#my old phone case design was peeling off and i needed a new one until i can get another so i scraped off the remaining print and made this

[collierose1]

new phone case with my stamps :)

[absolutepokemontrash]

MC’s half Demon, and they look AWFULLY familiar...

‘Kay guys, I got a different kind of stupid Headcanon to throw at you. Get ready!

Part 2 Lessons 1-5 Part 2.5 Group Retreat Lessons 10-12 Lessons 13-15 Part 3 Part 4

*ahem* picture if you will, it’s the day the exchange program is set to start. The student council (nix Mr. Kill All Humans, Weeb-supreme, and our Scummy Sweetheart) have assembled to welcome the new human student. All is going according to schedule, the portal opens up at eight am sharp, they hear the pitiful screams of the selected human who was not given a heads up about the whole thing, and the poor little human falls straight onto the marble floor.

There’s something a tad... off about this human don’t you think? After they’ve peeled their sorry ass off the floor they observed the assembled student council with an air of sophistication and self importance that no one expected. Their posture was perfect, their eyes sharp and calculating... they bared a striking resemblance to-

“Lucifer,” Diavolo looked to his right hand man, then back to the human. “The human kind of looks like you!”

And out popped four pitch black wings from the human’s back and two small horns out of the sides of their head, one horn was a bit bigger than the other. They even still had some of their down feathers! How cute!

((Content warning: Swearing (I have a potty mouth, forgive me), but that’s it.))

Luci-dad

So, the MC is Lucifer’s kid! Of course Mr. Prideypants immediately tries to recall exactly what little romp in the human world uh... spawned this half-human half-demon child of his. Good thing MC’s got the other parent on speed-dial.

“Please note, MC,” Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose upon hearing Asmo take even more pictures of his newly discovered hellspawn. “I was not aware of your existence, if I was I’d-”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m not upset.”

Lucifer blinked a few times in surprise. “P...pardon? You aren’t upset?”

“No, my parent told me that my father was a high ranking demon, and they bare no ill will against you. Though, I am looking forward to this whole... exchange program thing.”

Oh wow, that was easier than Lucifer thought. Damn. Well, he was a father... (let’s be real, he’s been parenting his brothers for thousands of years, and a good chunk of you sinners call him daddy)

MC is probably the most protected student at RAD, despite the fact that they have no visible security detail whatsoever. They didn’t want to be seen as... weak and pathetic.

Something about this human just... set the lesser demons on edge. Any talk of eating them was stamped out on the first day when they walked by. It’s like Lucifer himself was staring at them, daring the demons to try and bother the human. MC’s powerful presence kept them protected and feared.

...at least until dear uncle Asmo decided to do their hair one morning. All those ribbons may have looked adorable but they kind of ruined the intimidation factor.

MC loved to mess with the other students, keeping their lineage a secret for the first little while just made it so much funnier when the other demons tried to scramble out of MC’s way without looking like they were running from the ‘weak little human exchange student’.

Oh wow, what a sadist. Like father like child

Flying lessons are a must. Poor MC isn’t terribly good at controlling their wings, and their horns are still growing in so when they pop into their demon form the first thing they get is a sore skull. Ow... it sucks that Lucifer isn’t outwardly very sympathetic.

“Ow!” MC crashed face first into the grass in the backyard of the House of Lamentation. “Father! My wings are cramping! Can’t we practice this tomorrow?”

The sight of seeing his dear child crash face first into the ground had lost its hilarity after the first three times. Lucifer slowly lowered himself to the ground and crossed his arms as he stood over his incredibly grass-stained kid.

“MC, we’ve been ‘practicing this tomorrow’ for the past month. If you want to learn to fly you’re going to have to actually manage to stay in the air for more than three minutes.”

MC shot Lucifer a withering glare that only preteens were capable of, Lucifer matched it with his own much more sophisticated glare.

“You’ve been flying for over a thousand years! Don’t you have any tips that can actually help other than ‘don’t panic, you’ll look ridiculous’?”

Lucifer dragged a gloved hand down his face and looked around, the two were alone as far as he could see.

“MC,” Lucifer began. “When I was a young angel, I needed to learn how to fly with someone else.”

MC perked up. “Who?”

“Michael. The smug bastard picked up flying quicker than I did.”

“What’d you do?!”

Lucifer smiled at his child’s intense investment. “I practiced flying every day for five extra hours until I could do everything that Michael could do, just better.”

MC’s starry eyed interest died almost instantly upon hearing about the extra five hours of practice. “Humph, I bet I could outfly younger you and Michael with only two hours of practice a day.”

“Really now?”

“Yes! Watch!” MC shook off their wings and took off in a running start before shakily making it into the air. Their form was decent enough, and they weren’t shaking as much as the previous attempts. “SEE?!”

“Yes MC,” Lucifer smiled. “I can see.”

You know what else Lucifer could see? MC crashing right into a tree.

“Ouch...”

Okay... maybe they could halt practice a little early and order a treat from Madame Scream’s. A little sugar to refuel is needed when the end goal is crushing a mutual rival beneath their heels. Just some good old fashioned father/child bonding time!

MC has a smaller seat right next to Lucifer’s seat in the Assembly Hall. I will not compromise on this one.

For all your fluff needs, I give you: Lucifer teaching MC how to play the piano. He has a proud little smile on his face when his kid finally starts getting it. That’s all. Enjoy the image.

That one Uncle who gives you Alcohol at Family Gatherings (Mammon)

Yeah, when Mammon burst in late to the party and whining about everyone’s spamming him with texts to haul his scummy ass to the Assembly Hall, the last thing he expected was to see a mini-Lucifer.

“What the fuck am I lookin’ at?!”

The glare the two Lucifers gave the poor Avatar of Greed was enough to make him want to turn tail (uh, wing) and book it down the hall.

“Mammon, this is MC. They’re my child.”

“Hello.”

“...whaaaa..?” Mammon looked between the two, same glare, same intimidating aura, same annoyingly good posture.

Mammon scratched the back of his neck and looked over at his older brother. “Do I uh... still gotta babysit em’ if they’re not human?”

“The lake of Cocytus will melt the day I let you babysit without supervision.” Lucifer grumbled.

“I don’t need a babysitter!”

Despite Lucifer’s initial denial, Mammon and MC ended up spending a lot of time hanging out when Lucifer was busy with paperwork. Of course Mammon’s first thought was ‘how do I profit off this situation?’

MC is now Mammon’s designated babysitter after they caught him picking up their feathers that had fallen off with the intention of painting them white and claiming they were Lucifer’s from back in the Celestial Realm.

Mammon does end up spoiling MC a little. Just a smidge. They’re the kid of his totally not his favourite brother after all! How could he not? Whether or not these gifts are obtained legally or are legal at all is subject to scrutiny.

“Mammon, I can’t drink this!” MC placed the bottle of Demonus back on the counter of the kitchen.

“Why not? That’s a bottle of the good stuff! We gotta celebrate you gettin’ an A on that test somehow!”

“I’m underage! Incredibly underage. I’m not legally allowed to drink.”

