @hansonobsessed​

@bigblack-catattack​ @myownparadise96​ @lara-gvf​ @anditsmywholeheart​ @kill-fear-the-power-of-lies​

It was undeniable that winter was on its way. The weekend brought predictions for temps in the lower 40’s and, even in the warmth of the apartment, you felt perpetually chilled.

Kate had messaged you late on Friday asking if you wanted to get coffee Saturday morning, and you had excitedly agreed to meet her at the local cafe called The Daily Grind (which, admittedly, you chose because of the cute name).

She had seen you bundled up like a burrito in two sweatshirts and a long-sleeved tee underneath and laughed, but you explained to her how you had never really been in temps this cold before.

Your fingers were wrapped as tight as they could go around your mocha as you watched her sip her black coffee, her maroon-painted lips leaving a mark on the white mug.

“When we’re done here, would you want to go with me to a thrift store? My mom sent some money for me to buy warmer clothes when she saw the weather for this area,” you said with an excited tone. “She’s afraid I’m going to get pneumonia.”

She hummed in an interested tone. “That sounds like fun. Which one do you wanna check out first?”

“You’ve been around here longer, so I’ll let you pick.”

“The one on Maple is the one where all the rich sorority girls go, so I bet you’d find some good stuff there,” she informed, tapping her nails against the ceramic.

You beamed a smile, relishing in the sunny feeling that only spending time with other girls gave you. “You wanna drive or me?”

+++

“Do you think if I buy a pair of jeans a size too big I could get away with wearing leggings under them?” you asked, flicking through the hangers. “I feel like the wind here cuts right through my denim.”

“Maybe two sizes bigger so you can wear sweatpants.” You knew she was teasing you by her playful tone, but that was actually kind of brilliant, you thought. “You should try this one.”

You had to get onto your tippy toes to see her over the long rack. She was holding up a soft-looking sweater, multicolored horizontal stripes running across the fabric. The color pattern reminded you of Twiggy from the ’60s.

“It’s cute,” you agreed, taking it as she handed it to you. By the time you were ready for a fitting room, you had a pile of things and the employee on duty looked not very excited to have to put them back when you were done, but luckily she wouldn’t have to. Pretty much everything fit perfectly.

You were shocked to see the total - where you were from, all of that would have been well over $60, even second hand, but you ended up forking over a measly $35, and you figured most of that total was from the nearly new jacket you had found.

As she was driving you back to the coffee shop, you exclaimed giddily, “I’m so excited to have warm clothes. Now Josh can finally have his sweatshirts back.”

She looked over at you surprisedly. “That’s Josh’s?”

“Yeah, he gave me three and I’ve been alternating between them.” You reached forward to turn her radio up a notch, Janet Jackson’s “All For You” perking your ears.

“Are you sure he wants them back?” she asked, giving you a coy smile that you didn’t understand.

You adopted a puzzled look. If she was alluding to something, it was lost on you. “Why wouldn’t he? They’re still perfectly fine - I was even careful not to get my perfume on them.”

Now stopped at a red light, she turned to give you a squinty look until she seemed to realize you were serious. “Nevermind,” she relented, smirking forward at the road.

When you got back home, Josh was gone. You shot him a message inquiring as to his whereabouts and started snipping the tags off of your new clothes with a pair of pruning shears. You were exponentially grateful for the fact that the washing machine in your building had been repaired - and with a shocking amount of haste too.

The smell of the laundry room down the hall was pleasant. It reminded you of the times when your mom would wash all the towels and blankets in the house, and that was a job that either required a laundromat, or an entire day switching loads.

At the end of your shopping day, you made out with three new sweaters, two pairs of thicker jeans, a new coat, a winter hat, and an actual pajama set, which would be infinitely warmer than the shorts and tank top you’d moved in with.

You cheerily popped your new clothes into the washer, along with a tide pod, some of your bras and underwear, and closed the lid.

Around 1 pm, Josh still wasn’t back and hadn’t replied, so you decided it was a perfect time to work on some self-care. The yoga mat you had packed had yet to see the light of day in Michigan, so you dug it out, unrolled it in your room, changed into some easy clothing, and pulled up a beginner’s tutorial on your phone. By the thirty-minute mark, you were sweating and tired, but the stretch in your muscles was oddly pleasant on top of the discomfort, so you pushed yourself to keep going until the video was done. The cute blonde running the tutorial suggested you take some time in your cool down to look inward, as she thought that was a big part of yoga. So, you laid there on the mat, staring up at your ceiling for a good, long while, just taking time to reflect and enjoying it.

Your room, and the whole apartment really, had become home so quickly. You hadn’t ever had the opportunity to test the theory before, but you had always imagined that leaving home would make you feel out of place.

But you didn’t.

Sure, you missed home in the way that any human that came from a loving and supporting family would, but you were expecting to ache for it. You had taken a long time in your backyard and in your favorite spot back home, just so you could have a final fix, but all that was to you now was a fond memory.

After a few moments of being alone with your thoughts, you were going to get up and take a shower, but you had decided to postpone it. While you were staring up at the ceiling, you realized that there was a lot of unused space that the sun hit toward the top of the room. Wasted sun was a felony in your book. You spent about an hour pulling down your curtain rod, removing the fabric, and replacing it with hanging pots of all sizes and lengths.

Your string of hearts, your pearls, your golden pothos - the thought of them being the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes in the morning was one that made you feel sentimental. You’d just have to be careful with watering.

Once you were satisfied with the placements, you made your way to the bathroom. As you waited for the shower to heat up to a tolerable temperature, you took some time to pluck any stray hairs around your eyebrows and gently brush the knots out of your hair. Self-care had always felt like a long term investment to you - one well worth it.

The warm spray of the shower felt amazing on your tired muscles, so you took your sweet time getting clean and enjoying it, then blow-drying your hair on low heat when you were finished. After, you excitedly got out your new pajama set, clipped the tags, and put it on.

Shortly thereafter, you heard a key slip into the lock on the front door. You were cuddled up on the couch, enjoying the feel of the soft fabric on your freshly scrubbed skin as you watched through the complete second season of the Simpsons, popcorn in your lap.

When he stepped into the house, he raised his eyebrows at you, surveying the area.

“What?” you asked, giving him a confused look.

“Just looking for the books and the homework.” You rolled your eyes at him before he continued on with, “I just always assumed that when I wasn’t around, you were doing boring, adult things.”

You gave him a playful shrug as you gestured to the noticeably book free space around you.

He squinted at you suddenly. “Are you in your pajamas? You know it’s like 3:30 in the afternoon, right?”

“They’re new!” you quipped. “And I was excited to wear them. You don’t have to be jealous, you could go get yours on and join me.”

The offer seemed to be tempting him. “I have a better idea. How about you go change, and we’re going to go to a party tonight.”

You scowled at him, crossing your arms over your chest. “Are you crazy? I’m already in my pajamas. I’ve already taken my bra off! Once it’s off, it doesn’t go back on.”

He laughed, loud and unabashed, showing you all of his teeth. The sound made your cheeks flush.

“C’mon, I bet Kate will be there,” he reasoned. “And I obviously will be. And I’m positive Jake will be too. This might be your chance to get them to hook up.”

You bit your bottom lip in consideration. “The timing would be kinda perfect; she could have the whole day tomorrow to process it and then tell me about it on Monday.”

He was smirking at you when you looked back up at him, making you tuck your hair behind your ear anxiously. “If I come, do you promise not to leave me alone?”

He nodded at you confidently. “I will not leave you.”

The very first thing you did was message Kate. It was vital that she was there, just in case Josh got too drunk to remember his promise. You didn’t have a hard time socializing, per-say. You were just nervous about your first real social event here.

Josh was right though - it wouldn’t kill you to make some more friends.

When you were in the bathroom brushing your teeth, Kate messaged back saying that she would never miss getting to see you drunk, and you didn’t have the heart to tell her you had to drive, so you opted to leave that part out. You worked on picking out a good, sensible outfit and took your time to put on makeup again. Admittedly, it felt kind of nice - you used to wear a full beat all the time, but somewhere along the line it started to feel tedious, which is something you never wanted any of your favorite things to feel, so you put the whole idea of it on the shelf for a while.

When you finally emerged from your room around 8, Josh was sitting on the kitchen counter, phone in his hands as he furiously typed out a message. You listened to the pleasant sound of his fingers tapping on the glass screen for a moment before speaking.

“Who are you messaging?” you asked, but it didn’t grab his full attention right away.

“Just one of the other theater guys,” he said through a near sneer. The only time you ever saw him looking distressed was when it came to his production. “Trying to tell me what I can and can’t do with my own production-”

When he looked up at you the rest of his thoughts seemed to escape him, all the emotion in his face and posture crumbling away.

You folded your hands together, giving him a concerned look. “Are you okay?”

He tucked his phone into the pocket of his pants, abandoning whatever he had been so intent on doing just seconds ago.

“Yeah, I just haven’t ever seen you dressed up before.”

The extra attention made you slump back against the hallway wall, giving him a nervous grimace. Through pursed lips, you asked, “Is it too much?”

His eyes popped open, along with his mouth. It took him a moment to speak actual words - like he wanted to say a lot all at once. “What? No! I’m just stupid,” he assured, running his fingers through his curls. “It took my brain a moment to process.”

You gave him a forgiving smile, opening the fridge and grabbing out a carton of juice. He watched as you took a swig, letting you swallow before asking, “Do you want me to drive?”

Your eyebrows raised in surprise, finger swiping away a stray droplet. “Can you?”

“Drive?” he laughed. “Yes. I can drive.”

“Legally?” you pressed, handing over the carton to him when you caught him eyeing it. He took a drink right from the spout as well, giving you a wink that made you lovingly roll your eyes.

+++

You two seemed to unintentionally match. He was in a pair of khaki pants, a black long-sleeved shirt, and a denim jacket on top. You were positive he was going to freeze solid one of these days because he always seemed to be way underdressed for the weather.

As you went to get out of the car, he stopped you with a touch to your knee. “You should take off your jacket and hat and leave them in here; I wouldn’t ever trust leaving them unattended at a party.” He paused before speaking again. “Not that anyone would necessarily steal them, just that people get drunk and think stuff is theirs.”

“Like you did with the wallet?” you teased, making him rub at the back of his neck.

“Yes,” he said pointedly through a grin. “Like that.”

He held the sleeve of your jacket as you shrugged out of it, abandoning it into the back seat. You took just a second to mourn the fact that it would be cold when you went to put it back on.

In the rearview mirror, you fixed your hair, having been mussed by the removal of your hat, and then stepped out. He ushered you along first, reaching past you and pushing the door open for you when you had reached it. The music hit you like a wall, loud and energetic - followed quickly by the smell of alcohol. A cloud of smoke hung subtly near the ceiling, giving the room an air of mystery. You realized you hadn’t made a move to enter the house when you felt his hand on the middle of your back.

“Everything okay?” he asked, just above the volume of the music. You nodded, feeling silly for holding him up, and stepped inside.

People were moving to the music like blood reacting to a heartbeat, swaying around to the rhythms all in a pleasant unison. The scene was oddly hypnotic as the colors danced around.

The second that people could see Josh behind you, they started calling his name. Your stomach lurched for a second, scared that he was either going to leave you or drag you to a group that you didn’t know, but he waved them off instead.

“I’ll catch you guys in a minute,” he shouted through a grin so charming they couldn’t seem to muster up a shred of annoyance toward him. Then, he spoke the next part right against your ear. “You want a drink?”

“Just one,” you agreed with a nod, shivering ever so slightly as his breath hit your cheek.

In the kitchen, huddled around an island covered by bottles, was a group of people, all very visibly drunk. One of those people was Kate, dressed in a crisp looking pair of jeans, a white crop top, and a red checkered flannel shirt, left open to expose her midriff.

When she caught sight of you, she gave you a big, toothy smile. The sharp fringe of her bob moved just enough to sometimes expose a pair of gold disk earrings.

“Need a drink?” she asked as she broke away from the rest of the crowd. “I’ll make it for you.”

You put your hands up, laughing at her enthusiasm. “I’m going to let Josh make it for me,” you informed, knowing full well that she would make it strong enough to get you drunk and keep you in that state for the whole evening.

The one that Josh ended up making for you was, undeniably, a rum and Coke. Not your most favorite thing ever, but then again, this one was mostly just Coke. You made a mental note to thank him for being so considerate.

The three of you ended up in the living room, right in the throws of all the action. You’d been to a few parties back home, but this felt kind of different. Back home, it was always hot, so the parties usually spilled out into the yard in all directions. Come to think of it, you’d never been to a party where the guests weren’t making prominent use of the pool. But here everyone was packed in tightly, making a large house feel tiny.

Kate found you all a nice little corner with a love seat and some kind of weird puff you think you were meant to put your feet on. Settling in there meant you’d have to share the space with a couple of other people, but it felt worth it to not be standing in the middle of the room. Being out in the open made you feel nervous - like you were being circled by sharks.

The songs changed, but the beat seemed to stay pretty much the same, making it easy for the time to slip by without your acknowledgment. By the time you checked your watch, it was nearly eleven.

True to his word, Josh didn’t leave your side the whole night. People kept popping in and out to get a word with him. You couldn’t hear them well because he was sat across from you, but he was laughing quite a bit. Some of it looked kind of forced, but most of it seemed genuine - like he was actually having a nice time.

It wasn’t until you were close to getting ready to leave that you saw Jake making his way down the stairs, one hand on the wooden railing to steady himself and the other wrapped around a red cup. You flashed him a smile when his eyes landed on you, and he gave you one back, giving you a feather-light punch to your shoulder when he reached you.

“Move over,” he demanded in Josh’s direction, sitting nearly on top of him on the couch, with only light complaints from his twin.

“You smell like sex,” Josh said through a fake grimace, pressing his elbow into Jake’s ribs.

“Can’t imagine why,” Jake responded with a smirk, lifting the cup to his lips as you giggled at him.

The realization struck you as his eyes landed on Kate next. “Oh, Jake, this is my friend Kate. Kate, Jake Kiszka.”

She reached out and took his hand to shake and at the same moment, Josh laid his hand on your leg and through a grin, asked, “Should we take off?”

You laughed, giving him a nod.

“Kathrine, Jacob,” Josh started, clapping his hands together in front of him. “We are leaving. See you guys soon?”

“We should actually get tacos,” Kate stated seriously to the group as a whole, and then just to Josh said, “And my name is Kathleen.”

[myheartrevealedocs]

Untouchable Ch 27: The Instincts (S4E6)

Warnings: kidnapping, murder of children, nightmares

Ch 26 | Ch 28

~ ~ ~

It took a few weeks of just talking. About anything and everything with each other. But Spencer was finally certain that Lydia was his other half. 

They were just so similar. It was eerie to him, because ever since he’d met her he’d thought she was everything he wasn’t: outgoing, brave, and impulsive. But in all the ways that mattered, they were exactly the same. Ambitious and moral and smart. And all his fears and anxieties couldn’t keep him from loving that about her. The good and the bad. They were perfectly matched in their passion and their stubbornness.