Mammon wordlessly plopped a silly straw into the bottle. “...does that help?”

“No.” MC then inclined their head to the bottle. “And I don’t want to get hung from the ceiling, that bottle was in my father’s study yesterday, I’m above theft.”

“How old are you s’posed to be anyway? Never mind... uh...” Mammon wracked his brain for something else he could do for MC that didn’t cost anything (don’t judge him, the poor bastard was flat broke!). “I could... teach you to drive!”

“Driving?”

“Yeah! Drivin’ is awesome! We can take my car!”

The bills for the damages done to the car and the Devildom were mailed to Lucifer the next day, and MC and Mammon got to keep each other company as they hung from the ceiling. Ah well! At least MC wasn’t upside down!

Mammon wasn’t that good of a flight teacher either, he also crashed into a tree (the same tree MC crashed into, actually) when he was cheering for MC. They were finally able to do a loopdy loop! He was proud and distracted! Okay?! Lucifer! Stop smirkin’ at him! It’s not that funny!

At least the vantage point from the tree was decent and the branches didn’t scratch him up too badly. Oh hey... that person walking by was wearing a very nice watch... he’d be right back-

That Uncle That is Always Absent From Family Gatherings and When He is Present He Leaves Early (Levi)

He missed everything. That is not an exaggeration. He was in the middle of an online raid battle and couldn’t look at his phone! No Lucifer he can’t pause an online game! That’s not how it works!

Okay, the human exchange student is half demon? WOAH! THAT’S JUST LIKE THAT ONE ANIME- W A I T. THE LITTLE NORMIE IS LUCIFER’S KID?!

Okie doke, he was fully convinced that MC just had to be an anime protagonist.

They binged every series that Levi compared them to. Sure MC might have missed a few assignments because of late night anime binges, but they were too good for this school crap anyway, right?

Nope. Lucifer put a ban on the two watching anime until both their grades improved. Surviving that hell brought the two together.

“Ugh!”

The sound of a pencil case being haphazardly thrown across the room made Levi peek out of his bed-tub. If his figurines got knocked over so HELP HIM-

“This is stupid!!I shouldn’t have to catch up with this!” MC crossed their arms and gave their Demonology textbook their best disapproving glare.

Lucifer Lite (tm) was having a hell of a time trying to claw through their missed work, and Levi sympathized, he really did, it’s just... he was playing Animal Crossing-

Levi paused the game to placate his anime-buddy when their wings popped out and he feared for his rare merch’s safety.

“H-hey, MC? Do you need help?” Levi’s offer was met with a bone chilling glare that lived rent free in his nightmares ever since. He had pulled a Mammon and forgotten he was talking to Lucifer’s child. Lucifer’s allergy to help must have passed down to MC.

“No! I don’t! It’s just... dumb!” MC hissed, she turned and looked over at the fish tank. “Right Henry 2.0?”

Henry 2.0 did not respond.

“MC, you need to finish your homework or we can’t watch anything together,” Levi sighed, he had finished his work over an hour earlier. He had mastered the art of all night anime binges and managing to do most of his work in the fifteen minutes between the time he woke up and the time school was supposed to begin. “We haven’t even binged all of volume 4 of TSL yet!”

“Mmm...” MC grumbled. “Fine...”

MC picked up their pencil case and began continued their work. Levi breathed a sigh of relief and went back to Animal Crossing.

The tiny normie did in fact finish their work, only after they caved and asked Levi for help. Swore him to secrecy, they did... very intimidating, they were.

Just saying, he most definitely sent that one Keanu Reeves meme with big Keanu and little Keanu but with Lucifer and MC to the wrong group chat. Poor bastard.

Flying lessons? No. Levi hadn’t flown since his time in the Celestial Realm, he had no advice to give other than: “Flap your wings!”

“THAT’S WHAT I’M DOING YOU-”

MC didn’t get to finish that thought, they lost their balance and fell right into RAD’s fountain. Ah well, Levi had a head start on running for his life that he squandered by laughing at MC. RIP.

The Uncle/brother/whatever the fuck that Starts a Fight With Your Dad at the Family Reunion. (Satan)

Oh... another Lucifer? Eugh. Gross.

Satan gave the kid a wide berth when they first met. Everything the kid said or did ticked him off. “Tsk. Look at MC. Making an omelette. So annoying.” “Oh wow, MC vacuumed? Roll out the red carpet, we need to celebrate their existence!” “Look at them. Breathing. Disgusting.”

MC’s pride wouldn’t ever let them admit it but... they knew Satan didn’t like them, and it hurt their feelings.

“Shhhh,” Satan whispered into his backpack.

“Meow.” The backpack replied.

“I said shhhhh.”

The backpack did not reply after that, which was a good thing considering the little princet of the HOL was nearby.

“Satan?” They asked. “Who are you talking to?”

Satan coldly brushed past them as he made his way to his room. “No one you need to concern yourself with.”

When the little calico kitten was safe in his room, Satan quickly realized a mistake in his foolproof ‘sneak a cat into the house’ plan. He didn’t have any toys for the kitten, and he didn’t want his books getting scratched...

It was alright, he’d just rush out to the a store that sold cat things and rush back! Five minute trip tops!

Well when Satan got back the cat was no longer in the room. Oh dear. He discreetly tore apart the house looking for the poor little thing until he ended up finding it in the library, happily chasing around a loose feather being held up by MC.

“Oh, hello Satan.” MC chirped as the kitten batted it’s adorable little paws at the feather.

“My... my door was closed. Did you let the cat out?”

MC shrugged. “I heard meowing.”

Satan ran a hand through his hair and grumbled. Stupid smaller Lucifer. Stupid original Lucifer. Everyone sucked.

“Let me guess, you’re going to run to Lucifer and tell him all about the meowing and the rule breaking.”

MC shook their head and glared at Satan. “Of course not. I’ve already gotten way too attached to this little guy anyway. We’re co-parenting this kitten like mature adults.”

With some coaxing, Satan did sit down and play with the kitten, maybe MC wasn’t... so terrible.

The two watch Unsolved Mysteries together, that’s their show. “This guy did it.” “Satan, we’re two minutes into the episode-” “Trust me.”

Thirty minutes later.

“He did it.” “See MC, what’d I tell you?”

Lucifer did find out about the cat, but with enough pleading, MC and Satan managed to warm up the cold spot in Lucifer’s chest where his heart should have been. The cat’s name is Detective Toe Beans (or just Bean).

Satan can’t fly, he has a tail, but he did read up on wing anatomy and how flight actually works in demons, his advice would be good in theory, but it’s full of so much technical jargon that MC can’t understand it.

At least MC didn’t crash into something, they barrel rolled through one of the HOL’s windows. Good thing it was the window to their room. The broken arm still hurt like hell.

The Best Dressed Bitch Who Brings The Booze to The Reunion. (Asmo)

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Lucifer’s kid was SO CUTE! A thousand pictures commemorating that adorable moment needed to be taken! Wait- Lucifer- GIVE BACK THE PHONE-

Asmo, surprise surprise, absolutely adores little MC! So cute! So small! He was just so excited to announce to all his Devilgram followers that Lucifer was finally a certified DILF.

That post disappeared five minutes after it was made but the damage had already been done.

Asmo made sure MC looked their best at all times, if they needed help talking to anyone? Asmo’s got their back!

Sure, maybe he’s a little pushy, but pushy’s a good thing sometimes, right?

“Asmodeus-”

“No, these shoes wouldn’t fit you...”

“Asmo-”

“No, not these ones either...”

“ASMODEUS.”

Asmo squeaked and jumped upwards, Geez Louise... little MC’s voice could sure be scary when they wanted it to be...

“I don’t need any fancy new shoes.” MC huffed, sitting up straighter in one of the chairs in Asmo’s room. “I thought this was supposed to be a sleepover.”

“Hmmm...” Asmo pouted. “Makeovers are an essential part of sleepovers... what’d you do with your human friends up in the human world that could possibly be better than a make-over?!”

MC began to list things off. “Ordered junk food, talked about people we hated, watched movies,”

“Greasy food is so bad for your skin...” Asmo cringed and shook his head violently. “But I’m totally down to watch a movie and bitch about people I hate!”

“Ah yes, human sleepovers, a tradition I never quite had the chance to enjoy.” Solomon said from Asmo’s bed. “Who are we bitching about?”

“Remind me what Solomon is doing here.” MC muttered as they sat down in front of Asmo’s TV.

“Because, I wanted to hang out with my two favourite humans.” Asmo cooed, reaching over and trying to pinch MC’s cheek, which they awkwardly dodged.

“Can we watch The Exorcist?” Solomon asked, propping his head up with his hands.

“Ew, no.” Asmo made a face at him. “That scene with the vomit? Hell NO.”

“Mm.” MC mumbled. Asmo turned to look at them.

“MC? Are you doing okay? You don’t look like you’re having any fun...”

“I’m fine.” MC grumbled.

Asmo pursed his lips, as much as it made his little narcissistic heart break, he nudged MC. “Why don’t you pick the movie, sweetie. I’m sure Solomon and I will like anything you pick!”

MC noticeably brightened. “Let’s watch Scream!”

The strangled noise that came from Asmo was... concerning, but to his credit, The Avatar of Lust held his tongue about his distaste for the movie, and the three slumber-party goers had quite the lovely time.

After the movie ended, MC went back to their room, sure it was a sleepover but their bed was right down the hall.

Good for Asmo and Solomon. Horny fuckers. We stan.

Asmo just claps and tries to cheer MC on when it comes to their flying lessons. (The idea that Asmo came up with to wear his cheerleader costume from the previous Halloween was immediately shot down by Lucifer)

“You’re doing wonderful, MC- WATCH OUT FOR THE POWER LINE!”

MC didn’t hit the power line, but Asmo’s scream of terror caused them to fall butt-first into a dumpster. Their injured tailbone served as a tragic memory of the incident.

Oh well, good thing Asmo had nice smelling soap to give that could mask dumpster-stink.

The Uncle that eats everything and tells you to eat your veggies while you angrily pick at your broccoli at the kid’s table. (Beel)

Lucifer... has a kid?! Beel choked on the cheetos he had snuck into the Assembly Hall when the kid’s wings popped out.

Oh wow, that’s nice :) maybe they can eat together. Belphie would probably like them.

Wait what is the gender neutral term for Niece or Nephew?

...Nibling? Uh... let’s not say that around Beel. We don’t need him to get hungrier and begin associating MC with nibbling on things.

The Underground Tomb incident probably went a little differently, but after all that nonsense, the two are closer than two peas in a pod!

Mmm... peas...

“Beel?” MC stepped into the Avatar of Gluttony’s room.

“Hi MC.” Beel was doing push-ups in the middle of the room, on the ground right beneath his head was a massive bowl of spaghetti that he bit into every time he completed a push-up. “Can you come stand on my back? I need the extra weight.”

“On your back?” MC padded closer. “Are you sure? It’s not going to hurt?”

“No, it’ll be okay.” Beel assured them. “Belphie and I did this all the time. Except Belphie is normally asleep.”

MC tentatively stepped onto Beel’s back. It was a balancing act to say the least, they eventually gave up on standing and ended up sitting cross legged between Beel’s shoulder blades.

“You did this with Belphegor?” MC asked.

“Yeah,” Beel sighed. “He was always too tired to exercise, but he’d let me bench press him sometimes...”

MC frowned and hugged their knees to their chest. Knowing full well that Beel’s twin wasn’t in the human world like Lucifer said was absolutely ripping them apart from the inside. Guilt felt just as rotten as their pride did when they were being belittled...

“Maybe you’ll see him again sometime soon.” MC whispered. “Maybe my father’ll come to his senses and let him come back down to the Devildom.”

Beel paused his push-ups for a brief moment, then nodded and went back to his eating exercising combo. “I hope so. He’ll like you, MC. I’m sure of it.”

MC nodded. “I... hope so.”

Beel’s a pretty decent flight teacher, but his wings are just so different from MC’s that it renders any tips he had next to useless.

“MC, maybe your wings aren’t flapping fast enough.”

“Beel, I appreciate the thought, but I’m not a hummingbird. Or a fly. I don’t need to flap my wings a million times a minute to stay afloat.”

Ah well, MC tried to take some of Beel’s advice, but their lower right wing cramped up and they ended up flying in circles until Beel was able to catch them. Ah well, better than the dumpster incident the previous week.

The Uncle That Passes Out in The Basement and You’re Not Allowed to Wake Him Up Even Though All Your Toys and Video Games Are Down There. He Also Picks a Fight With Your Dad’s New S/O Before He Passes Out. (Belphie)

Sitting in the attic was quite a drag, and this supposedly weak little human was quite the annoyance to try and call out to. It took a lot longer than expected, but when he heard little footsteps coming towards his prison, Belphegor nearly jumped with joy.

Oh... it... looked like Lucifer. Smelled like Lucifer. Stood like Lucifer. Quacked like Lucifer. Or... trilled..? Whatever sound a peacock made, this brat sounded an awful lot like Lucifer.

A... half-demon. Hmph. Belphie honestly thought Lucifer had actual standards. Not anymore, he guessed.

(Man I could fill a whole-ass fic with the Belphie betrayal thing, but for now let’s skip to post attic nonsense)

Okay so maybe MC wasn’t disgusting. They made a good nap buddy. It was cute when their wings came out when they were sleeping sometimes. Well... it was cute when they didn’t hit him in the face and make him wake up with his mouth full of feathers.

What Beel said had been true, Belphie made a good substitute when weights weren’t available, but Beel didn’t want MC to feel left out, so Belphie and MC ended up sitting on his back while he did push ups. MC once got bored and started playing Go Fish with Belphie on Beel’s back while he exercised.

Yes. MC is still a member of the Formerly-Anti-Lucifer League.

“Are you sure he’s not going to be too mad at us?” MC asked for the dozenth time that day. Detective Toe Beans was wrapped around their neck like a scarf (he had gotten so big!!!) while MC nervously sat in one of the Library chairs.