Eventually, Spencer had to leave for yet another case and it turned out to be far more difficult than he had foreseen. Upon boarding the jet, he’d fallen asleep, which was unusual enough as was. But he was woken up from a very strange nightmare by Rossi, who was concerned about him mumbling in his sleep.

He had almost forgotten entirely about his dream by that evening. The case they were working was a child abductor case. The unsub had kidnapped a 5-year-old boy and called the parents to torment them once or twice, before suffocating the child seven days later. They had just taken another boy, by the name of Michael Bridges.

Hotch had ordered Reid and Morgan to stay with the family that night in case they received another phone call. So Spencer and his coworker were drifting off on the couches downstairs when something caught his eye.

There was a door in the hallway parallel to the stairs. He could have sworn that hadn’t been there when they arrived, but nonetheless, he felt compelled to go check it out.

Quietly getting up, he walked over and found that the new discovery led down to a basement. As he stepped down, he reached for his gun, a sinking feeling coming over him.

The basement was for the most part empty. Directly across from the entrance was a washer and dryer, their bright white color standing out against the beige walls. And just peeking out behind the washer were two tiny feet with jeans and black tennis shoes on.

Spencer approached, but stopped short before he could see any more of the body. At the sound of footsteps, he turned and found Morgan and Rossi behind him. He didn’t for a moment question why Rossi was there.

“We couldn’t find any evidence of forced entry.”

“Why would that matter?” Spencer asked. Something was wrong. Everything about this was insanely familiar. He’d been here before. Seen this before.

“‘Cause it means he most likely knew his attacker,” Morgan argued, but at that point, Spencer had stopped listening.

There were strange lumps forming on his chest. Ripping open the front of his button down, he was horrified to find multiple leeches attached to his torso.

“Get them off me!” he shrieked. “Morgan, get them off me! Morgan!”

“Reid!” Morgan’s voice was fainter than he remembered. Morgan was right behind him, wasn’t he? “Reid! Wake up! It’s Morgan.”

Spencer’s eyes flew open and found himself back on the couch of the Bridges home, his arms crossed protectively over his chest. Morgan had turned on a nearby lamp and was hovering over him, concern filling his face.

It was the same dream he’d had on the jet. The only difference was the first time he’d woken up trying to get JJ’s unborn baby off the scene and this time, he’d woken up while covered in leeches. Reid didn’t believe in dream analysis… but why did it change?

“What the hell’s going on?” Mr. Bridges demanded, him and his wife rushing down the stairs.

“Sir, ma’am,” Morgan addressed, “everything’s okay.”

“You wake us up screaming and you think everything’s okay?”

“Look, I understand we startled you and I’m sorry for that.”

“You’re the FBI!”

Spencer ran his fingers through his hair. “You’re right,” he stuttered. “You’re right. I’m, just, I’m really sorry.”

Morgan watched him for a moment, seeing his shoulders shudder up and down as he caught his breath. Then he turned back to the couple. “Sir, please, go back upstairs and try to get some rest. It was just a misunderstanding. Everything is fine, I promise you that.”

Mr. Bridges stormed off in a huff, but his wife stuck around for a moment, shuffling her feet on the steps. “Are you okay?”

“It was a dream,” he said, then gulped. “I’m really sorry.”

“Was it about Michael?”

Spencer didn’t know. He hadn’t seen any more than a small pair of black sneakers. But for her sake, he shook his head.

“I’ve been afraid to close my eyes,” she continued. “I’m scared I’ll see him die.”

He opened his mouth. The words ‘Don’t worry’ died in his throat. They weren’t true. He didn’t believe them. The chances of finding Michael were so slim. So he stood there with his mouth hanging open.

“Ma’am, I know it’s hard,” Morgan interrupted, softly. “But I need you to go upstairs and try to get some sleep…” Her eyes never left Spencer. “Please. I am sorry for the disturbance.”

Finally, she turned on her heel and left, turning off the hall light as she went.

“I’m making everything worse,” Spencer sighed.

“Reid… these cases get to all of us.”

“I’m losing it in their living room. And I’m dreaming- I’m dreaming about dead kids and being covered in leeches.”

“What the hell is scaring you?”

It took a few moments for Spencer to phrase his feelings into a coherent thought. “This boy’s going to die and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.”

~ ~ ~

The next day was the funeral for the first boy who’d been kidnapped. With the amount of remorse the unsub showed with his body, they figured it was likely they’d be at the funeral to show respect to the child they’d killed.

Hotch wanted Michael’s parents there as well. It was possible they’d recognize the unsub or even just be able to tell if someone was watching them. And the unsub… The unsub would definitely by watching.

After getting changed into dark clothing, Spencer went upstairs to look around Michael’s room again.

“Hey kid,” Morgan called, appearing in the door not moments later. “We’re almost ready to go.”

“You know, they’re right. Odds are we’ll catch the unsub when he dumps the body or when he tries to snatch another kid.”

“I know the odds, Reid.”

It was so negative. Spencer wasn’t normally a pessimist, but the whole situation was bullshit. It was his job to save this kid. Why couldn’t he just… just save him? “It’s weird. Some things never go away.” He stepped away from his friend to pick up something off Michael’s desk to show him. “When I was a kid, every boy I knew had piles of dinosaur toys.”

He set down the green tyrannosaurus where he found it.

“Not you?” Morgan asked knowingly.

“I had books and notebooks. My mom filled hundreds of them with poems by W.S. Erwin and songs by Bob Dylan. She liked it when I memorized them. She was convinced that they were watching us and writing songs about our lives.”

Where are you going with this? he asked himself. What is bothering you so much that you’re sitting here tossing around a six-year-old’s dinosaurs?

“Basements are the first part of a house to be built, right?” he blurted out. “So, if you’re having a recurring dream about a basement, kinda speaks to the core fundamentals of who you are as a person.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in dream analysis?”

“Freud’s been discredited, but Jung still has his merits… My dream? The dead boy? I’ve been having different versions of it since I was a little kid.”

“Hey.” Morgan made a few steps closer to him. “Have you talked to Lydia about this?”

“Why would I talk to Lydia about this?”

“Because you trust her,” Morgan insisted. “You love her a lot and I have the feeling she might be able to talk you through some of this. You know, no one would think less of you if you took a little time off to talk with her and get your head together.”

Spencer knit his eyebrows together. How would that help? It was a stupid dream anyway, wasn’t it? “I just want to find this boy,” he insisted, then stepped around Morgan and headed downstairs towards the car.

~ ~ ~

As Hotch handed the young Michael Bridges off to his family, Morgan was frustrated to see Spencer standing apart from the group, clearly lost in his own thoughts. This is what he wanted. They found Michael alive.

He wondered if it was a mistake to show him the Riley Jenkins case. Riley Jenkins had died at six, when Spencer was four, and many of the case details lined up to Spencer’s dreams: he was found in his basement, behind a washing machine, and lived in Las Vegas, very close to where Spencer lived.

“You know, this is about as good a day as we’re gonna get on this job.”

“I know,” Spencer mumbled.

“And yet you’re still thinking about a boy you’re not even sure if you really knew.”

His grimace didn’t reassure Morgan in his statement. “When I was four, my mother had a sense that I was in danger.”

“Reid, your mother wasn’t well.”

“I know facts about the case,” he argued.

“Reid, you’ve got a photographic memory. Odds are, you saw the story-- he was just a kid like you-- and it caught your imagination.”

“I don’t really think that you believe that.”

Profilers. He should know better than to lie to Reid. “You want to know what I really believe?” he mended. “I believe you could have done anything in this world with your life, and you chose to do this job. Your man Carl Jung says our unconscious is the key to our life’s pursuits.”

It took Spencer a moment to confirm that what Morgan said was correct. “Yeah… Yeah.”

“So, for whatever reason, that case was stuck in your brain all these years, and it not only led you to this career choice but to the same city where your mother lives, and for us to have the opportunity to save this child.”

It finally seemed like he was breaking through. Spencer gave him the smallest smile. But Derek knew that he wasn’t going to really get through to him. That’s why he had a backup plan.

“Like I said, this is probably as good a day as we’re gonna get, man. Enjoy your moment.”

Hotch appeared from around Morgan’s shoulder to join their group and Spencer seemed to think of something. “Hey, Hotch? Do you think it would be possible to wait until tomorrow to return home?”

Hotch looked down as if contemplating, then turned to Morgan. “Do you think you could find something to do in Vegas for the night?”

Derek didn’t try to stop the grin that was spreading across his face. Hotch knew that no one on the team would argue about a night off in Vegas. Especially not him. So the two of them wandered off, but as they left, Derek could tell Spencer was still thinking about Riley Jenkins.

Alright, plan B then… 

Hotch gave him a questioning look as he pulled out his phone and dialed a familiar number, but Morgan didn’t care. The whole team could listen for all he cared, if it meant Spencer got out of this slump.

“Hello?”

“Lydia? When was the last time you spoke with Spencer?”

“Uh… he sent me a goodnight text last night? But that’s been our only communication while he’s been in Vegas. Why?”

“I think you should give him a call and ask about his nightmares.”

“He hasn’t told me about any nightmares…”

“I know. But he’s woken up shouting twice on this case so far. He told me about it, but I just can’t seem to help.”

“How do you propose I bring it up to him?”

“You can tell him I told you. He’s gonna know I interfered either way.”

“Okay… Thanks, Derek.”

“Good luck, kiddo.”

Tags: @kris-stuff​, @wooya1224​, @bispences​, @anotherr-fine-mess​, @eddysocs​

[fire-the-headcanons]

"Just, you've both been really quiet lately," Tai said.. More quiet than usual, I mean. …Ever since Halloween. And… your shoulder… are you still hurt from the fight with the Ursa? You keep rubbing it."

His arm instantly dropped to his lap. "We're both just tired. Recharging."

"She's been fine for a day already."

"I don't know what's going on in her head any better than you do." He stared down into the open textbook. "...Raven and I had a fight. It's not important."

"She didn't push you down those stairs, did she?"

"N-no! Not…" he trailed off. "No. It won't affect the team. We can still fight."

It was one thing to brush off a problem like it was no big deal. Everyone did that. But Qrow…  "...Dude, that's not what I'm worried about," Tai complained, sliding back to his feet. "You've both been upset."

"It's not your fault. Or Summer's."

Qrow acted like they only ever asked about him out of self-interest.

Follow the Beacon Taiyang — Scars

[Link to Masterpost]

(Hope you’re all staying safe. This chapter’s not as light, but nothing bad.)

The door opened with a soft click, and Tai was surprised to find it wasn't empty. "Oh. Hey, Qrow."

"How was your date?" Qrow asked, tucking a sheet of paper into his history textbook before flipping to the next chapter. The Founding of Mantle—they were moving fast. Then again, they had to in order to catch up.

"Good. Dan's supposed to call home tonight so we broke it off early, though. What are you doing here?" 

"I owe Lionheart an assignment," he grumbled, glaring at the textbook like it had personally insulted him.

"You've got all weekend. It's Friday night, go have some fun. …Even Raven's gone." 

"Yeah, I'm not sure where she went," he muttered distractedly, rubbing his shoulder. 

"Are you okay?"

"I won't miss combat training Monday."

"…That's not what I meant."

Qrow finally looked at him, almost. 

"Just, you've both been really quiet lately," Tai said.. More quiet than usual, I mean. …Ever since Halloween. And… your shoulder… are you still hurt from the fight with the Ursa? You keep rubbing it."

His arm instantly dropped to his lap. "We're both just tired. Recharging."

"She's been fine for a day already."

"I don't know what's going on in her head any better than you do." He stared down into the open textbook. "...Raven and I had a fight. It's not important."

"She didn't push you down those stairs, did she?"

"N-no! Not…" he trailed off. "No. It won't affect the team. We can still fight."

It was one thing to brush off a problem like it was no big deal. Everyone did that. But Qrow…  "...Dude, that's not what I'm worried about," Tai complained, sliding back to his feet. "You've both been upset."

"It's not your fault. Or Summer's."

Qrow acted like they only ever asked about him out of self-interest.

He folded his arms, leaning against his own desk on the other side of the doorway. "I'm trying to ask how I can help."

"I'm fine."

"No. I'm not asking if I can help, I'm asking how."

Qrow blinked. "I…" His face shifted from surprise through consideration and came to rest on agonizing indecision. "Can… Can you show me how to print a copy? Like Summer did with the poster?"

"Y-yeah. Of course," Tai said. It was a jarringly simple request compared to the tension still caught in his expression. "What do you need to make a copy of?"

"I have to return this to the library tomorrow," he muttered, sliding a little black book out from under his history textbook. "But I'm not done with the assignment I need it for. I don't have time to copy the pages I need by hand."

"No problem! ...You know I'm always happy to help you with that kind of stuff."

Qrow smiled, somehow even less reassured. "T-thanks. How much is a—how much is it per page?"

"I think it's like ten lien for black and white, and twenty for color."

"Oh. That's not bad."

"Trust me, it adds up quick. But, I mean, normal size paper is relatively cheap and easy. There's a scanner downstairs we can use for this. The poster had to go through one of the library's big ones. Come on."

Qrow tiptoed out into the hall after him, following down to the little printing kiosk off in an alcove of the lobby. "Lift here, put what you want to copy face down, and put in the lien card here. Then, um…" he swiped through the menu on the little built-in screen of the printer. "Here, press copy, pick color or black and white, and then hit scan."

"I didn't know this printer could do that," Qrow admitted, examining it. "Thanks. I—I can just meet you back in the room." He tried and failed to sound casual, standing stiffly with his hand white-knuckled on the book's spine.

"…Okay," Tai said, backing away from the machine to give him space. He carefully set the book open on the glass, always covering the title on the spine with his hand.

Obviously all of this should go into his notes on the twins, but what was he even looking at?

Tai retreated from the alcove and headed back for the stairs. Glancing back one more time, he paused. The machine was blocked from view by the wall, but Qrow's reflection was easily visible in the glass of the window behind. The night outside practically made it a mirror.

He scanned a single page before closing the book. It was way too far and indistinct for Tai to even guess what was on it, but Qrow stared at it almost reverently for a moment before beginning to rip it into pieces. One got tucked into the book. Qrow continued to methodically shred the rest, by hand, into confetti and let the pieces fall into the little trash can next to the printer.

Tai didn't wait for him to finish and find him spying. Laundry, laundry would be a good cover, and his combat gear needed a wash. What was that all about, though?

They'd been living together for months. Why couldn't they just...talk? Ever? Summer was right, they were supposed to be a team. And the longer it went on, the more obvious it became that even Raven was perfectly willing to help them with homework, or whatever, but neither of them was willing to ask for help in return. Even when injured. It didn't make sense.

He gathered up his things quickly, and ran into Qrow on his way to the bathroom.

"Sorry." He jumped out of Tai's way.

"Thanks, sorry," Tai said, edging past him with the mesh hamper.

"A-and thanks for the help."

Tai paused. At least he looked happier, whatever that had been about. "Hey, man, we're teammates. I'm always happy to help… I… I kinda wish you and Raven would ask more often."

"O-oh." Qrow paused, unsure how to respond, and then headed back into the room and let the door shut.

The real problem, Tai groused as he shoved his clothes into the washer, is that they don't trust us. But what reason had they ever given the twins for it?

A pair of pants from one of his uniforms had gotten scooped up with the bedding, and he pulled them back out. Pausing to stare at the dark fabric clenched in his hand. 

He gave them a reason to mistrust him on the second day.

...And he'd forgotten his laundry detergent.

Tai sighed, straightening up and heading back into the hall and to their room. Qrow seemed to think it was funny, though. The lock clicked open at a wave from his scroll. Unless he was lying ab—

His scroll tumbled from his hand as he very abruptly realized that he'd never once seen Qrow shirtless. Angry red lines ran over his shoulder, the one he was always rubbing, and down his back. Skin twisted, puckered, and bulged as if someone had taken a cheese grater to it. 

"Oh my gods." He didn't mean to say it, he really didn't.

Qrow flinched, crumpling away from the open door, trying in vain to cover the scars with his left hand. He stumbled, pants still around his knees, nearly crashing to the ground but slamming into the closet door with a rattling thud instead.

Tai clapped a hand over his eyes. "I—I'm sorry! I forgot my detergent!"

"I-it's okay," Qrow stammered, and his closet door creaked. "You can look now."

"Sorry," Tai said again, grabbing his soap from under his bed and fleeing the room.

The lines had practically burned into his eyes. Beacon and even Signal had first aid classes, hell, he was the best one in team DZST at the subject. He knew what bites looked like, claw marks, burns. Those scars were no accident, no bad run-in with a Grimm.

Several puzzle pieces had just snapped together and the picture on them was horrifying.

 Numb, Tai returned to the bathroom and added soap before starting the washer. Water slowly filled the machine. Qrow still needed time to get dressed. He drew out his notes, re-reading weeks of observations, heart sinking with each line.

Qrow stayed bent over his book as he re-entered, but his pen stilled on the page and Tai knew he was being watched from under his bangs.

"Who did that to you?" Tai asked, quietly.

He cringed. Noticeably. "A-a Beowolf. When I was six—"

"Don't lie. Please. I— I just want to help. Qrow—" he took a deep, steadying breath, "your, your farm. ...Did they even pay you? Both of you have been working for years and you don't… you don't have... much money or stuff." 

He sat stiff, staring silently at his notes. 

Heart pounding, Tai voiced the question that he really feared. "Did you two escape from somewhere?" Qrow flinched again, shrinking away, and his stomach soured. "Those scars. Did they do that to you?"

"S-stop. Please."

"Stop what? Caring? I can't do that." 

His eyes darted toward the door before returning to his shoes. "Just pretend you didn't see. Please don't tell anyone—Raven can't—"

"Did Raven—?!"

"No!"

Their eyes finally met, and Tai stopped at the panic in his expression. Qrow had never been this scared.

He's afraid of me. Tai's stomach squeezed nauseatingly.

"O...okay. I won't say anything. Just… please tell me if you need help."

For a moment, he seemed to consider it. The fear won. Silently, without breaking eye contact, he shook his head no.

Tai let his hands drop to his sides, stepping back. Qrow hunched over his homework again, pretending to write notes as he hid his face. Dragging the chair back to his desk, Tai slumped into it, stomach churning.

...This is all my fault.

Next Chapter: Qrow—Acquaintances 

[spiderman-homecomeme]

For me I think a cute college au would be that peter and mj are in the same dorm like across the hall, and maybe they always do their laundry at the same time and she notices he’s washing blood and dirt out of his clothes always or something lol :)

Hello friend!! so sorry this one was late!! I had this written out a while ago but couldn’t come up with a proper way to end the dang thing, but i’ve got it!! I hope you like it!!

Here is some 1.8k of funny collegiate fluff and stuff!!

Michelle’s pretty sure— she’d say maybe about 40%— that certified Cute Boy Across the Hall™ Peter Parker is a serial killer.

That, or he’s Spider-Man, which seems more likely.

But she finds it hard to come up with any other explanation.

Sure, Peter Parker is one of the nicest people she’s ever encountered. Honestly, the guy didn’t have a mean bone in his body; the kind of person that apologizes to inanimate objects after running into them.

And yeah, he may be almost frustratingly considerate sometimes— once, he bought her a new laundry basket after some asshole stole it (which was weird by itself, the theft. Who even does that?)

Another time, he’d stayed up till, like, 3 AM, helping some poor soul figure out their advanced chemistry homework.

He’s always the first volunteer when someone needs help moving furniture or something like that (he’s also weirdly strong).

Why he’s not an RA absolutely baffles her.

No, she doesn’t come to the serial killer conclusion at first. He’s too nice.

Then again, they always start as charming, don’t they?

See, every Thursday night, when everyone’s out getting drunk and partying at All You Can Drink till the sun comes up, that’s when Michelle gets all her shit done. No one to bother her, no one to knock on her door and ask questions, nothing. It’s prime be-productive time. Mostly, she uses it to do laundry, finding some peace in the quiet room, reading as she listens to the mechanic hum of the machines.

Except, she’s not always alone on these nights.

Peter usually washes his stuff then, too, always coming in with a basket-load of dirty clothes held tightly to his chest, eyes wide, mouth in some kind of weird rushed demeanor. But, polite young man that he is, he always makes sure to greet her with a smile, making the generic, nice small talk that’s expected; what book she’s reading, and how was it, how her day was, how her classes are. She doesn’t mind it really. Normally, she’d inwardly roll her eyes at talking about the weather or other shit like that.

But…

She’d definitely make an exception in this case.

Plus, he was so soft and pure as a person. How could she ruin his spirit like that?

It also helps that he happens to be really easy on the eyes.

So what if she gets a little hot under the collar seeing him in something as simple as a white tee and gray sweatpants?

Despite how attractive she finds him, she figures it might not be the best idea to get involved with someone like him. Yeah, he’s cute, but again, he’s either a crime-fighting vigilante or a murderer.

She’s not sure though, her only real concrete evidence coming from the blood and mud stains that are splattered on some of his clothes. That’s a little concerning, but she doesn’t mention it the first few times.

It’s when it starts becoming a regular thing, that’s when she becomes intrigued. The red spots always seem to be on his clothes, but there’s never any sign of it on him; no scars, no bruises.

After some observations, she discovers that it’s usually the same few t-shirts and boxers, occasionally, it’s some red hoodie (which, funnily enough, you can still see blood on red). One time, when she’d come in a little after him at around two am, he was scrubbing something red and blue. He’d nearly jumped out of his skin, shoving what she thought was spandex into the hamper, piling clothes on top of it.

Another point for superhero.

Then there was the whole thing with his roommate, Ned. They’ve apparently been best buds since High School, which was pretty cool, she guessed. But the weird thing was, was that those two were always whispering, glancing around and behind their shoulders before continuing a conversation.

It was impossible to catch him after his last class of the day, Intro the Philosophy at 2:30 (what? She’s not a stalker, just observant. He’s the potential serial killer, here.) His footsteps are silent as he rushes down the hall to his dorm, disappearing into his room for hours at a time. He’d be off campus from then until midnight at the earliest, doing God knows what.

With all of that, it would only make sense that this 4.0 college sophomore was leading a double life as a ruthless murderer. What, with the blood and dirt staining his clothes, the hushed tones spoken with his roommate, and the disappearing act…

And again, maybe he’s Spider-Man.

Even with the suspicious activity, though, she couldn’t help but feel a bit of concern for the guy. If he wasn’t a criminal or a superhero, obviously something was going on outside of classes, and not just normal extracurriculars. It may not have been any of her business, and really, she’d be happy to just keep doing her thing of observing from the sidelines, but she couldn’t help but wonder, and she didn’t think she’d be completely satisfied until she got at least some semblance of an answer.  

That’s what this Saturday night was for. To find out once and for all whether or not this kid was a homicidal maniac or a masked vigilante crime-fighter.

Her foot taps mindlessly, basket perched on her hip, she types in the four digit code. For a moment, she feels a little stuck, trying to figure out which hand to grab the handle with, struggling for a moment to get the door open.

Instead, she nearly falls forward when it pulls open, revealing the kind face of Mr. Killer himself, Peter Parker.

His eyes crinkle as a smile breaks across his face, and she feels the annoying butterflies fluttering in her stomach. “Hi, Michelle.”

Wow, the deviant.

“Sup, loser,” she remarks, a half smirk tugging at her lips as she moves past him, setting her hamper on top of one of the washers.

There’s a silence, and her eyes glance back to him, catching his dopey expression as he stares at her. He coughs, scratching the back of his neck, averting his gaze and busying himself with his dirty clothes.

They continue in a comfortable silence, spouting the occasional tidbit of small talk here and there. Honestly, if it weren’t for the same blood and dirt on the same t-shirt she might have forgotten that teensy little problem she had to investigate.

He seems to be trying to block her view from the shirt as he loads it into the washer, hastily chucking it into the chamber.

“You know, hydrogen peroxide’ll get that right out,” Michelle states matter-of-factly, not looking up from her own basket.

Peter freezes, head whipping toward her, eyes wide in a state of both shock and fear. “Huh?!”

“Hydrogen peroxide. The blood. On your shirt,” she replies, shrugging slightly as if it’s obvious. “Put it on there until it bubbles and then you scrub it out. Don’t just wash it.”

He stands ramrod straight, his face stricken with nerves, scrambling slightly, slamming the washing machine door closed in an instant. “What are you— What are you talking about?”

Michelle fights back an eyeroll. “Okay, I’m not dumb. And I’m not blind,” she folds her arms across her chest, fixing him with a skeptical glare. “How’d it happen?”

There’s a weird silence as he tries to respond, mouth opening and closing, but no sound coming out. He clears his throat, eyes trying to focus on anything but her in the room. “I… uh—I fell… down… the… stairs. Yeah,” he lets out a sharp exhale, resting his hands on his hips, nodding slowly. “The stairs. I’m clumsy.”

“So,” Michelle muses. “You fell down the stairs…”

Peter nods again. “Clumsy ol’ me.”

“Every week?”

He sputters, an awkward hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck. “Well, it sounds weird when you— when you put it like that…”

“Uh-huh,” her tone is still skeptical, but she feels the slightest bit of humor bubbling up inside of her. She honestly doesn’t know where that whole killer thing came from, because honestly, this kid doesn’t seem like he’d be able to hurt a fly a be able to live with himself. So far, the whole superhero thing might be more likely. She might as well just ask, though, just to get under his skin. “So, are you like a serial killer or something?”

The ghostly shade of white his face turns is a little funny, but she doesn’t crack a smile. He blanches, immediately shaking his head as fast as he can. “Oh, God. No! No! I’m not!! I swear!”

“Hmmmm bit defensive?”

“No! Oh my God—” He covers his head in his hands, groaning. “It’s not that at all!”

“Then what is it?”

“…. Fight club?”

Honestly, she’s impressed that he’s trying this hard to hide whatever the hell it is that he’s hiding. But she doesn’t say anything, smiling quietly to herself as he fumbles with the rest of his clothes.

She doesn’t know if he’ll ever tell her; they aren’t close friends or anything.

She also doesn’t even know if he needs to.

Because she can see the red and blue peeking out from the bundle of clothes.

Is that thing even machine washable?

And she still doesn’t say anything.

“Hey, uh, I know this is kinda weird now, considering this conversation, but uh—” He breaks the silence, changing the subject not-so-smoothly, voice still tinted with nerves.

She perks up internally, careful to remain visibly impassive though, keeping her cool. “Hmm?”

“Do you uh— maybe wanna see a movie, or… grab dinner sometime?”

If she were being honest, Michelle’s never really been more excited about something in her life. But again, she can’t let that show, even as she tries to fight the way the corner of her lip twitches ever so slightly. “I don’t know,” she starts, shrugging slightly, her gaze just meeting his, eyes narrowing. “Do you promise not to murder me?”

The utter shock and horror on his face is enough to crack her stony exterior, and she snorts bringing a hand up to cover her mouth.

But she figures she should maybe go easy on him, even if that little exasperated sigh he lets out is the teensiest bit endearing.

“I’m kidding,” she promises, unable to help herself.

He rolls his eyes playfully, though he still seems frazzled.

Suddenly finding herself feeling the slightest bit shy, she brings her gaze up to his. “I’d love to,” she finally answers, lips pressing together in a smile.

“Awesome,” he breathes out, eyes wide with quiet excitement. “Cool cool cool!”

It’s then that she steps closer to him, though still maintains a reasonable distance. “Besides,” she starts, eyeing him carefully, arms folded across her chest. “You can tell me all about this ‘fight club’ you’re in.”

[gasstationshane]

Tales From The DishWasher, Part 1

In a small town, on the north end of main street, on the same side as the dollar store and local ice cream shop, there's a restaurant that is one of the more popular dine in places in town. On the front side, there's a large sign made out of an maroon awning that shades the outdoor tables and chairs for those that want to eat outside or smoke.

On the back side, there's a sign painted on a metal maroon wall with the restaurants name. There's also a lable on the side of the walls that tell you if the doors are for the kitchen or the entrance. If you were to walk in from the back entrance you might wanna make sure your not walking in through the kitchen door. We've had an array of customers that walked in and ended up with a bag of trash falling onto them. One guy even tried suing us because salsa got on his brand new white jeans. Look, even if he didn't see the sign, the door is obviously a kitchen door.

Now if you walked into the actual back entrance, you'd see a small array of arcade machines that were more then likely made in the 90's. The audio from the games faded from years of dust and play time.There's also a small stand of gumball and candy machines, one of the ones where you can get a temporary tattoo for 50 cents each.

A few footsteps and a turn to the right, you'd see the vast open area. Booths to the immediate right and left, a bar on the slightly farther left, tables all scattered around with more booths on the right and left against the walls.

The kitchen area, which would be left at the arcade machines, has a few different sections. The left of where you walk in is the front line cooks area, a grill, friar and a freezer along the front and back as well as countertops with storage cabinets for lettuce, tomatoes, cheese, and other toppings or side foods.

On the right of the entrance is the dishwashers station. A shelf and carts for the servers to sit the dirty dishes on, and a big sink with a sprayer and a few different soap options on the wall. There's of course, the washing machine that's usually used just for sanitation purposes.

Behind the dishwasher station is the shelves where the majority of the dishes that aren't plates or bowls are kept. Most of the kitchen employees keep their stuff there so it's out of the way. And finally, behind the front line cooks, are the back line cooks area as well as the walk in cooler and freezer.

In the dishwasher area is where I work. I spend most of my shifts there and only leaving to put away dishes or use the bathroom or even get a drink. Not everything's normal here though, most of the eventful things happening at night when it's just me and whoever is the main cook that night, and the closing bartender.

We've dealt with a pack of stray dogs that live in the old car wash station across from the dumpster. Their friendly though thankfully, begging me for pets and belly rubs after every shift as well as treats. All of them are a mixed breed between a husky and a wolf. I've taken the liberty of naming them all.

There's Yogi, the big grey and brown male who got his name from how much he looks like a bear. Luna, a blue-ish grey and white one, who got her name from the moon shaped crescent spot on her back. Waffle, a all black one with blue eyes, who got his name by sniffing out the waffle's in my bag one day. Then there's Crash, who's red orange-ish fur makes him look similar to the famous video game character.