“Positive.” Belphie said with a toothy grin. “Besides, he’s like putty when it comes to you. Just give him your best puppy eyes and we’re not guilty on all charges.”

Putty..? Really..? Lucifer..? How strict was he before MC got there... they wondered.

“Sh! He’s coming!” Satan stuck his nose into a random book, it was the Oxford English Dictionary... and it was upside down.

Belphie pretended to pass out and MC decided that the best course of action was to stare deeply into their cat’s eyes. Yeah... that looked casual and not weird.

“Satan, MC, Belphie.” Lucifer nodded to the three of them as he walked towards the entrance to his study.

“Lucifer.”

“Afternoon, father.”

Belphie let out a cartoonishly loud fake snore that nearly caused both MC and Satan to break cover and start laughing.

Side note, Bean had adorable widdle eyes! That cute little face was just to die for-

“You three..!”

Belphie, Satan, and MC peeked their heads into Lucifer’s study, their handiwork was perfect. Everything was covered in red post it notes. Perfectly not harmful, but SO inconvenient!

“You’re all cleaning this up or so help me-”

“GO!” Belphie and Satan each grabbed one of MC’s arms (Satan also grabbed Bean) and sprinted out of the House of Lamentation. Maybe they’d move back there in twenty years... they hoped that Solomon and The Angels would let them crash at Purgatory Hall...

Belphie had used up his physical energy supply for the next four years. He passed out the moment they stepped into sanctuary. Time for a nap...

Flight practice? Ha. Belphie’s napping. Though, he was suspiciously awake and filming whenever MC did something stupid.

“Try not to suck so bad.”

“GO TO HELL BELPHIE!”

“I’m already there. Hell is every second I’m stuck here watching you fail.”

“YOU’RE GOING TO GET IT FOR THAT!”

Well... MC mastered the dive bomb that day. Lucifer bought them a cake.

Bonus! Your Dad’s New Husband! That Has Managed to Somehow Make Everyone Hate Him Despite the Fact That He’s A Cinnamon Roll. (Diavolo)

A mini Lucifer? A mini Lucifer!

Diavolo dotes on MC like he’d dote on his own kid. MC wants a crown? They’re getting a crown! A damn nice one too! MC wants a title? Here! MC is now... idk Ruler of the area between Majolish and Hell’s Kitchen.

Poor Uncle Mammon’s got some financial insecurity, he’s still the cool uncle... right?!

He is very much that ‘how do you do fellow kids?’ Meme.

He tries to do stereotypical ‘dad’ things but he’s not very good at them. Once he tried to host a barbecue...

Barbatos saved the day, but Mammon’s hair was still singed, Solomon’s cooking still gave Beel food poisoning (SOLOMON EATS TOXIC WASTE I SWEAR-), Luke still got hit in the face with a frisbee, and Simeon got an unhealthy dose of DAD NERVES and got so stressed everyone was almost blinded by the holy light he suddenly started blasting. We do not mention the water guns.

(Seriously whose bright idea was it to give Belphie and Satan water guns while they were in Lucifer’s presence?)

Praise Barbie. He’s too good for them.

“Um...” MC awkwardly held up the baseball, trying to look at it from all angles like it was a completely alien object. “Lord Diavolo... are you sure you want to play catch?”

Diavolo clapped his hands and bounced on the balls of his feet. “Yes! It’s a thing human fathers do with their children, correct? We must make up for lost time between you and Lucifer, right?”

Lucifer massaged his temples and nodded. “If you two would like to play catch...” Lucifer grimaced. “I will too.”

“Okay! MC, throw the ball to Lucifer!” Diavolo instructed.

Lucifer half heartedly held up his baseball glove as MC tossed him the ball. He caught it, and looked over at Diavolo, who was applauding like he just witnessed the greatest feat in sports history.

“Okay! Throw it to me!” Diavolo waved his glove in the air, Lucifer rolled his eyes and smiled. He threw the ball at Diavolo with... a lot of force. Enough force to probably dent steel... Diavolo caught it like it was nothing.

MC suddenly feared for their safety.

“Okay MC, catch!”

Diavolo threw the ball with enough force to break the god damn sound barrier. Well, maybe that was an exaggeration, but the ball sailed way over MC’s head and crashed right through a window.

“Oh my...” Diavolo put a hand on his hip and surveyed the damage to the window. “This isn’t so bad, I believe in human world TV shows this happens quite often. Look! The glass broke in a perfect circle!”

“Yay... property damage...” MC murmured.

Lucifer sighed and pulled out his DDD. “I’ll phone someone to replace the win-”

“Lucifer no! Now according to human world customs we must,” Diavolo took a deep breath, rushed forward, grabbed both Lucifer and MC’s hands and started sprinting away from the Demon Lord’s Castle. “RUN FOR IT!”

“Di- Diavolo!” Lucifer gasped.

“Who are we running from?! That’s your castle!” MC squeaked.

“I don’t know! Just run! That’s what the human TV show says to do!”

Weirdly enough, Diavolo was the best flight instructor. MC’s ability to fly increased tenfold after Diavolo found out that MC was learning to fly.

“You’re doing amazing MC! That was a perfect turn!”

“Thanks Lord Diavolo, I’m surprised I haven’t crashed into anyone or fallen yet!”

“Well, I highly doubt you’ll be crashing into anyone anymore, your flying is practically perfect now!”

Mammon proceeded to fly past them holding what looked like Lucifer’s wallet.

“M-mammon?!”

“Oh... I wonder what he’s doing. Look, MC! It’s Lucifer! Hello Lucifer dea-”

Lucifer ended up colliding with the two of them and sending them all crashing to the floor.

That was the last time MC fell during flying practice.

(We currently have a Go Fund Me set up for Mammon to get the funds necessary to flee the Devildom after that incident. Please donate to save- oh shit hi Lucifer-)

[abreathofthewild]

I Need A Hero, Chapter 1/?

Summary: After Y/N finds out that her late grandfather has willed his rural Montana ranch to her, she decides it’s time for a little change of scenery. At least until it’s in a condition to sell. Along the way, Y/N finds a renewed appreciation for hard work, new friends, and possibly even love. She has the land. Can Thor help make it a home?

Word Count: 11559 (I have no idea either, trust me)

Warnings: non-main character death, mentions of alcohol, some thematic elements, eventual smut.

A/N: I have so many people I could tag on this post, so many. For now, I'll just say thank you to @spacelabrathor​ for allowing me to use this idea and to @itssimplydior​ for going above and beyond in helping me grammar check and just being a great hype person. Thank you thank you thank you! And thank you to everyone who has waited so long for this. I have an amazing circle of friends on here. I hope this first chapter was worth the wait!

Edit: The banner is by the amazing @frankiemorales who designed this moodboard because she loves the story so much ♡´･ᴗ･`♡

Links: Thor Odinson Masterlist and AO3 Version

Skyscrapers cut through the blue sky like ancient monoliths; they weren’t ancient at all but the way the sun glinted off the glass and steel of their structures made them look like modern interpretations of old gods. Car horns and shouts and ongoing conversations hummed through the air, the constant buzz of life an undercurrent that was all at once hard to ignore and easy to be lost in. There in the middle of it, beneath the heartbeat of the city, you sat in an office chair trying to clear your head around a different type of ringing in your ears.

Your grandfather had passed away. Your estranged grandfather. And yet here you were, listening to his attorney tell you that he had willed you his ranch. The ranch you had spent almost six summers at as a child. The ranch where you had learned to ride a horse. The ranch where you had learned how to skip rocks and climb trees. The ranch where you had decided that one day you’d have a big ranch of your own, “just like Grandpa”.

“Miss? Miss, are you still there?” A breath rattled from your lungs as you tried to form a coherent sentence. “I’m sorry, I can imagine this is difficult but were you able to hear me on the line? Hank has passed away and he’s left you his ranch. We’ll need you to come sign some paperwork. There are some stipulations that I’d rather discuss in person. Then you’re free to get the details settled to sell it if that’s what you want.” Another pause.

“Um, yes, I’m sorry. I heard you. Can you email the initial documents?” The barely-managed response felt odd on your tongue, stiff.

“Ah, yes, I’m sure we can manage that. I’ll have to apologize, things move a little slower around here so sometimes it slips my mind that electronic signatures are an option now. Like I said though, the final details will need to be worked out here, in Dove’s Reach.” After that, you tuned out; the man’s voice on the line seemed to drone on. Your brain honed in on “it’s not really in a state to sell” and “I’ll put you in touch with a licensed appraiser just to make sure”. Then the call ended and you realized somewhere in there you must have hung up the phone but you honestly couldn’t remember.

A ranch. A whole ranch. 500 acres of rolling hills in Montana. Your breath caught and you quickly brushed away the tears that had welled in your eyes, pursing your lips and glancing at the paperwork spread in front of you. There was so much work to do here with the Harrison case. Your eyes roved from the physical documents to the spreadsheets on your computer screen and back again. It would be foolish to take time off now when you were so close to finishing it up. You could see your father’s frown as if he was standing in front of you.

And yet… Your grandfather hadn’t been a part of your life for so long. In the beginning, when your parents had told you abruptly that Grandpa had done something bad, been mean to them, you took it hard. Seven years old is a horrible time to lose a grandfather who taught you how to milk a cow and showed you the wonder in the small things. But as you got older and your parents became more embroiled in work, more distant, you put it to the back of your mind. You were still young enough that you had no choice but to take their word for it. The thoughts tripped around your head like a broken record; you felt a little queasy. You wiped brusquely once more at a stray tear and, taking a deep breath, turned to your monitor. You minimized one tab and opened another, preparing to write an email. It was a little more difficult than you had anticipated though and ten minutes later when your assistant walked in reminding you of your 2 o’ clock, you startled from a blank daydream and an even blanker screen. Your surroundings rushed back in around you on a pinpoint vortex and all at once, you knew you had to go. Regardless of parts of the will needing to be handled in person, something split in your heart. Right now, your place was at the ranch.

“Reschedule that appointment please. Let Clark know we’ll be switching it over to a Zoom call. Actually, cancel the rest of my appointments for the next two weeks. I’ll let you know if I need you to move anything around after that.” She widened her eyes but nodded all the same, turning and exiting your corner office with purpose. You began typing out the email to your father letting him know that you’d be taking advantage of all those vacation hours you had stored away for a rainy day. You would take the Harrison case with you and could easily finish it remotely. It would be on his desk by the deadline. Your rainy day was today but despite the circumstance, you were beginning to catch the feeling that there wasn’t a cloud in sight. The ranch house flashed across your mind’s eye and you blew out a breath from your lungs you hadn’t even realized you were holding.

You clicked send and stood, throwing on your coat and gathering the necessary paperwork from your desk. You let your assistant know you were leaving and walked out the door, not bothering to pay attention to a few pairs of wandering eyes who watched as you entered the elevator and headed down to the ground floor. With each minute of descent through the high-rise building, you felt your heart beat faster. It felt like there was a balloon in your chest waiting to burst. Your heels clicked on the marble floor and as you pushed through the doors into the spring air of New York City, you felt just a little more alive than you had moments before.

The redeye flight and extra two-hour drive put you in Dove’s Reach before the sun had completely risen. Last week if someone had told you that you would be standing here right now looking at your grandfather’s ranch house with the notion that you could fix it up, you would have laughed in their face. But as the sun rose in the east, it felt as if anything was possible. To the north was a range of mountains that could have looked menacing, but from your vantage only served to leave you in awe. The immediate land was just miles and miles of green fields that met with forest. The trees were behemoths; the sun bathed everything in a rich golden light adding unbelievable depth to the scene before you. The air smelled clean and fresh and alive.

You resisted the urge to pinch yourself because if this was a dream you never wanted to wake up. There was your grandfather’s house right in the middle of all of it. It still held the country charm that you remembered but there was so much that was… off. From what you could see with the naked eye, the wooden fence was sagging and falling over in a lot of places. The barn was missing slats of wood and one door hung precariously on its hinges. The house was a relic, the paint dry and peeling. You knew your grandfather as a strong, stout man who even in his older age was capable of running a whole ranch. The state of things now left a hollow feeling in your stomach and left so many questions unanswered.

A suitcase, carry-on, and laptop bag was all you had with you as you took the key from under the mat and opened the front door. It groaned loudly as if it hadn’t been opened in a long while but it made you smile to know that your grandfather had left the key in the same place after all these years. You walked to your left into the kitchen and set your keys on the counter. The familiarity of it all suddenly made you pause with a sudden sense of Deja Vu. The magnets on the fridge, the little table with four wooden chairs, and an old fashioned clock hanging on the wall that had faded from a once dark blue. The checkered yellow and white curtains were rolled up above the farm-style sink and an old mason jar with some dried flowers sat in the sill.

You found yourself choking up as you realized your grandfather’s coffee mug, the big one with some western painting of a bucking bronco, sat ready next to the coffee pot. You walked over to it and cradled it in your hands as the feeling washed through your bones that it was your mug now. There was so much you remembered about him and yet so much you never got to know, never would know. It nagged at you as the realization began to set in that there was so much to get done to sell this place. And after it was gone, there would be nothing of your grandfather left. A shaky sigh escaped from your lips.

Sleep. Right now you just needed to sleep. You made your way upstairs, the wood groaning in protest as you went, and headed to the right where one of the two guest rooms were located. Again, it was like a museum, in a state of preservation. With a wrenching in your stomach, you wondered if he’d ever had visitors after you. The bed sat against the opposite wall under the window and the sunlight filtering in passed the tree outside left dappled patterns on the patchwork quilt. You brushed your fingertips across it and marveled at how soft it still felt.

The room smelled faintly of dust so you cracked the window. You were rewarded by the cool breeze laced with the scent of pine wafting gently into the room. It was the beginning of spring but mornings were still chilled with the end of winter. You were pretty sure that in the shade of various trees on your way in there were small drifts of unmelted snow and the dried grass in the fields outside had sparkled with frost. You flopped down on the bed, covering yourself with the knitted throw that was tossed across the bottom.