There's a few pups too that I haven't named yet because I haven't had time to witness their personalities. Luna, the assumed to be mother of the pups, keeps them in the old storage room of the car wash. I've re done the storage room a bit to give them a bed and a few other things to help her take care of them.

I'm thankful that no animal control or pound people have taken them yet. If they tried, I wouldn't hesitate to take them home to keep them safe. The only reason I'm not taking them home now is because they are used to this place and I don't wanna make them uncomfortable. But believe me, the moment I feel like they are danger whether it be animal control, or them needing a vet visit, they'd be in my custody in no time.

And then there's the mysterious bar truck driver, a trucker who is always at the bar, no matter how early we open. The only time he's not there is when we're closed. He's always wearing a hat, flannel, and some form of camo. He drinks so many combinations of alcohol during his visits, it's a miracle he never passes out or hadn't died of alcohol poisoning. He knows all the words to all the songs on the digital bluetooth jukebox. If you ask him, he'll stop drinking long enough to sing a long to a full song of your choice if you buy him a drink.

And then there's the mysterious puddle of water surrounding the water softener and the pump. The puddle almost always fills the area where the tile is broken. No matter what we do, the puddle never goes away, and is a murky grey color. Sometimes it won't be as much water, but we could be closed for a week and the puddle will still be there. It doesn't help that some water that sprays off from the sink or gets spilled can add to the puddle.

I guess what I'm saying is, weird things happen at the patio restaurant in town. Mostly at night. Weird stuff has been happening even before I started working there. I remember a week before my first shift, there was an incident where all the liquors and vodkas to make mixed drinks were stolen, broken, or empty, as well as ate a whole gallon of ice cream. The whole situation could have easily been blamed on one of the bartenders or other employees at the time, but they were closed that day.

T-Dog, the main front line cook that I close with most of the time, thinks that the bar trucker pick pocketed the key and the security alarm code when we closed early one night. That would make sense, since they closed early the night before and he could've needed to make up for a days loss worth of drinks.

If you ask him, T-Dog always has a somewhat reasonable explanation to any weird thing that happens there. "That puddle isn't mysterious.." He told me after I had accidentally stepped in it again and almost fell over.

"The water softener is leaking, but since we run water so much with the sinks, washers, and bathrooms, the leak doesn't have a big impact. You think the owners would fix this shit, but since it's not causing any problems, they ain't touching it just to save them some fucking money." I always made an effort to hear out his explanations. They may or may not be true but it's way better than my theory about the bar trucker peeing on the broken tile. But my theory would explain the weird smell that happens over there, no matter how much we clean over there.

T-Dog isn't the only cook I close with. Some nights it's Danny, or Jack. Jack tends to ignore the weird things happening here. But he's also the cook that doesn't make me do everything I need to do before giving me the okay to leave.

And I know he doesn't do it because Tobias, Toby for short, is the opening cook in the mornings has told me multiple times whenever something doesn't get done. I see Toby once a week when I actually work a morning shift. He's one of the not so serious cooks, and jokes around every now and then. There was one time where acted like he was gonna knock over my drink.

What's kinda funny, about Toby being the not so serious guy around here, he doesn't believe any of the weird things that I've told him about. He thinks it's rumours to get more customers in.

"Shane, that bar trucker is only here for entertainment purposes. We don't have a stage so he just sits and takes his drinks at night to keep the drunks entertained." He explained. Well.. There was one night that Toby closed for the first time. He learned the hard way that the weird things really do happen here that night.

It was around ten thirty, and we were working on finishing our stuff up for the night when we heard a loud crash come from the cooler. "The fuck was that?" He asked. I shrugged.

"Maybe Alex is still cleaning his stuff up." I replied. He shook his head.

"No.. I saw Alex leave almost an hour ago. There's something back there." I finished taking care of the next load of dishes that needed to go in the washer, before following Toby to the walk in cooler. He was carrying a broom to defend us incase there was something that could attack us or scare it away.

We opened the door slowly to see, not one, not two, but three possums in the cooler. They were snacking on our most recent batch of precooked fish sticks. They looked up at us like a kid who had just got caught sneaking out. Toby went to swing the broom to get the mammals out of there, but as he did one of then jumped on the shelves, knocking down the large ice paddle.

It smacked into Toby and made him fall back. When he landed, the force of the fall against one of the shelves, causing a case of beer to fall onto him. Glass shattered, making him covered in glass shards, beer, and blood. Most of them in his legs and chest.

"Gah!" He cried out as he went to pulling some of the glass pieces. I rushed to the shelf where we keep the first aid kit, handing it to him but he smacked at out of my hands.

"Call an ambulance Shane! A first aid kit ain't gonna fix this shit." He yelled with a look of frustration on his face. I sighed and went to the area where the phone was and dialed the number for the station. When I had explained the situation, the man on the other end sounded genuinely confused.

"You said a Possum snuck into your walk in cooler, and made a ice paddle fall onto your co worker, which caused a case of beer to break onto him??" She asked to confirm what I said.

"Umm yeah that's what happened."

"But how would a Possum get into the cooler?" Possums usually never bothered with the busier end of town."

"I have no idea, but that's what happened!" She let out a sigh.

"And which restaurant in town was this again?" Now it was my turn to sigh.

"Darbie's Patio on Main Street..."

"Ooh that place!" She said, realizing who she was dealing with.

"Please hold." She said. I assumed she forwarded the call to the department that takes care of our cases. As much weird shit that happens here, the department has given us a specific branch and a officer to take care of us.

"Hello, this officer Mark here. Who is this?" He asked in his professional cop voice. Mark was the officer assigned to us, being close friends with the owners. Him and the owners have probably seen more weird shit than I have my whole life.

"Hey Mark, it's Shane Redfield from Darbies Patio. There was an accident with a few possums in the cooler, and now Toby is covered in glass shards." I briefly explained.

"Hang tight, I'll be there with an ambulance in five minutes or less. If there's any big chucks of glass in him, do not let him take it out. If he bleeds out before he can get to the hospital, that's bad news." I thanked him, hung up the phone and stayed with Toby while we waited. The bartender brought us both a drink. He took a long sip before looking back at me.

"Hey Shane?"

"Yeah?"

"..Does weird shit like this happen all the time...?"

To be... Continued

[thecharlester77]

An Accident - DH AU Fan Short

Greetings! It's been a long time since I wrote a short, but I'm back now! So please enjoy!

DH AU Short - An Accident

It has been an average day so far, and, as per usual, the Sad One is on his umpteenth cup of coffee. Also as per usual, he has drained his current mug, and is heading to the kitchen to pour himself a fresh cup.

As he enters the living room, he catches sight of one of his alternate selves asleep on the couch.

"Long day?" he mumbles sarcastically, continuing past the sofa, "Wait, is that...?"

He pauses, realising it is the Scary One sleeping on the couch.

A smirk spreads over the spiteful one's face as a childish idea springs to mind. He continues through to the kitchen.

"Oh, hey man," his kinder self looks up from his book, sitting at the kitchen table with his kid.

"Hi!" the kid in the blue hoodie also greets him, smiling cheerfully.

"Hey."

He ignores them, and heads to the sink. After pouring himself a cup of warm water, he returns to the living room. Much to the grumpy one's content, the crazy one is still fast asleep.

"Terrible mistake," he mumbles, still smirking. He places the cup of warm water on the coffee table and then places his psychotic self's hand into the cup, being careful not to wake him.

A large patch of damp slowly spreads over the Scary One's trousers.

The Sad One laughs, and then claps a hand over his mouth, remembering the Nice Ones in the kitchen. Quickly, he takes the cup of water back to the kitchen, empties it and leaves after making himself a fresh cup of coffee. Satisfied with his act of "revenge", he heads back to his room.

****

"Ah, come on!!"

The Scary One is suddenly startled awake.

"I thought you were at least house trained!!"

"Wh- what?" he mumbles groggily, trying to decifer what all the commotion is about.

"Ya gotta be kidding me, man! This couch is so hard to clean!!"

"I didn't do anything, Shoulder Angel-" his protest is cut off by a yawn, "I've just woke up..."

The Nice One responds with an exasperated sigh.

As the crazy one sits up, he becomes aware of a strange damp sensation.

"Why am I all w-" he cuts himself off, catching sight of the puddle.

"Get up."

Slowly, the Scary One stands up, staring at the soiled couch with bewilderment.

"I...I didn't! I haven't done that in years!!"

"Well no one else was sleeping here!" The gentle one snaps.

"I-I didn't do it on purpose! I swear, you gotta believe me, Shoulder Angel! I didn't-!" consumed by a sudden wave of panic, he bolts to the bathroom.

"Good grief," the Nice One sighs again. This is going to be a chore to clean...

***

It's been at least an hour since the spiteful one has once again drained his coffee, and decides to get himself another cup.

As he approaches the living room, he can hear irritated muttering.

From the doorway, he sees the Nice One on his hands and knees beside a bucket of water, attempting to scrub the couch. Unable to catch himself, the Sad One bursts out laughing.

"What??" the gentle one's head snaps up, turning to give the spiteful one a glare, "Oh, it's you. I thought you were the crazy one...What are you laughing at?"

"....Nothing...."

The Nice One sighs again and resumes cleaning.

"...What, um...what happened?" the Sad One asks, trying to sound inconspicuous.

"The crazy one had...an accident," the kind one mutters, provoking more sputtering laughter from his more dismal self.

"Hey, don't laugh," the gentle one interjects harshly, "...It's not like we've never been there."

The kind one's statement silences the bitter one.

"He seemed really upset...he just panicked and ran off."

The spiteful stares at the floor, trying to ignore the slight guilt.

"He...probably just drank too much coffee..." the Sad One says.

"Probably...Speaking of which, I think you've had your coffee allowance for today."

"Oh, come on! You don't want to cut my coffee off, Shoulder Angel," the grumpy one snaps.

The gentle one stands up, sighing once again.

"I've done all I can," he declares, "And no, you come on! You drink so much coffee, it's not healthy for you-"

"Alright, alright! I didn't ask for a lecture!" The spiteful one throws his hands up in frustration before storming down the corridor.

The Nice One empties the bucket into the kitchen sink, tosses the couch cushions in the washing machine and then finally sits back down at the kitchen table. Unlike before, however, he is alone. His daughter had left the kitchen to go and play with the other girls after the Scary One's child had come in asking to play pirates.

"Finally," he mumbles, "A moment of quiet."

***

"Alright, guys! Dinner's ready!" the Nice One calls from the kitchen, summoning everyone to the evening meal.

The kind one watches as two of the other men file into the kitchen, and then asks,

"Where's the crazy one?"

"Beats me," the dramatic one shrugs, taking a seat at the table.

"Don't know, don't care."

The gentle one ignores the Sad One's sarcastic reply, figuring that the psychotic one must be in his room.

"Hey!" the Nice One calls as he heads down the hallway, "Dinner!"

He receives no reply, and the crazy one does not emerge from his room. Sighing, the kind one knocks on his scarier self's door. Once again, there's no response.

"Fine, I'm coming in."

The Nice One enters the room, and immediately spots the Scary One, curled up inside a make-shift blanket fort.

"Are you kidding me?"

The psychotic one looks up to his kinder self, but doesn't speak.

"What are you, a child? I said, dinner's ready, c'mon."

"No!" the reckless one suddenly retorts, "I'm not leaving! You're just gonna yell at me in front of everyone!"

"...What??"

"If you wanna yell at me, Shoulder Angel, just do it here! You don't have to publically humiliate me!"

"...Man, I just came to tell you supper is ready-"

"I didn't do it on purpose, okay?! I'm sorry!"

"Wait...are you talking about your - er...accident?" the kind one asks. The crazy one flushes bright red, and buries himself further under blankets.

"Leave me alone," he mutters, his voice muffled by the blankets.

"I'm not mad at you, y'know," the gentle one says, "I know you didn't do it on purpose."

Slowly, the psychotic one pulls the blanket off his head.

"...Promise?"

"Yes. Did...did you think I was mad?" the Nice One asks softly.

"...When I was a kid, I used to get punished for...having accidents. I wasn't...it happened way past the age it should," the crazy one mumbled, "I'd usually get beat up pretty bad if I didn't clean it up before they saw."

"I'm sorry," the Nice One replies, "That's horrible."

"I just...kinda panicked. Sorry I didn't clean it up," the other mutters.

"What's done is done," the kind one sighs, "I stuck the cushions in the washer, it'll be fine."

"Sorry."

"It's fine...Do you want to come down for dinner?"

The psychotic one hesitates, and then shakes his head.

"I'm not hungry."

"Okay...I'll leave your meal in the fridge for you when you're ready," the gentle one answers, "and hey?"

The Scary One looks up at the orange-shirted one.

"Stuff like this happens, don't worry about it," the Nice One offered the psychotic one a reassuring smile. His crazier self nods in acknowledgement.

"I'll see ya later, Shoulder Angel."

"Okay, man, see you later."

The kind one heads back downstairs and sits at the table with the others.

"Not coming?" the excitable one asks.

"Guess not," the gentle one shrugs. He notices the spiteful one chuckle.

"Embarrassed about his couch-wetting, huh?" the Sad One smirks.

"...How do you know about that?"

The mean one sighs, "Fine. I pulled the hand in water prank on him."

"That was cruel," the kind one shoots his sadder self a cold glare, "Go apologise, now."

"What?! I'm not apologising to that maniac!"

"Now."

The Sad One stares at the kind one's stern demeanour before angrily rising from his chair and storming down the hall.

Carelessly, he rapps on the Scary One's door.

"Hey, psycho, you in there?"

"What is it, Sad Sack?" the spiteful one hears a muffled reply. He enters and slams the door behind him.

"Shoulder Angel said I had to apologise for making you wet the couch," he mutters, rolling his eyes.

"What?! No I didn't! Did he tell you that??"

"Relax, idiot. I pulled the hand in water trick on you. That's-"

"You jerk!!"

"Hey, you've done so much worse to me!" the grumpy one retorts.

"I didn't publically embarrass you and make you relieve your crappy childhood, Sad Sack!!"

"Actually, you've done that many times," the bitter one answers in a monotone, "And what are you going on about? I didn't lock you in a closet or some crap."

"...Doesn't matter. Just get out," the psychotic one snaps.

"No, I wanna know what you mean," the other counters.

"I SAID GET OUT!!"

"Alright! Geez, freak out much?" the spiteful shoots the crazy one a scornful expression before leaving, again slamming the door behind him.

"Overreact much?" he mutters to himself as he walks down the corridor, giving a sarcastic eye roll to no one, "It's not like we were tortured for wetting the bed!"

*END*

[kazosa]

Secrets - SoA: Chapter 10

Summary: Reader has lived in a life full of secrets. When her father dies unexpectedly and sends her on a trip all over the country, she finds out just how much like her father she really is. The end of her trip brings her to Charming, CA where she finally gets some big pieces of her family puzzle put back in place and form new relationships with the people there. Chapter 10: Sunday morning. Unexpected request. Warnings: language, (implied smut, doesn’t really qualify, assumed sexytime) A/N: If it wasn’t clear before, this takes place after the events of the final episode, SPOILERS! Italics are for Chibs and his inner thoughts. Bold is for the reader’s inner thoughts. Word Count: 2300 Tags: @telford-ortiz-teller  @sam-samcro  @tstieff  @yourcroweater  @kacilove26  @hiddlelove  @evilsorceress  @reallynigga21  @suz-123  @between-shades-of-winchester  @caitcrook  @i-was-made-of-nutella @charlottecl  @gunsnrosesislife

If your name is struck through I can’t tag you, sorry!