As your eyes fluttered shut, you had a distinct feeling that you had always lived here. The thought crossed your mind as you edged into sleep that maybe you should stay.

It was well past noon when you startled awake. This time, it felt like there was a weight on your chest. You cracked your eyes and let out a small ah when you were greeted by a plump silver and white cat with green eyes sitting on your stomach. It chirruped when it realized you were awake. The cat hadn’t been in the house when you arrived (that you had seen). Maybe it climbed the tree and hopped in the window. Either way, it had been a long time since you’d last had a pet (your long hours didn’t allow for it back in New York) and your heart did a light skip as you scratched behind its ears. Its purr sounded like a motorboat.

The breeze coming through the window was a little warmer now and after a while of trying to stay lost to the world outside, you knew if you didn’t get up right then, you wouldn’t feel motivated to do so for the rest of the day. And there was a lot to do. With an exaggerated grunt, you deposited the cat on the other side of the bed. It sat there licking a paw and periodically giving you an irked look. You let out a small snort and grabbed a pad of paper and a pen from the desk and began writing down your goals for the day.

The main one was a basic grocery list (you were pretty sure there was nothing in the fridge or cupboards), and now getting some cat food. If you remembered correctly, the actual town was about another half hour from the ranch in the opposite direction you’d come. You stood and winced as pins and needles prickled up and down your legs from sitting cross-legged on the bed. You glanced at your computer bag tucked in next to the desk on the floor. The Harrison case would have to wait.

Main Street hadn’t really changed much from what you could remember of your time here. A lot of red brick and dark wood. It was quaint and about as small-town as you could get. Something lurched in your chest when you pulled to a stop in the grocery parking lot. Everything was so foreign to how you lived in the big city but at the same time… it sang of a home you had not experienced before. Part of you thought it was a shame that you had to go back in two weeks. You brushed the thought aside as quickly as you allowed yourself to feel it. There was no use indulging that line of thinking and besides, it was the first day. You were sure you would feel differently at the end of that time after you’d put in the work that would be required.

The grocery store was bigger than you remembered; you were pretty sure it had been expanded. Maybe the town wasn’t as little as it used to be. A cartful of basics and what felt like 500 mental notes later, you brought your groceries to the front. You daydreamed for a moment as the steady beep of the register sounded in the background.

“You’re not from around these parts, are you darlin’?” You came back to yourself, shaking your head. The woman ringing you up was older, with short-cropped white hair and glasses perched on the end of her nose. Her name tag read “Rose''. “I thought so. We don’t get many people around here that buy tofu. Is it any good?” She wrinkled her nose in such a way that made you giggle. You shrugged your shoulders.

“There’re a few different ways I make it that taste pretty good. I’m not vegetarian or anything, I just like all sorts of foods.” She brightened at that; you guessed there were also not very many vegetarians in Dove’s Reach either. “I’m actually here to handle my grandpa’s estate. He just passed away…” You trailed off, surprised by the lump that was suddenly in your throat. Her eyes widened just a bit before she reached out to pat your hand.

“Do you mean Hank? Was Hank your granddaddy? Yes, he must be, I can see you have the same eyes now. Well, I’m so very sorry, hon. He was a good man. It seems like only yesterday he was here picking up groceries.” There was a tear in her eye now and it made you wonder how close the two were. “It had actually been quite some time since he was able to make it in here on his own. Months at least.” Months? So he had been sick for a while. Why hadn’t he told you? Rose saw the look flash across your face. “Oh,” she breathed out quietly, “you didn’t know, did you?” She clucked her tongue as you paid. “That Hank, always thinkin’ he didn’t need help. We were all surprised when he finally had Jonesy coming ‘round to do things in town for him. Jonesy was his attorney, you’ll probably be speaking to him soon, I’d reckon. Well, if you need anything, you just let me know, okay?”

You grabbed your bags and put them back in your cart. There would be time to ask Rose questions about your Grandpa later, you hoped. But right now, you needed to focus on getting help with the ranch.

“Well actually, Rose, I’m looking for some help to fix the ranch up. Do you know anyone off the top of your head?”

Rose had told you to go across the street to On The Wings of A Dove, the local hang out after a day’s work had been finished for a lot of folks. It was surprisingly modern with an old feel. Deep red brick, exposed black pipe, and low lighting. The smell as you walked in the doors made your mouth water. Luckily the owner, Gus, was in and was more than happy to help a young lady such as yourself.

“Thor! This lady here needs some help fixin’ up her ranch to sell. You lookin’ for work?” You glanced in the direction the portly man was facing, down the bench, and around a couple of other patrons. A man leaned out and smiled in your way; the flash of white teeth made your heartbeat stutter.

“As a matter of fact, Gus, I just finished up at the Finch’s farm helpin’ them with that young colt.” He stood and walked over to you. If he looked big from a distance, there was no denying it now as he moved into your space. You looked up at his face and the golden hair framing blue eyes was enough to make your brain go foggy. He held out a hand, the chorded muscle across his chest and in his broad shoulders evident even with such a small movement. You took it and something bloomed in your chest when his hand enveloped yours. His skin was rough with calluses. It was warm and a vision flashed across your mind unbidden: those hands grasping at your face, roving down your arms, across your chest, gripping your hips, and moving lower… You shook your head and tried to listen to the words coming out of his mouth.

“The name’s Thor. Thor Odinson. How may I be of service, pretty lady?” Normally, someone being so forward would irk you. But somehow hearing Thor say the words “pretty lady” in a slow drawl didn’t bother you in the least. You offered him a smile back, quirking your head to the side. Taking inventory. He couldn’t be much older than you if he was older at all.

“Thor Odinson? That’s an interesting name.” He nodded, ducking his head and running a hand through his hair. It looked ridiculously soft to the touch and you had to stop yourself from snorting in good-natured annoyance.

“Yes, ma’am. My family comes from the Old Country. They wanted a strong name for a strong man. Gus said you’re lookin’ for help though?” He crossed his arms and leaned in, the white t-shirt he was wearing stretching across his chest. You forced your eyes to move back to his face where you were met with a little crook of his lips. You were pretty sure he saw that but there was no embarrassment in the knowledge. “I can help you do just about anything. Pick your poison.”

It was a lot. And you were certain there was more than you even realized with your knowledge of how to run a ranch being zero. You listed off how the house needed a good cleaning but you could take care of that. It probably needed a new coat of paint inside and out. Several of the shudders on both stories needed repairing. The barn looked pretty run down but you hadn’t gotten up close to it yet. One of the doors had definitely been hanging crookedly on its hinges. Then there was the fence… You could probably use more than two people for that. You had no idea of what state the ranch hand cabin was in. You looked up at him and gave him a shrug. His eyebrows were up near his hairline as he leaned back and whistled.

“Boy, we’ve really got our work cut out for us, don’t we? Well, I think we’d better start with those things you mentioned first. Trust me, if there’re other problems we’ll find ‘em real quick. Might cost ya a pretty penny. Are we tryin’ to stay within a certain budget?” He looked you right in the eye and Lord help you, it had been a long time since someone looked you in the eye with any sort of sincerity. You were used to working with less-than-savory types in your corporate world. You cleared your throat and shrugged again.