IF YOU WISH TO BE TAGGED, PLEASE LET ME KNOW IN SOME WAY. ASK BOX IS SAFEST WAY, BUT I DO TRY TO LOOK AT ALL COMMENTS AND REBLOGS. COMMENTS WELCOME!

Secrets Masterlist

The next morning, you woke up to the sound of Chibs talking to you in Gaelic again. At least this time, he wasn’t yelling at anyone. You had no idea what he was saying but, whatever it was, it sounded sweet. He had his arms wrapped around you. You were his own personal body heater. If he were anyone else, it would have bothered you. You didn’t like people in your personal space, he was the only one you had ever let get this close to you so quickly, both literally and figuratively. Lying there listening to Chibs, you weren’t sure if he was awake, whispering sweet nothings to you or if he was just talking in his sleep.

“Mornin’, m’aingeal,” his voice rumbled in your neck, sending goosebumps down your side making you snuggle back into him.

“Morning, Filip,” you said, once the goosebumps settled. “What were you saying?”

“Hmm?” he mumbled giving your shoulder butterfly kisses.

“What were you saying before? It sounded nice,” you said.

He fidgeted behind you then tightened his hold around you.

“Ah, well…” he paused, “I said ‘Mo ghradh bithbhuan.’ It’s a sort of… pledge.” It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the truth either. The truth was, it was a pledge, what he hadn’t said was that it translated to, “My love forever.” He’d been alone a long time. Sure, there had been women here and there, Jarry was just a huge mistake, and they had all really, just been sex, and they were rarely still there in the morning, if ever. He’d always left Jarry after a few hours. Waking up with (Y|N), in the morning, and being happy about it, was a feeling he hadn’t had in a very long time. And he honestly couldn’t remember if he even felt that way with Fiona, that relationship had ended so long ago…

“Hmm,” she sounded like she didn’t believe him.

He laid there with her a few moments, just enjoying it while he could.

You picked up your phone to see what time it was and you couldn’t believe your eyes. It was almost 8 am and your internal clock hadn’t woken you up. For the first time in ten years, you’d slept in.

“Huh,” you muttered to yourself. Why now? Were you just that content with Filip?

“Wha’s a matta, love?” he whispered, already knowing the answer, nuzzling into your neck and shoulder.

You wiggled back into him, pulling his arms tighter.

“Not a thing,” you said.

Three things became very clear, right away. 1. It was very cold in the apartment. 2. You had zero clean clothes. 3. Filip either subsisted on condiments and coffee, or he rarely ate at home. There was barely enough food for when he’d made breakfast a few days ago. There was no real food in the apartment. Filip was still lying in bed, only half awake while you stuffed your dirty clothes into a laundry bag.

He looked at her, through half-open eyes, wearing the SAMCRO t-shirt he’d given her to wear a few days ago. It barely covered that magnificent arse of hers. The woman had been blessed with a fine figure and he loved how she looked in his shirt. He watched her stuff clothes into the bag and he’d been given a perfect view.

“Filip,” he liked it when she called him by his given name, “I’m out of clean clothes.”

Pulling up the covers, he motioned for her to get back in bed.

“Come keep me warm,” he said.

The scar on her leg peeked out as she climbed back in his bed. It was a jagged cut that, thankfully, hadn’t gone too deep., but it still left a raised mark on her. He practically slept on her side of the bed with her now. To get in bed, all she had to do was roll in his direction to put her face to face with him. Her arm went around him as she moved in close. He dropped the blanket around her and his hand went to her hip.

“You seem pretty warm already,” she noticed, her hand rubbing his back.

“Aye,” he said. “Missed ya.” His hand made its way under her shirt. His fingers easily found the more raised scars on her back. She never complained about her back hurting her, though he was sure it did more than she let on.

“Are you always this sweet?” she closed her eyes and arched her back into him as he worked the muscles around the scars.

“Only for you,” he kissed her forehead.

Her hand left his back and she was looking up at him, a funny little look on her face.

“My god, you’re so handsome,” she said, her hand coming to rest on his cheek. Her fingertips tracing one of his scars, just as he had done with her.

He let out a scoff and tried to take her hand away.

“No,” she said, not budging. Her fingers went back to tracing. “It just adds to who you are. I love the way your eyes get more amber in color when you look at me like that…” she touched the crease of skin around his mouth, “You have the cutest dimples. I see YOU, Filip. I see all of you.”

He wasn’t sure he could speak without breaking down, so he didn’t, he showed her what she meant to him.

Filip had let you pick a shirt to wear and you found your cleanest pair of jeans to wear. There was a laundromat just down the street from Scoops that you and Filip had gone to. The first load of clothes was in the wash and Filip told you to stay with the clothes while he went to the diner on the corner to get you both breakfast.

You were sitting on an empty dryer and Filip had only been gone a few minutes when you heard the door open. Looking toward the door, you were expecting to see him strutting over to you. You were sorely disappointed.

Chibs liked the lady at the diner, but she always took forever and had to small talk. Honestly, there was nothing about him that could make someone think he was interested in small talk. He thought that he put off a strong vibe that he wanted anything but small talk. Still, Ella talked on and on while holding his bag of food. If it had been any other day, he might not have minded. Before (Y|N) came into his life, he might have stayed and eaten at the counter and let the lady blather on, but he needed to get back to (Y|N) while the food was still hot. It was more than that though, he had a bad feeling, like something was wrong. As soon as he walked out of the laundromat, he’d looked in at (Y|N) sitting on the washer, getting ready to open her laptop, he’d looked around the road and the other buildings but didn’t see anything out of place. Still, that feeling wouldn’t leave him.

Finally, Ella gave him is food containers and drinks and he was out the door walking back to the laundromat. As he got to the windows, he looked inside for (Y|N) and didn’t see her. He was concerned, the feeling that something was wrong came back, but maybe she was just in back using the restroom. He pulled open the door and went inside to where she had been sitting and put down the food on the next machine over. The washer was still running, her laptop was sitting open and running, but she wasn’t anywhere around. He looked through the whole building. He pulled his phone out of his back pocket and dialed Scoops. Thankfully, Chuckie was there and answered almost right away.

“Chuckie, did (Y|N) come back to the store?” he didn’t even let him say hello.

“No, boss. She didn’t. She’s not with you?” he asked.

“No. Did you see anything?” he asked just as a thought popped into his head. “Did you see a cop car?”

“Well, now that you mention it, yeah, about 10 minutes ago. Took off kinda hot, too,” he said. “You don’t think she got picked up, do you?”

He sighed heavily, “Aye, either tha’ or she stole the cop car.”

“Would she do that?!” he asked.

Chibs didn’t answer. He didn’t think she would, but he wouldn’t have put it past her either. He looked at the computer. The screen was showing an email from her COO.

“Chuckie, see what you can find out and call me back,” he told him.

“You got it, boss,” he said and disconnected.

Chibs was pissed. This was Althea, it had to be. He’d only suspected she, or someone, was watching the store, now it was all but confirmed. The washer stopped running and he threw the clothes into the dryer while he thought things through. He could call Jack...or Debbie. Thinking of how she would react made him push aside that thought almost immediately, but if (Y|N) was in trouble, he should call her. Deciding to wait until he heard from Chuckie, there was nothing left to do but eat his breakfast while he waited.

Maybe ten minutes later, Chuckie called back and let him know that (Y|N) had been picked up by Sheriff Jarry and Deputy Eglee. He couldn’t get any more information than that out of the duty sergeant. He thanked him and ended the call. He wouldn’t be going anywhere until the dryer was done.

Jarry had you in an interrogation room. She’d left you sitting at the table with a bottle of water saying she needed to make a phone call before she could come back to talk to you. You’d waived her off, reminding yourself not to lose your temper INSIDE the sheriff’s station. That was what she wanted you to do. If she decided to charge you with anything, it meant you’d be stuck in a cell for the next two days. Poor Filip, he probably thought you’d taken off. He was a clever guy, you were confident he’d figure it out.

Ten minutes later, Jarry finally came back. With her, she carried a large file folder. Dropping it on the metal table, it made a loud banging sound as the contents went spreading out in front of you.

“Jesus, lady, this isn’t the movies. You don’t need the drama tactics,” you muttered and your stomach growled. Missing breakfast was not your most favorite thing in the world. Being hungry and rousted from the laundromat had put you in a foul and bold mood.  “Is there a point to all of this? Are you going to charge me with something?”

“Whether or not I charge you with something is entirely dependent on you Miss (Y|L|N),” there was that smug cop tone again. “Can you account for your whereabouts last night between the hours of 11 and 3am?”

You wanted to flip her off, but you kept yourself under control. You’d seen the deputy cars parked just down the road from Scoops. The clubhouse had a perfect view of the street for a block and a half in either direction and after the incident with Happy the night of the party, you’d needed to see for yourself. The cars were unmarked, though you knew a cop car anywhere, plus the butts on the ground had been a dead give-away.

“Why don’t you ask the people you had watching Scoops? I’m sure they could tell you,” you said quietly.

Jarry paced around the room. She looked pissed. Of course, it could just be her broken nose and her arm that was in a sling, you assumed to keep her from hurting her ribs or arm. You’d messed her up more than you thought you had. You gave her credit for suiting up and working again. As you watched her pace you noticed that she looked like she was wrestling with something internally. Finally making a decision, she spoke to you.

“There have been a rash of car thefts in the area in the last week. More than ten. Consorting with a known felon,” she flashed a quick look at you, “with multiple suspected car thefts in your past, it seemed like a good idea to bring you in for questioning.”

It pissed you off to no end that she had taken the time to call in to your hometown court and police to see what the detectives and court documents had to say. First, she had stopped you and Happy, probably to find out your name. Then she had investigated you further for some bullshit reason that was really just an excuse to check you out. Though the file folder contents did have you intrigued. You could see a picture of the front end of a 1970 Chevy Nova sticking out. If this wasn’t a fake case, the cars being stolen were intriguing.

“What is all of this?” you asked pushing the pile of pictures and papers back into some semblance of order.

She pointed her spindly finger at the file, “That is a record of all of the thefts in the last week and all of the reports and evidence brought. There’s even a few arrest records for probables.”

Well now, this just got interesting. What is Jarry getting at?

“And what do you want me to do with this? Do you want me to look at it, tell you it was me?” you thought maybe you knew what she was doing.

Jarry’s voice went up in volume, “I want you to look at the goddamned file and tell me who is behind this!” Jarry spun on her heel and paced more franticly like it physically upset her.

“YOU want ME to HELP YOU?!”

[brynne-lagaao]

(Fanfic) All That We Are - Chapter Ten

Title: All That We Are

Chapter: 10/12

Rating: M

Mirrors: AO3 | FF.NET | Website

Summary: There wasn’t any real need to find out whether or not they were soulmates if they were both sure of the answer. But Yata’s answer was different from Fushimi’s, and that was just another of the dividing points they couldn’t reconcile.

Note: Once again, thank you to my wonderful betas, @dropletons and @candylit for their hard work and for not giving up on me over the course of writing this fic! You guys rock!

A large part of this fic takes place behind the scenes of certain canon events. Whenever it’s material outside of the anime (season one, Missing Kings, and Return of Kings), I’ll try to provide notes stating which materials are referenced. The fic should still stand decently without reading those things, but certain parts will make more sense in context.

The rest of the house felt unreasonably quiet when Yata slunk out of the bathroom. Not that it was ever quiet there – the sound of some kids’ program on the TV and the shuffling of movement in the kitchen were like nostalgic background noise. But considering everything that had just happened, he was kinda feeling self-conscious.

Somehow, despite it being irrational, he expected everyone to be able to tell what happened just by looking at him.

That thought caused a tingling rush of mingled pleasure and embarrassment and something that felt like release. The entire conversation with Saruhiko – with Fushimi, he corrected himself; they were starting fresh, after all – had felt like it lifted something crushingly huge from his shoulders. He couldn’t even really sort out just how he felt right then. Even just the little act of making small talk – of exchanging glances here and there as they washed – made him feel like his body had started to tremble. It was kinda like when they’d first met, but with the enormous wealth of their shared history behind it. Somehow it didn’t seem right to just describe the sensation with something as simple as ‘excited’.

He was fucking happy. So happy he could’ve cried. It was overwhelming, but he welcomed it.

Despite all of the painful things that Fushimi had said, and the knowledge of just how much he himself had missed back then, it was an incredible feeling to finally have everything out in the open between them. Yata hadn’t even realized he was still carrying some of that shit with him, but he was relieved to have it aired. He felt oddly light now, dazed and maybe sorta confused despite the pleasure.

Where did they go from here? What should his next step be? He still didn’t really know.

That was mostly why he’d gotten dressed and left the room while Fushimi was still in the bath. He needed some space to process. And from the look they’d exchanged, he got the sense that the feeling was mutual.

Sharing an understanding again… That was another one of those strange but amazing things. Yata felt the grin building on his face as he stepped out toward the kitchen area, letting his feet carry him on their own carelessly. They weren’t totally in sync – that’d never be a thing again, and he was okay with it – but they didn’t have that feeling of disconnect any more.

It was… awesome. Seriously.

His mother was in the kitchen, humming lightly as she chopped vegetables, with her cooking tools arranged neatly in front of her and meat spread out already in the saucepan with the heat still turned off. The arrangement was so familiar that he had another wave of nostalgia, momentarily distracted from his earlier thoughts, and blinked as the realization hit him that this was the exact same kind of setup he used when he got ready to cook.

Guess it's normal. She was the one who'd taught him, after all. Still, he hadn't thought about that in a long time, so it seemed weird now.

"Done already?" She didn't even slow her hand, much less turn, but he could hear the smile in her voice. "You could've taken your time. Minoru's not home yet, and your father won't be back for a while."

"Yeah, well." He aimed a sheepish grin at her back, reaching up without thinking to rub the back of his neck. "Thought I'd give Saru – Fushimi more time in the tub. He's kind of a workaholic; he could probably use the extra relaxation, y'know?"

At that, she did pause, knife stilling momentarily. It was only for a second or so, and then she abruptly started up again. "Hm, all right." Her tone was oddly speculative. "Did you grab the basket with your dirty shirts?"

"Ah..." Right, that. "I forgot."

"Honestly, Misaki." The reprimand in her tone was mild and laced with humor. "Well, go get it, and you can meet me in the laundry room."

"R-right, yeah." Feeling properly chastised, he turned to head back. "Be right there!"

Retrieving the basket didn't take too long, but she still beat him to the tiny laundry room, and was setting up the rack when he came in.

"We'll still get a few hours of daylight, I think," she mused as he set the basket down on the washing machine, stepping back for a second to inspect her handiwork and giving a little nod of satisfaction before turning to offer him a smile. "I'm not sure if they'll be dry by the time you leave, but..."

"It's okay." He shrugged. "If we gotta leave 'em, I can bring dad's shirts back and pick up our stuff later."

Now that he was here, it didn't really feel like such a big deal to come back once in a while.

She shot him an approving look. "Thank you, Misaki." A fond little smile spread on her lips. "It's comforting to see that you managed to grow into a reliable adult." The curve of her mouth took on a teasing edge. "With how little you call home, I'd wondered, you know."

He choked a little at that, sputtering. "H-hey, hang on a – "

"Ah, but then, I know my son." She patted his shoulder lightly. "I didn't have any real doubts. It's just that a mother can't help but worry, you know?"

Yata squirmed a little, feeling that tendril of guilt worming its way into his thoughts. "Sorry. It's just that I'm sorta – "

"Busy, right? It's fine." There was a tiny hint of something wistful in her gaze. "One day I'd like to hear more about your life. If you feel like sharing it, I mean."

He blinked at her, a little surprised. Truthfully, he hadn't explained much to his family the few times they'd been in contact. It was kinda hard to admit 'hey so I joined a gang, but they're really cool' and even harder to come up with something like 'oh and we all have powers and there's these underground clan wars going on'. Even if he'd wanted to, he wasn't sure they would've bought any of it.

Still... she hadn't asked many questions. And now that she'd made that small admission, it struck him that she'd probably held off because she sensed his reluctance to go into detail in the first place.

Mom's always one step ahead... Yata shrugged awkwardly. "Eh, well... It's sorta complicated."

"I guess it must be." She gave his shoulder one more pat, and reached over to take the basket, turning her attention to the machine. "Don't worry too much about it. Take your time, and when you feel up to it, just tell me the parts you feel like can. All right?"

There it was again - she saw through him. Damn, she's sharp... Seriously, this was just like when he'd tried to sneak out of the house to move in with Fushimi.

That brought up a recent memory. "Oh right.” Yata cleared his throat, feeling a little awkward about it as he watched her measure the detergent with casual ease. “I wanted to thank you for... those flowers. Y'know, in the book you gave me?" He scratched at the back of his head, offering a sheepish grin. "I kinda just opened it a few months ago, but it actually helped me out with some stuff. So, yeah, thanks."

“Flowers? Oh.” After a moment of confusion, his mother tilted her head with a responding smile. “You seemed so happy when you brought those home, I thought it’d be worthwhile to save them.” A hint of something rueful slipped into her expression as she bent to load their dirty shirts and jackets into the machine. “Now that you’re an adult, I feel like you should know I assumed you got them from a girl you liked.”

He blinked, taken off-guard. “Eh? A…” The words sunk in; he gaped, incredulous. “Huh? A girl?”

“Honestly, it never crossed my mind that it might be Saruhiko-kun instead.” Shutting the washer door and straightening, she he reached out to squeeze his shoulder again. “It seemed so obvious after you said so. You two really were close.” A funny sort of look crossed her face, the smile shrinking to something more lopsided as she tilted her head.  “Sorry to ask out of nowhere, but… you and he… are you…?”

With the conversation from earlier still on his mind, Yata caught her meaning without much trouble. “Soulmates?” Without waiting for confirmation, he offered a rough grin. “Don’t worry ‘bout it. And no. Well” – at that, he shrugged a bit awkwardly – ���actually, more like I dunno yet.”

She let out a slow breath. “I see.” One eyebrow arched. “‘Yet’, hm?”

Goddamnit. Yata felt heat rising fast on his cheeks. “I – well – that is – ” He eventually gave up trying to fumble through an excuse and settled for a muttered, “It’s complicated, okay?”

“Ah, another ‘complicated’ thing.” His mother smiled with fond tolerance, letting her hand fall from his shoulder. “Well, we all have secrets.” At that, she pressed her lips together, studying him with uncharacteristic hesitance. “I know I haven’t ever mentioned it, but the truth is, I have a soulmate mark myself.”

“Eh?” Yata blinked at her, surprised by the sudden and unexpected confession. True, he hadn’t known for sure, but… “A-ah, well, I sorta guessed that maybe… y’know…”

“It’s under my right armpit,” she continued patiently, and then exhaled slowly, offering a small half-smile. “Your father has one, too – on his left hip.”

That took a little while to sink in, but the obvious implication – soulmate marks that didn’t match – struck him like a sucker punch. Yata gaped at her, incredulous. “Wait – wait, they don’t – ?”

“They don’t match,” she supplied, voice calm and even. Turning to face him fully, she crossed her arms casually over her chest, leaning her hip against the active machine. “Your birth father was my soulmate.” As if that wasn’t enough of a shock on its own, she added, “Your step-father has an ex-wife as well.”

He hadn’t heard much about his birth father – next to nothing, actually. Yata preferred it that way. The handful of knowledge he did have didn’t inspire a lot of confidence in that half of his lineage. His mother had been granted full custody of him and a restraining order on top of that, which he hadn’t understood until he was a bit older. She didn’t talk about his birth father much, and the simple knowledge that he was a ‘bad guy’ had stifled any curiosity Yata might’ve felt.

He hadn’t minded, because… he was his mother’s son. Not his father’s. A good guy, not a bad guy.

It was something he’d almost forgotten, it had been so long ago. Back then, he’d been so desperate…

Yata shook his head, trying to clear that confusing series of thoughts from it. Never mind that. “But… if you were soulmates…?”

“Why did I decide to leave?” she filled in, when he left that hanging. Her smile turned a bit wistful. Without warning, she reached over to cup his cheek. “Because of you.”

The gesture had his skin prickling up; it had been years since he’d felt his mother’s touch. Yata blinked, startled and a little overwhelmed with a mixture of embarrassment and nostalgia. “Me?”

She nodded. “He would sometimes… well. Nothing that seemed serious, at first. He was impatient. Maybe a bit harsh. It wasn’t personal – that’s what I told myself.” That came with a sharp inhale, her eyes taking on a pained look. “One time he shoved me – I hit a door frame – and I had a bruise on my face. I remember sitting on the couch, trying not to cry and thinking of how I could cover it up, and you tried to sneak out of your room before your nap was up. You were only just two.” The pain seemed to fade out into a kind of fond remembrance. “Such a handful, even then. You looked up and saw me, and did that little laugh of yours and ran over – you were already running, even though you fell a lot. And when I stood to pick you up, I had this thought…” She pressed her lips together, eyes a little too bright as she smiled. “I thought, what if he does this to my baby? What if one day instead of laughing, my little boy is sitting here and trying not to cry, trying to think of what he did wrong?” Her thumb stroked his cheek lightly. “I couldn’t stand to think that, so… in the end, I left.”

He wasn’t sure how to react to that story. Yata stared back dumbly for a moment, his mind reeling as it sunk in. True, he’d always known that his birth father was no good, but it seemed to mean so much more now. The revelation felt like it shocked him to the core. Even though they were soulmates…

It was just like Mikoto and his soulmate – the match that ‘couldn’t have worked’. It really wasn’t that simple, was it? This shit happened all the time, and he knew, he’d heard about it – but it didn’t feel real when it was other people whose matches ended badly. This was right in his face though, and he couldn’t ignore or deny it any more. Not with his mother standing here telling him every painful detail. There were a lot of people – good people; people he knew – who went ahead and did what they had to in order to be happy.

In the end, he and Fushimi weren’t the only ones who wanted to be together no matter what ‘fate’ or whatever had to say about it.

“And if you’re not my soulmate, then – then fuck soulmates!”

“If that means a cheesy picture on my forehead, then fine, I’ll take it.”

Yata shut his eyes, feeling the helpless edge of a smile forming on his face even as his shoulders slumped a little. He let out a soft, rueful ‘heh’, and then opened them again. “So that’s what happened…” He made an effort to straighten. “Sorry. Guess me talking about soulmates and all didn’t help much, huh?”

She shook her head. “I came to terms with it a while back. And you were so young… I didn’t want to spoil your excitement.” Her eyes were intent on his face, as if searching for something; there was a brief pause before she continued. “I wanted to tell you when you left, but part of me thought maybe it’d be better if you didn’t know. There wasn’t much time to decide, but…” That came with a helpless little shrug. “I’ve wondered since then if that was the right choice. It’s the hardest part of being a mother. ‘Should I intervene or let him be?’ ‘Am I doing this for my sake or his?’ I ask myself those questions a lot.”

It was kinda unnerving to have his mother now talking to him as if he were an adult on equal footing with her. What am I s’posed to say to that? Not once had he really thought about her being a normal human with flaws like everyone else – but that reality was hard to avoid now, with all those facts out there. Yata cleared his throat, feeling awkward about it, and managed a weak, “O-oh.”

His mother gave a soft, amused huff. “I guess I should stop embarrassing you, huh?” She patted his cheek softly before pulling her hand back. “Still, it seems like you’ve become a good man all on your own. Maybe I didn’t need to worry so much.” Her accompanying smile was bright. “I’m proud of you, Misaki.”

A good man… He’d been so sure he knew what that meant, but somehow after today it felt like a shakier foundation than he’d thought. His definition kept changing, anyway. What the hell really made you a ‘good’ man? And did he really have what it took? What was it about him that made her think that?

Somehow, at the back of his head, he could hear the clear memory of Kusanagi’s voice: “If you haven’t yet, you should start thinking about what kind of man you want to be.”

Yeah, fine, but what the hell kind of man was he now? Now that he thought about it directly, he wasn’t sure. Not Homra’s Yatagarasu. Not Saruhiko’s soulmate. Not his mother’s son. Or – well – maybe all of those things, but not just them.

It was kinda too much to try and sort out right then. Yata pushed that stuff aside and reached up to scratch at the back of his head, still feeling a little bit of a pleasant buzz from the praise despite his embarrassment. “Heh… thanks!”

“You don’t need to thank me.” Her smile widened even further, lines forming at the corners of her eyes and open fondness in her gaze. “Though I wouldn’t object if you came back to see me once in a while. I can’t help but worry, you know!”

Weirdly enough, he thought he kinda did know. Yata swallowed, just starting to process now that she’d admitted to leaving her first husband – her soulmate – for his sake. If he thought back to what he remembered about those years before her new husband came into the picture, she’d always seemed content. It hadn’t felt like they’d needed anyone else to him, so when she’d brought in someone new, he’d felt… not good enough. As if he couldn’t make her happy on his own. And it had seemed at the time like he’d been left behind for the new family she was going to make. But hearing the whole story now, he thought he felt the force of her love bearing down on him in a way he couldn’t ignore.

He hadn’t been the only person to make his mom happy, yeah, but he’d given her the strength to make herself happy. And even if she hadn’t needed him like she had when it was just the two of them, she’d definitely wanted him.

Some small, persistent sore point that he’d long since gotten used to and forgotten about felt like it eased a little within him. “Yeah.” Yata swallowed around the ache rising at the back of his throat in response, and felt the same wide smile spreading on his own face, a perfect mirror for his mother’s. Feeling fully confident and enthusiastic about it for the first time, he responded, “Yeah, I will.”

Dinner was not as awkward as Fushimi had anticipated. If nothing else, he’d expected a certain amount of uncomfortable small talk, but the familiar, chatty nature of Yata family dinners came back to him as they set in. It brought on a set of strangely conflicting feelings. When he sat down at the table, the sharp nostalgia gave him the sense that it had barely been any time at all since he’d been an awkward teenager, unsure of how to act in the face of their overwhelming closeness. But at the same time, it felt like it had been a lifetime since the last dinner he’d had there.

Well, something like that, I guess. Fushimi had to resist the urge to click his tongue, the aftereffects of his conversation with Yata still lingering in his mind. Mingled bafflement, uncertainty, and a strong sense of release overlaid his thoughts, making him vaguely light-headed. It wasn’t necessarily a bad feeling – after all of it, he felt strangely refreshed – but to be honest, he was getting a little tired of going through these life-changing events.

Right then, he thought he’d take a week of nothing but fixing the mistakes on his co-workers’ reports over another emotional upheaval. Enough was enough.

Yata’s family home was worn and warm, unchanged by the passage of time that had noticeably altered its inhabitants. It was a little on the stuffy side and there was a cramped feeling with the small amount of space and the large number of people crammed into it. Or… not really ‘large’, especially when compared to the amount of staff at Scepter 4. But with the level of energy and lack of breathing room, it felt like a lot more.

I guess that’s to be expected, huh?

The conversation was… busy. If Minoru wasn’t firing out a series of questions, switching direction almost at random between himself and Yata, Megumi was chiming in with starry-eyed comments on the answers. Occasionally, they’d get into arguments over who got to speak, which Yata’s mother would break up sternly with an order to eat quietly. In those brief periods of respite, she and her husband would fill the sullen resulting silence with warm chatter about jobs and daily life happenings.

It was… not exactly unpleasant, even if the loud voices of the kids left him with a bit of a headache by the end.

Still, the highlight of the evening was being able to surreptitiously watch Yata’s face when he was engaged in conversation. As usual, his emotions came through in his expression without any kind of filter: embarrassed, annoyed, proud, cheerful, and even the occasional sad moment. It was entrancing, particularly with the knowledge of their earlier conversation sitting not far from the forefront of Fushimi’s thoughts. The rush of affection that would surge through him at the slightest motion or change in expression was still a touch bewildering, but he couldn’t say he minded it. Having the weight of that shared understanding behind it made the overpowering emotion a lot less intimidating.

Not to say it wasn’t still, but he at least felt capable of facing the implications squarely.

As the only other person there who knew what had happened during the time being asked about – or at least, more about what had happened than everyone else at the table – Fushimi found himself running interference based on Yata’s reactions. If something on Yata’s face registered those sad or unpleasant emotions, he would redirect the conversation to prevent any prodding. It was a surprisingly gratifying, even if it just meant that he could see the discomfort lift from Yata’s shoulders and his expression clear. That he could do something for Yata, even if it was simply sparing his pride in front of his family, gave him immense satisfaction.

The times when Yata caught on, he’d met Fushimi’s gaze long enough to give him a smile, eyes bright and warm, and it had sent his heartbeat into a frenzy. Which was stupid, but… also not unpleasant.

Despite all of that, he was still relieved when it came time to leave. There was only so much he could take all at once, and Yata’s family was as exhausting as they were welcoming.

“That’s it, huh?” Yata was clearly in high spirits as they walked down the street away from the house. In the dim light left by the rapidly dying day, the outline of his face seemed sharper. He was grinning to himself, looking content; when he turned to meet Fushimi’s gaze his eyes were bright. “Thanks for coming with me!”

“It’s not a big deal.” Fushimi shrugged his shoulders just a bit, feeling vaguely uncomfortable with the gratitude. “I don’t really mind.”

“Right, that’s what you said.” Yata accepted that without question, his expression and posture relaxed. He turned to face the street in front of them as they walked side by side, unhurried. “Kinda nice to see everyone again, actually. Minoru and Megumi are getting pretty big…”

“That generally tends to be the case,” Fushimi responded easily, content with the new direction to the conversation. It was a relatively warm night, though he could feel the edges of a chill in the slightly damp places left on his shirt and jacket. It wasn’t terribly uncomfortable, though – and he had to admit, he wanted to draw this out purely for the pleasure of having that familiar presence beside him. They didn’t have to be heading anywhere particular or talking about anything specific. Just the simple reality of being together was enough.