“Not really. If we fix it up good enough, there won’t be a loss. It’s a pretty place. Just needs some TLC. And the land is worth its 500 acres in gold.” The silence was palpable but not in an uncomfortable way. Thor leaned in and you caught a slip of his scent. Sweat and leather and woodsmoke. You took a deep breath, pulling the smell with it. You realized he was listening. He wasn’t just hearing your words, he was taking them in and mulling them around in his brain. “But wait. Does that mean you’ll do it? We haven’t even talked about wages or anything like that.” He waved a hand in dismissal, rolling his eyes.

“We can talk about that later. What matters is you need help and we like to help people ‘round here. Maybe that’s not somethin’ you’re used to where you’re from? It’s all right though. I’ll introduce ya to small-town hospitality. When are you wanting to get started?” You threw him a sheepish grin before glancing down at the floor as if the pattern there was the most interesting thing in the world. If your parents could see you now, you knew they’d be appalled. Thinking of doing the work yourself, of hiring someone you literally just met and someone who was only suggested to you by a cashier at a grocery store. It was a little ridiculous you admitted but you brushed the thoughts away.

“Tomorrow? You can stay in one of the guest rooms in the house. There’s a ranch hand cabin but I have no idea what it looks like. As far as I can tell, it hasn’t been a working ranch in a while so there’s really no telling what state it will be in…” Again, he held his hand up slowly, politely putting a stop to the words pouring from your mouth.

“The cabin is just fine. I don’t need much anyway. Depending on how long I’m there, the only thing I ask is to bring my dog, Tucker, with me. He’s as good a help as any man I’ve met and twice as friendly.” You nodded enthusiastically. “Well, all right then. Sounds like everything is as settled as it gets for now. Can I get the address from ya? I’ll head over around 5 PM, get settled in if that suits your plans for the rest of the day.

“Perfect.” You smiled as he shook your hand again.

It occured to you that this is the first contract you’d ever made without a signature on paper and yet somehow, it felt like the most foolproof one as well.

It didn’t take long for Thor to settle in. He had insisted on taking the ranch hand cabin despite your protesting. When the two of you looked it over, it wasn’t as bad as you would have guessed it to be, even though there was a thin layer of dust on every surface. You searched through some of the cupboards and luckily came up with a spare sheet set. You took the old one to wash, holding your breath against all the dust motes that flew into the air as soon as you took the sheets off.

“Tucker didn’t want to come?” You asked with a teasing tone,one that Thor responded to with a laugh. He took his baseball cap off and roughed his fingers through his hair. He shook his head.

“No, ma’am. We’ll see how things go here but guessing by the fence line I saw on my way in, he’ll definitely be coming to stay here with me. Don’t worry, either way you’ll get to meet him. He’ll be tickled pink.” Again, a duck of his head that made you wonder how someone could have such good manners. You looked down, shuffling your feet. That seemed to be a regular thing for you now as well. Not being able to look someone in the eye? Not a good look on a big time lawyer. But you had an excuse, right? You glanced up through your eyelashes as he turned away and looked around.

He stood tall, straight-backed. You absently wondered if it was from riding horses. He probably looked great on a horse. He was no longer in just the white shirt from earlier but his Carhartt jacket didn’t swallow him, it just somehow emphasized how big he was. Every movement brought that into sharp focus. The floor creaked beneath his boots as he flipped switches on and off, watching with concentration as each lightbulb somehow still worked. They took a few moments to crackle on but crackle on they did. And with each one his smile somehow got bigger. After a little while of inspecting the little space he turned to you again.

“This will do just fine. No worries need be wasted on my behalf. Tomorrow I’m thinking we should head down to Redwood Hardware and see if we can get an order in for some fence posts. They might have some in stock already but the amount we’ll need is probably not gonna be in store. You might also wanna consider hiring other help besides me. I stand by my work ethic but we’ll get the job done a lot faster with more people.” You blew a breath out of your mouth and pursed your lips. He was closer in an instant, placing his hand on your shoulder. He lowered his head to make sure you would meet his gaze. It threatened to take your breath away. “I know it might not seem like it right now, but we’ll have this place up and running, sale-worthy in no time. A place your granddaddy would be proud of.”

You did meet his eyes then, glancing back and forth between them. You nodded. If anyone was going to tell you how a thing was going to go and you would believe them… It was going to be Thor.

The day came when it was time to actually set up the new fence posts instead of just staring at them with a certain bit of dread each day when you went outside. The sky was a blue that seemed to go on forever and the air itself smelled alive but still, you stood, hands on your hips, ticking off all the other things you could be doing. There were loads of things. But Thor stood next to you, a smirk on his face and you knew there was no way you could put off starting this any longer. He placed a hand on your shoulder and squeezed.

“It’ll be alright darlin’! It’s a lot of work, hard work, but you’ll get the hang of it. I’ll be right there every step of the way to help ya out.” Again, the uncanny wave of reassurance swept over you at his words and so it was you found yourself climbing into the passenger side of his old Ford and marveling at what pristine condition it was in. The last couple of days you’d been driving your rental car; there was an old Jeep in the barn but it needed more repairs than you could focus on at the moment. You’d seen his truck the day he drove up to the house and the days after but you hadn’t seen the interior and you were impressed.

You didn’t know many hyper-specific details about any vehicle but you guessed this one was old and yet… the seats were a rich brown leather, worn in certain places from use but not split. It even had a sheen to it still, as if he wiped it down on a regular basis. There was one little piece of plastic up near the passenger air vent that was slightly cracked but the rest of it still shone as close to new as it would ever get again. A reddish brown darker than the seats but just as fine. Nothing had been replaced or updated it seemed, just kept in the same condition it always had been. But looking around, you knew it had been used. It had worked many long years. You quirked your mouth and glanced at him as he shifted the truck into gear and drove through the gate, driving along the rutted pathway that ran along the length of fencing. The field stretched out for miles and miles beyond you in gentle sloping green hills. There were some wildflowers starting to sprout up but from what you understood, it was nowhere close to peak season yet. The fence closer to the buildings was in better condition; the farther away from there you got, the more obvious it became that the ranch had been non-operational for some time. As it was apt to do regularly now, your mind wandered. You were lost in two vast landscapes, one physical, the other in your memories. It took Thor slowing and then parking at the point where the fence literally ceased to exist to bring you out of yourself.

The two of you hopped out and started grabbing supplies. After figuring out how much you wanted to get done for the day, the two of you started in on the fence posts. Or more like Thor jumped right in and you took a split second to watch him as he began working. Almost immediately he shrugged off his flannel; he was in a simple white tank top and those ridiculously well-fitted Wrangler jeans and boots. Even the gloves on his hands looked slightly tight as if his hands were too big even for the large size. His motions were smooth and concise; he turned away from you, leaving his back on full display. You leaned on your post hole digger for a minute, taking in the way all the parts of his body worked together. From the muscles in his arms, the ones chord across his shoulders and back, all the way down to how his hips swayed with the movement.