At this point, it was impossible to deny how much he’d missed this kind of thing. It wasn’t exactly the same as it had been, but he was fine with the changes. There was something extra to their interactions now… something new, and awkward, and exciting…

Something he wanted to cherish, if he could figure out exactly how.

“Smartass.” There was a grin in Yata’s voice as he answered. He nudged Fushimi’s arm lightly with his elbow. “Come visit again with me sometime, huh?” The invitation was barely out of his mouth before he was hastily adding, “Ah – I mean – actually, you might be expected more, if we – y’know – ugh…” When Fushimi turned to look at him, he was grimacing, a slow spreading flush visible on his cheeks even in the poor lighting. “Damnit… you know what I mean!”

“Do I?” The tease earned him a glare; Fushimi hummed lightly, and then smiled. “Well… I guess I do.”

Yata’s eyes seemed to glow, illuminated by the growing dark. “Yeah, you’d better.”

The buzz of anticipation and pleasure in his stomach heightened even as they turned to face the road in front, their conversation turning to something inconsequential. It was easy like this, despite the fact that they’d so recently unloaded the burden of their broken relationship back in Yata’s parents’ bathroom. Or maybe because they’d done that. Fushimi felt comfortable, despite the vague discomfort that came with his awareness of the awkward attraction between them. That wasn’t something he was particularly unhappy with, anyway. And the air between them felt clearer – more open. He could breathe properly. There was nothing left to wonder any more either, other than the obvious.

So where do we go from here?

It turned out that question hadn’t only been on his mind, because when they came up to the point where they’d have to separate – Scepter 4 headquarters being in the opposite direction of the Homra bar and the apartment he hadn’t seen yet – Yata took in a long breath and let it out, clearly gathering his nerve. He turned as they came to a stop at that crossroad. “So? What’re you gonna do now?”

Fushimi shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets as he turned to meet that expectant gaze. “Nothing much. The usual.” He let out a short sigh. “There’s a lot of work to be done still. I’m going to be busy most of the time.”

“Right, yeah.” Yata reached up to rub at the back of his neck. “I… got some stuff to figure out, I think. I mean, pretty soon there’s gonna be no more clans.” His lips quirked up into something of a rueful smile. “I only just got thinking about it now, but outside of being Homra’s Yatagarasu, I dunno who the hell I even am. Kinda weird, huh?”

Oddly, it wasn’t. “Not really.” If he stepped back and looked at it, this was yet another area where the two of them were the same – and complete opposites at the same time, as improbable as that sounded. They were both trying to define themselves in a larger world, after all… just somehow starting at opposite ends. “Believe it or not, I might know a thing or two about having ‘stuff’ to sort out.”

Yata looked startled for a second, and then his face softened again as he huffed out a short laugh. “Yeah, true! What the hell, huh?” The grin that spread on his face was sharp. “Maybe you could teach me a thing or two by now.”

Fushimi clicked his tongue, without much real irritation behind it. “Don’t count on it.”

He got another huff of a laugh for that. “Right, got it.”

There was a short but mostly comfortable silence that spread between them after that; it was like the moment itself held its breath, in some weird way. A strong feeling of anticipation seemed to hang in that brief pause.

“So…” As usual, Yata was the first to break it; he let his hand slide free of its hold on his neck, stuffing both it and its counterpart into his pockets. “Let’s – let’s keep in touch, huh?” His eyes were bright again. “I’ll definitely call you, so…”

That look was doing some funny things to Fushimi’s stomach. He raised an eyebrow to cover it. “I’ll be ready for more attempts to rupture my eardrums, then.”

That earned him a disgruntled scowl. “Look, that’s different, okay? Anyway, you guys need to keep off our turf! But never mind that now!” The glare that accompanied it was piercing. “You could call me sometimes too, y’know.”

He could – although he wasn’t sure if he wanted to make that promise. Fushimi frowned back, caution urging him to give a noncommittal response. “I don’t exactly have all that much free time, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Abruptly, Yata’s expression turned up in a brash grin. “Sounds like something you’d say when you wanna do a thing but might not in case it makes you look too much like you care.”

The unexpectedly sharp response had his skin prickling up. Annoying. Fushimi clicked his tongue, deliberately not answering.

“Heh! Thought so.”

“Shut up.”

Yata made a soft, amused huff, but obligingly let it drop. “Anyway, don’t be a stranger, huh? If you see me around, make sure you stop and say hi or something.” His grin turned a bit crooked. “You’re not gonna say you’re too busy for that, are you?”

Fushimi let his eyes go lidded, offering a slow smile in return. “I guess I can manage that much.”

“Right?” The grin widened out again. As that hung between them, Yata shifted on his feet . “So…”

“It’s late, huh?” Despite the reluctance he felt tugging at the back of his mind, there was still practicality to be considered. He did work the next day, after all. Fushimi half-turned, not quite breaking their shared gaze. There was no real point in dragging this out if they’d said everything they needed to, but some small indulgent part of him wanted to hold onto the moment just a tiny bit longer. “See you, Yata.”

“Y-yeah.” There was a beat of obvious hesitance, and then Yata let out a huff, reaching up to scratch the back of his head as his face split again in a rueful smile. “Fuck, I just can’t get used to that. Y’know what, screw it!” The smile widened out into another bright grin. “Since we got a – a thing between us, I’d say we’re close enough to be using first names, right?”

Fushimi blinked, thrown off of his pace by the sudden declaration. Despite the seemingly flippant manner it had been tossed out, the look in Yata’s eyes was serious. First names… As the reality of that sunk in, he briefly shut his own eyes, unable to quite process the feelings settling in his chest. It was similar to the remembered sensation from the first time they’d done this, but somehow deeper. As if there was a wealth of meaning behind it now that hadn’t been there when they were younger. Close enough, huh? Fushimi let out a small, amused huff to cover the confusing emotions, opening his eyes again. “Speak for yourself, Misaki.”

“Huh? What’s that supposed to mean?” Misaki’s eyebrows furrowed, a puzzled little frown replacing the previously confident expression. “You’re still gonna let me call you ‘Saruhiko’, right?”

“Who knows,” Fushimi responded breezily. There was warmth building within him, pleasant and promising, and he didn’t bother to suppress the smile building on his face. “I’ll think about it.”

Misaki scowled at him. “Asshole.”

“Mm.” Fushimi drew out that hum, savoring the mood between them in that moment – after everything, he felt more content than he would’ve anticipated. “Well, maybe ‘Saruhiko’ is the better alternative.” He met that fiery gaze with his own lidded one. “Since it’s you.”

The pleasant buzz that passed between them in that moment was more than promising enough.

“A skateboarding competition?” Kusanagi blinked, momentarily taken aback, and then his expression settled into something of a rueful smile. “Didn’t know that kind of thing existed. Sorry, I guess I haven’t paid much attention.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it.” Yata waved a dismissive hand, grinning across the counter as he pulled back the flyer. It was still early in the morning, so the bar was mostly empty, but he hadn’t felt like waiting for the others to show up before bringing up his news. “Same here, anyway – only reason I got this is because my new boss gave it to me.”

“New boss, huh?” Kusanagi raised a good-natured eyebrow at him. “Should I be worried?”

“Ah – ” The guilt he had halfway harbored since taking the job flared up again; Yata stared back helplessly. “No, I mean – I’m still gonna help out here, just – ”

Kusanagi held up both hands to forestall that. “I was kidding, Yata-chan! Seriously, don’t let it worry you.” Lowering his arms, he leaned against the counter. “So? What’s the new job?”

The rush of enthusiasm that came with the mention of it was enough to bury that initial guilt. “It’s at a sports shop – you know that one that I go to, up by the park?” Yata braced his elbows on the counter, leaning forward without thinking. “Well, last time I went to get wheel bearings for my board they had a sign looking for people, so I gave it a shot and the owner hired me.” Once he was going, he ended up blurting the rest eagerly. “He’s actually really cool, saw me skateboarding a couple times and that’s why he brought up the competition and all!”

It was the interest that got him more than anything – the fact that this person he barely knew had been impressed enough by something Yata had worked to get good at all on his own that he brought up a competition. He couldn’t really describe how gratifying it had been. Skateboarding had always been his thing, something he’d picked up without the help of red aura or Saruhiko’s intellect. It was just something he’d wanted to do, something he’d sweated and swore over, trying again and again until he could land the jumps and pull the tricks. Having someone without any stake in it tell him he might be good enough to compete and have a real chance of winning, of going somewhere with it…

Hell, he didn’t know what to think, but it felt good.

“That so?” The look in Kusanagi’s eyes as he straightened was somehow knowing. “Don’t know much about skateboarding personally, but I’ll make a point to come cheer you on either way.” He offered a searching smile. “How’s the job, by the way?”

“Great! They really like me there!” First time he’d felt like he could sorta make friends on the job – that it would be something more than just a place to earn cash until he had to ditch it to deal with Homra business or get laid off in the off season or something. It was a weird feeling, but he didn’t mind being greeted heartily when he walked in the door and asked about his life as if his boss actually cared. “The owner even wants me to teach his kids skateboarding. It’s kinda cool, y’know?”

“Glad to hear it.” That came with a nod. “Sounds like those two things should keep you busy for a while, then.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Yata reached up to rub at the back of his neck, a mixture of pride and excitement brewing within him. That tiny remaining edge of guilt compelled him to add, “I’m still gonna be around, though – I mean, I won’t be that busy.”

“No more or less than the rest of us, you mean.” Kusanagi shook his head. “I meant it when I said not to worry about it, Yata-chan. This place isn’t going anywhere any time soon – it’s fine to just come by to hang out. Most everyone here is balancing work, hobbies, and friends the same way.” He raised an eyebrow before adding, “And maybe a love life too, in some cases.”

There was no indication that he meant anything particular by that, but Yata felt his face growing hot all the same. “R-right.” His fingers curled at the back of his neck, the reminder of that other recent development in his life spinning slowly to life within him and bringing mingled pleasure and embarrassment with it.

He hadn’t exactly talked much with Saruhiko these past couple of weeks, but the times that they had talked had been… different. Not so much what they said – they still fucking argued, sometimes over stupid shit or even just for the hell of it – but the underlying tone of it had changed. He felt a lot more certain than he had before, and he got a sense that it was mutual. It was amazing how much it had helped to find out Saruhiko felt the same about him – how much of a boost it had given him to feel the answering desperation in that kiss and the way that Saruhiko had looked at him…

“There’s nothing else I’ve ever wanted as much as you.”

Those words still made him shudder, even now. It was hard to believe it was even real, that someone had really said it to him and meant it. That Saruhiko had said it. The look on his face was still etched into Yata’s brain, and his heart raced when he thought about it even for a second. From the tense line of Saruhiko’s jaw to the way his eyebrows had bunched and even in how his eyes had wavered… The open vulnerability in that expression had left Yata stunned. He would never have guessed that Saruhiko could make a face like that if he hadn’t seen it for himself.

He wouldn’t have expected his own feelings to be answered that strongly. It was… sorta overwhelming, even as he selfishly took pleasure at being the focus of that look. He couldn’t help it.

Then again, Saruhiko always had that effect on him, so he shouldn’t be surprised.

Kusanagi seemed to pinpoint his thoughts accurately, to Yata’s mortification. “How’s Fushimi these days?”

“Eh? Uh. G-good. I guess.” His fingers twitched against the uncomfortably warm skin at the back of his neck. Yata let them slide free, slouching forward in his seat. Unbidden, the remembered sight of Saruhiko’s lazy smile and lidded eyes from when they’d last parted rose in his mind, and he had to swallow, mouth suddenly feeling dry. “Haven’t really seen him much since that one time.”

That was mostly his own fault, though it wasn’t like Saruhiko wasn’t busy all the time, as usual. Yata was starting to get some of that old confidence back – when he brought up that familiar contact, there wasn’t so much nagging doubt that his call might not be welcome. Aside from a few bland comments about being having work to do, Saruhiko seemed content enough to take his calls. And despite his earlier words, there had been one or two calls from his end, too. It was obvious he was trying, and that knowledge felt like it sat warmly in Yata’s heart, forcing a helpless little smile out of him whenever he thought about it.

So yeah, it was on him. He’d kinda been holding back, and he thought Saruhiko was probably following his lead and waiting for a cue. And it wasn’t like he didn’t wanna give that cue – he was gonna do it one of these days, because he wanted to be with Saruhiko. More than anything else right now, he wanted them to be together – wanted to date, wanted to kiss, wanted to touch and go further, to finish up what they’d started back in their shitty shared apartment when they were barely old enough to give it a go. All of those things were never really far from his mind. He wanted them, badly.

But there was all that other stuff too, the things he hadn’t quite sorted out. The thoughts that had started to form at his family house, when his mom had praised him.

What kind of man do I wanna be? He didn’t think he’d find the answer without having a chance to sort it out in his head. And he was doing that – working through it slowly, trying out things that appealed to him here and there and figuring out where Homra’s Yatagarasu ended and the rest of him began. With the new job and the competition and more frequent calls home in between Homra’s business, it really felt like he was starting to piece it together.

If he’d started something with Saruhiko, he didn’t think he could’ve made it this far. Somehow, he got the feeling if he’d given in to that impulse right at the start, he’d have lost himself in the rush.

Never needed to be soulmates for things to be that strong between us, huh? It was kinda scary how deep those feelings ran, but at some point he wanted to give in and get swept up in it. He just had to build himself up first so the current didn’t rip him to pieces in the end.

It was really fucking hard not to be impatient, though…

“Hm.” Kusanagi gave him something of a thoughtful look. “Well, I guess Scepter 4 keeps him busy too.”

“Y-yeah. Right.” Yata laughed a bit nervously. “Th-those Blues don’t know how to take a break, that’s all!”

He got a pair of raised eyebrows for that, but fortunately was spared any further comments by the gentle step that signaled Anna’s descent from the upstairs rooms. “Good morning,” she greeted them, stepping into the room with quiet grace.

“Anna!” Yata stood hastily, seizing on the excuse to drop that subject with more than a little relief. “Morning!”

She smiled at him, that warm little upturn of her lips. “You look happy today, Misaki.”

“A-ah, really?” He reached up again reflexively to scratch at the back of his head, still edgy from the recent conversation. “I guess I did get a new job and all… and, well, y’know, some things happened…”

“Yata’s competing in a skateboarding competition,” Kusanagi cut in easily. When Yata stole a startled glance at him, he was smiling with a certain amusement. “It seems like it’ll be before you start your school semester, Anna, so if you want I’ll drive you to watch it.”

“Thank you, Izumo.” Anna’s smile widened; she glanced over to meet Yata’s gaze again, and when she spoke again, her words were sincere. “I want to see Misaki compete.”

“A… hah… Right?” Feeling more than a little flustered, Yata straightened, drawing himself up as much as possible. Her enthusiasm left him with a giddy sort of pride blooming in his chest. “I’ll make sure to put on an awesome show, then!”

Anna nodded, stepping across the room towards him. “I’m glad,” she added, voice quiet and clear, “you found so many things to be happy about.” As always, it felt like her eyes stared directly into his soul, reading everything and still smiling back quiet acceptance of all his flaws. “You’ll always have a place to belong to here, so don’t worry.”

A place to belong to. Even now, those words held a significant meaning for him. Yata felt the familiar warmth building at the core of his being, and smiled back at her without holding back. This was a place he belonged, yeah. But he was getting a bigger picture now – that he was a person who existed separate from this place and all the others who belonged here just the same. And he could have other places he belonged to – his family home sometimes, or even his new workplace. In the rink at a skateboard competition, if he managed to keep at it and do well.

At Saruhiko’s side too, some day in the future.

And outside of belonging to all of those places, he was still himself.

In front of him, Anna’s eyes crinkled with the widening of her smile. “Me too,” she said cryptically, and then turned to climb into a seat at the bar. “Can I have some orange juice?”

“Orange juice it is,” Kusanagi responded easily, picking up a glass. “I’ve got hotcakes in the back too, if you’re ready for breakfast.”

She nodded. “Thank you.”

“Pleasure to be of service.” He brandished the glass with a bit of a flourish. “Yata-chan, can you do me a favor and go get them for me? They’re just in the warming tray of the oven.”

He was already moving before the sentence even finished. “Got it!” As he pushed through into the back room, he added over his shoulder, “Be right back!”

There was a mirror on the wall when he entered the kitchen, right beside the door – probably something used to check the presentation and all when serving customers – and Yata's eyes caught on the movement made by his reflection. As the door swung shut behind him, he paused, coming to face his image head-on.

The guy in front of him had angry-looking eyes, a down-turned mouth, and raggedly cut hair poking out from beneath a somewhat lumpy hat. His shoulders were a bit hunched and his gaze was dubious, as if he wasn't quite sure about what to make of what he was looking at.

Fucking figures. Yata felt a reluctant smile tug at his lips, and watched his reflection smile ruefully back at him. On a whim, he muttered, "Hey."

It felt stupid – even dumber when he could see the pink spread on his cheeks as they warmed in response to the useless action – but at the same time there was something weirdly satisfying about it. Yata cleared his throat and went on, keeping his voice low. "Yata Misaki, right? Heard you're a pretty cool guy."

The reflection gave him a halfway-embarrassed grin, as if it didn't know what to do with the compliment. Hell, he wasn't really sure himself, but...

Not Homra's Yatagarasu. Not Saruhiko's soulmate. Not my mom's kid.

Yata Misaki.

The grin became less self-conscious with that thought. Yata reached out and lightly fist bumped the frame, feeling a little less foolish somehow, before moving to head further into the kitchen.

"Can't wait to get to know ya."

[the-excursion]

30 Days of Domestic Fluff

3. Doing Laundry

Hitomu and Musouka were going about their day as usual at home. Hitomu sat at Nightopia’s main computer and ran his usual tests until one of his own shirts fell over his head. He grabbed it then turned around to see Musouka with an amused smile on her face. “Today’s laundry day. Let’s go,” she said before exiting the room. Hitomu shook his head and chuckled as he followed behind her. They made it to their laundry room where a load of clothes was already being washed in the machine and another load was being dried in the other machine. “Well it looks like you got it all covered here,” Hitomu said as he attempted to back out of the room until Musouka pulled him in once again. “Hey, no I don’t,” she began. Just then, the washer and dryer beeped signaling they were finished. “You’re gonna load the wet clothes in the dryer. Let me just take these out of there first,” she said as she brought a laundry basket near the dryer and emptied the clothes into it.

Hitomu tilted his head and smiled as he watched her bent over and tossing the clothes into the basket. He then bent down as well and hugged her from behind. “You know you’re kinda cute when you’re bossy,” Hitomu joked. “Hm then I’ll look really adorable when you don’t do what I asked. I know how lazy you can be with chores,” Musouka snickered. Hitomu laughed then stood up as she finished collecting the clothes. He then did as he was told and loaded the clothes into the dryer then went to help Musouka fold the dry clothes. There was a peaceful quiet between them as they folded. A smirk grew on Musouka’s face as she glanced over to Hitomu who was focused on folding a shirt. She then chuckled as she threw a shirt at him. Hitomu rose a brow as he looked at her. She looked as though nothing had happened. Hitomu shook his head then took the same shirt thrown at him and began to fold it.

Musouka glanced at him once again then threw a sock his way. This time, Hitomu caught it with one hand before it could hit him. Musouka’s brows raised as she looked at him. He laughed then threw it back at her, causing it to hit her in the face. They both laughed as they broke out and began throwing their laundry at each other. “Musouka at this rate we’ll never be done with this,” Hitomu laughed. “Who says I want you to be done with it? This’ll teach you to care more about chores,” Musouka responded. They continued to throw the laundry that had previously been folded at each other until there was none left to throw. Once they realized, the two couldn’t stop laughing. “Ok, now that your search for vengeance has been satisfied, we can actually put these away,” Hitomu said with a shake of his head. “Hm yeah you’re right,” Musouka began as she wrapped a scarf around him then pulled him closer to her. “I was just finding a way to make it funner and more bearable for you,” she finished. Hitomu smiled before shortly kissing her. They both laughed as she released him from her grasp and they resumed to properly fold their laundry. Hitomu looked at a sweater for a moment and tilted his head. “This’ll probably sound weird but, you think Satoru and Fout can get new clothes?” He said as he continued to fold. “What?” Musouka chuckled. “Well, Fout got a different set of clothes once her programming was changed. Maybe it’s just about coding,” he thought aloud. Musouka shook her head. “Always thinking about work. Interesting thought, but it’s not what we’re doing right now. It’s why I have to kick you into doing your chores. Focus on the boring house stuff first,” Musouka winked. Hitomu smiled just as the dryer finished the last of the remaining clothes. He went and took them out himself and readied them to be folded. “Alright. But for the record, it’s not so boring doing the house stuff if it’s with you,” he said. Musouka smiled and gave him a playful shove. “I agree,” she said.

[texas2korea-blog]

Things I Miss About America

So before I get into this post, let me start by saying I truly do love living in Korea. It has been an amazing experience so far and I can’t wait to see how my last 6 months here go. But.... with that being said.... there are definitely some things that I miss from back home. 

To start off: 

WASHERS/DRYERS

Obviously there are washing machines here but dryers are basically non-existent. That means we have to hang our clothes to dry every time we do laundry. I realize that it is common to hang dry clothes in many parts of the world but I just can’t get behind it. This is because A) I’m lazy and B) it takes multiple days for the clothes to dry properly. Also, have you ever tried hang drying clothes in the 20 degree weather????? If you haven’t, then you’re really missing out on the fun...... lol. 

As far as the washing machines go, they are interesting. To be honest they are probably completely normal and I am just still too dumb to figure out how they work correctly. The biggest issue I have with the machines I’ve used at both my apartment and Gervin’s is that I can’t figure out how to wash my clothes with hot water. I have been able to translate the buttons to figure out which one means “hot water” but any time I select that option it just makes a really loud grinding sound for like 10 minutes and then doesn’t do anything. So I’ve only been able to wash my clothes on cold for the past 6 months. Also speaking of figuring out the buttons, there have been some great translations curtesy of the Google Translate app. For example, we have seen the wash cycles named “princess,” “spoon,” and our personal favorite.... “fudge.” We have actually been washing our clothes on the “fudge” setting because we think it is supposed to be equivalent to “normal” and it’s been getting the job done alright so far lol.

DISH WASHERS

This also goes in the category of me being lazy but I reaaaaaaalllllllllyyyyy miss not having to hand wash and dry dishes. Many of the apartments in Korea are super small so there really isn’t room for the standard appliances that we normally have in America. Dish washers are one of those appliances and oh how I long for that luxury. When I was still in Muju, there were more dishes to be done between Gervin and I since it was two people making a mess but now that I’m in Daejeon I thankfully don’t have that many dishes to clean. I also do not cook that often so there are not many messes from that either. Regardless, I cannot wait until the moment that I can once again slip a dirty plate or cup into the washing rack. It will be a glorious moment. 

DRIVING/DRIVERS

So it is not necessarily personally driving a car that I miss so much as the driving in general that is done in America. I cannot even fathom how to explain the way people drive in South Korea. There are really no words. It is something that one must experience to fully understand. Essentially everyone here is an insane driver and I actually have zero idea how there aren’t 3453680809836 accidents a day. They could not care less about anyone else on the road aside from themselves. Drivers literally speed up when they see you crossing the street because they can’t stand the idea of having to slow down. It is a mystery to me how anyone in this country is able to receive a license. Especially taxi drivers and bus drivers. They are the worst culprits. It is very rare that I have not felt like I was going to projectile vomit everywhere during a taxi ride. Also side note.... most of the taxi drivers I’ve encountered here are super cranky and impatient. There have been a few times when I showed them an address and they literally tell me “No” because they don’t want to type it into their GPS. Also, before I got my Korean debit card I only had my American debit card as means to pay for things (additionally, most ATMs I found did not allow me to take out cash from a foreign card). There was one ride I took where once I reached the destination my card was not working in the cab drivers machine and he was so raged that after he yelled at me in Korean for 5 minutes, he took me down the street to a police station. Basically the issue was not resolved and all I was able to scrounge up was 6,000 won for my 11,000 fare and a few tears from embarrassment.

Anyway, Korean driving is crayyyyyy and it is safe to say that pedestrians very much do not have the right-of-way. If anything they have the complete opposite of that. 

FRUITS AND VEGETABLES 

I would sell my soul for some fresh fruits and veggies. Not only are they super expensive here but they are also not very tasty. Although, I will say the Korean strawberries are amaaaaazing. They are super sweet and taste like candy. But anyway, yeah I am in need of some good fruit veg asap. I do not nearly get enough here and when I do have them they are often fried or drenched in sugar. I often catch myself dreaming about the giant salads that my mom likes to make. I could cry thinking about guacamole. Oh and ranch dressing..... Hidden Valley f me uppppp. 

TOOTHPASTE 

So apparently most of the toothpaste in Korea either doesn’t contain fluoride or has very little of it. This makes for a very shitty toothpaste. When I brush my teeth I honestly feel like I am just moving the plaque around in my mouth. I have to floss way more frequently here than in America because if I don’t my teeth feel super yuck. Also it is the only way to assure that I am actually getting my teeth cleaned because the toothpaste doesn’t cut it. I’m making it sound like I have dragon breath here or something but the flavor/scent of the toothpaste is not the issue. It is whatever the formula is. My breath still smells minty fresh after I brush but I never feel like I am getting a thorough clean. 

Also a random, fun fact about Korean school children is that they all brush their teeth in school after lunch. They each have their little toothbrushes and rinsing cup that they keep in the classroom and use every day. I have adapted to doing this as well and it is actually quite refreshing. It is definitely something I will continue to do when I return to America. 

REGULAR BATHROOMS/SHOWERS 

Bathrooms tend to be tiny in Korean apartments so that means there isn’t much room for a regular shower. By “regular shower” I mean one that has a curtain or door and is sectioned off from the rest of the bathroom. Here, most apartments have the sink showers which means there is a detachable shower head connected to the sink/mirror area of the bathroom. If you’ve ever stayed in a hostel you’ve probably seen, used or avoided using one. Shower sinks are great for cleaning yourself but also for getting water EVERYWHERE..... There is no way to get around it. It will be all over the floor, on the sink, on the toilet, on the walls.... you name it, it’s wet. I have gotten used to using these kinds of showers now and actually don’t mind them that much anymore but I am a bath girl so I do miss me a good bubble bath. 

My bathroom is a bit dirty right now so I have opted out of sharing a picture of mine and instead am using this perfect example I found on google. 

TAP WATER/CLEAN WATER 

Unless you enjoy being ill, do not.... I repeat DO NOT drink water from the tap if you ever visit Korea. Many of the pipes in the buildings here are super old and dirty leaving the water tasting nasty. Gervin will drink from the tap every now and then because he is convinced it’s not that bad but I fear for his life and pray for his soul lol. The best way to avoid drinking the tap water is by buying the giant water bottles from 711 for a dollar or boiling water in a kettle/water boiler. We like to keep the empty giant water bottles we get from 711 and re-fill them with boiled water so we don’t have to keep buying it. Again, this isn’t the end of the world it’s just something that pains my lazy nature. I always have the urge to slap that faucet and fill up a tall glass with water but then I remember I shouldn’t and the depression slowly sets in. 

AMERICAN BARS 

Drinking is no joke here. Koreans love their alcohol and I am down with that but sadly their bar life is just not what it is back home. In Korea, there aren’t really what we would consider bars in America. People go and drink at restaurants or in their homes. There are “bars” here but they don’t have the typical bar vibe. First of all, you are supposed to order food if you are at a bar. Being a foreigner helps a bit because they don’t really say anything but normally it’s weird to drink without getting food also. By food I don’t mean like a full meal but instead things like fried chicken, pizza, fries or other little bar snacks. Second of all, there isn’t much of a variety when it comes to drink choices. You pretty much have soju or beer. Thankfully I love both (specifically soju... I will be very sad when I can’t buy soju for a dollar when I am back home) but for people that aren’t fans of either you’re kinda SOL. For those who love beer you have two options: Cass or Hite. They both taste exactly the same and are pretty shitty but I like shitty beer so it works well for me. There are some foreigner bars here, like a branch that’s called Tuesday Party, that make more of an effort to have an “American style” but sadly they end up being more like clubs than bars. 

Although I love going out and drinking in Korea, I really miss hanging out at chill bars in Houston. It’s nice to be able to just relax and drink beer around a table with friends without feeling like I’m at a restaurant. I also miss full bars that can make whatever you want and don’t only have a fridge with two kinds of beer and soju. 

FOOD

Korean food is dope buuuuuuuut I have my cravings. I don’t even need to go into this one. I’m just going to leave a list of the foods/places I miss eating at in Houston and maybe shed a tear or two. 

MEXICAN FOOD

Whataburger

Chipotle 

Chick-Fil-A

Pappasitos 

Lil Bigs

Taco Bell

Velvet Taco

Torchy’s

BBQ

Taco Tuesdays at Pistolero’s

Breakfast Food/IHOP

Queso 

Margaritas 

Chips and Salsa

Hamburgers 

Pasta/Mac n Cheese

Normal cheese 

Cheetos/Flamin’ Hot Cheetos

Sushi

There’s so much stuff that I wish I could gorge on but writing all of this down is actually bringing me emotional pain so I need to move on now.

FAMILY AND FRIENDS

Last but certainly not least. I miss everyone at home so terribly much and I wish I could give everyone I love huge hugs. It’s hard being so far away from the people you care about but it really does make you realize how much you appreciate having them in your life. I am so unbelievably lucky that Gervin is here with me in Korea because I probably would have broken down a million times already. We did get a visit from three of our amazing friends who were willing to travel across the world to come see us. It was great having Liz, Andrea and Carlos here because we got a little taste of our live back home while also getting a chance to have both our American and Korean worlds collide. We had a blast and it was awful when they left because we wanted to keep them here with us forever lol. 

Whoever reads this, if any one does, just know that I miss every single one of you and I can’t wait to see y’all once Swervin and I return back to the H!

Until then, enjoy some pictures from our adventures with Liz, Andrea and Carlos here.