An eagle cried out overhead and you moved in about ten feet away from him. You wanted to think that you knew how to do this right away just from watching him. The soil was no problem. It was soft and dark and easy to dig. The smell curled through the air and reminded you of being a kid, when the most you had to worry about was if the dirt was the right consistency for a mud pie. But after a few tries, you realized you must be doing something wrong because your hands kept slipping and Thor had already moved past you to dig and place two more wooden posts. Still, you don’t say anything just yet. You were determined to do this.

As the day waned on, slow as molasses, you could feel him watching you. He didn’t move in to stop you, didn’t tell you you were doing it wrong. He let you struggle. There was a war inside of you at that moment, part of you wanting him to jump in and show you how and the other part being refreshed by him letting you figure it out. That inner monologue went on for a while before he nudged you and handed you a bottle of water. You stopped, relieved. The sun was somehow high overhead now. For every one post you were finishing with difficulty, Thor was getting two done. Frustration flared over your whole body. He cleared his throat and raked his hand through his hair.

“I noticed it looked like you were havin’ a bit of a hard time diggin’ the post holes. Would ya like if I gave ya some pointers?” You watched him, the earnestness in his blue eyes, and nodded. A smile lit up his face and you wondered how many people got to see it. It was bright and put the endless Montana sky to shame. “Perfect. Let’s eat lunch now and then I’ll show ya a thing or two.” You munched on the turkey sandwiches you had thrown together, sitting on the ground in front of the truck where there was still some shade. The ground was cool beneath you, the air around you smelt like something that should be written about in a book; the earthy smell of grass , the distant hints of pine, the promise of wildflowers. Thor was sprawled out next to you but not in an overbearing sort of way. He just took up a lot of space. You tried not to concentrate on the fact that your knees were touching.

“So your granddaddy left you all this? I’d be pressed to sell it. It’s too bad ya can’t keep it.” You stiffened before catching yourself quickly, though you were pretty sure he had noticed He took his last bite before standing up. “You’ve got a life back home though. It’d be hard to leave that behind.” He held out his hand and you accepted it, wanting to push that cagey feeling behind you. He looked off in the distance, hands on hips, then back to you. “Well, ya ready for those tips?”

“Yes, sir.” You brushed dirt off your backside and put your gloves back on. “It is too bad,” you mumbled. Mumbled because you were too afraid that saying it out loud would change something for you. “That I can’t keep it, I mean.” He turned to you, not the least bit of surprise on his handsome face. But there was understanding there. He got it. You grabbed your post hole digger and went ten feet from the last post readying to dig the new hole. Thor watched your position for just a moment before you heard his footsteps come up behind you. And then he was standing there, at your back. If you took one half-step back you would be met with his chest. The day was warm but heat radiated off of him like a steadily growing fire. Something pooled low in your belly and your mouth went dry as he moved into your space and then you were flush with him.

His arms came around yours, his hands engulfing your own. His breath was warm near your ear as he rumbled “No, darlin’, like this.” He shifted your hands from the middle of the handles to the top. You were hyper aware of the way his arms felt around you, acutely aware of his scent. Sweat, and musk, and dirt. “That way you have more leverage and you’re not leanin’ over when it goes in the dirt.” He stayed like that for a moment, probably only seconds, but it felt like longer. You heard his breath catch from behind you before he slowly removed his hands, backing up just a pace. You immediately tried to retain the feel of him against you, the way his voice settled into you when he spoke. The way his smell engulfed you, making you feel like the safest person in the world. When was the last time you had felt that way?

Your limbs moved slow, as if your body was now full of lead. He moved back in again, briefly, sliding his boot between your feet and nudging them just a tad bit farther apart. “That’ll help too,” he said. And this time, when you raised the digger up and heaved down, you immediately noticed a difference. While it didn’t necessarily feel easier, it definitely didn’t hurt as much and your body didn’t feel as stiff, didn’t feel like it was being pushed into an awkward angle. You took a couple more plugs from the earth, digging down far enough to keep the pole stable and when you stood straight and looked at him, there was that grin written all over his face again. This time, that smile leapt to your face.

Thor pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, red with a white paisley pattern, and raised his hand, slowly, as if he was touching a wild animal, wiping a streak of perspiration from your cheek. “That’s my girl! Keep that up, we might not need help like I said before,” he exclaimed with a wink. Time seemed to slow to a halt. That’s my girl. That’s my girl. That’s my girl. The words thundered through your brain, down out your limbs, between your legs. That’s my girl.

You looked down at your watch, surprised to see the hands tick forward without delay. As the day went on, a thought tickled at the back of your mind, like a horses’ whiskers on your palm. It’d be easy to be his girl.

The night came in cold enough that you were filled with relief when Thor stood to his full height and stretched, slotting the post hole digger in a pile of soil and suggested the two of you call it a night. Goosebumps had already peppered your skin and the breath coming from your mouth was visible in the air. You nodded and stretched a little too, trying to ignore that stiffness you knew would turn into full-blown pain by tomorrow morning. Thor watched you quietly as you slowly put your jacket on; he glanced from the ground then to the sunset when you looked his way. You let out a small barking laugh and almost immediately regretted it, wincing as the cold night air ripped its way into your lungs.

You managed an uncomfortable grunt as you stuffed your gloves in your pocket and Thor grabbed the keys to his truck. You examined your hands; your palms looked like one huge blister. The skin was bubbled and inflamed and if you were being completely honest, it was one more thing you really had no idea how to take care of on a scale like this. Thor started the truck and even though it was only a ten-minute drive back to the house, you were already thankful in anticipation of him cranking the heater just a bit. It would hopefully be a small relief for the contracting sensation in the muscles along your shoulders and arms and back.

There was not a whole lot to gather since the only portion of the fence that went up today was the posts; still, you moved in to help him by grabbing some smaller loose supplies and your post hole digger. You could feel his eyes on you, feel the way he noted you navigating around your raw hands. It took a moment but soon he was wandering over to you and taking the items from you, nodding his head kindly to the truck. You mumbled your gratitude as you got in, frustrated with yourself. It was only the first day but Thor was already picking up your slack. You watched him from the passenger side mirror as he slammed the tailgate shut. There was not a bit of annoyance in his expression. You had small inkling you were being a bit too harsh on yourself.

When he got in, the truck groaned and immediately the cab that felt huge and open before now felt full; crowded but not in an unpleasant way. You sneaked a sideways glance at him as he settled in. He didn’t shift the truck into gear right away but instead sat back, gazing out the windshield at the sunset. Even from your vantage point, it was stunning. The sky was a variation of colors from deep black-blue, to a soft blue, to pink, to orange. The sun slipped back below the mountains to the north and west and the only detail you could make out on them now was their peaks; they were in shadow and looked like a great set of black teeth.

The light coming into the truck had softened, illuminating the planes of Thor’s face. The slip of his golden brown hair, the strong cheekbones and slope of his nose, the clean jawline that now had a five o’ clock shadow. It was quiet, save for the lulling roar of the truck engine and somehow you knew in that second, you wanted more of these moments. Your brain hadn’t quite latched onto how you would get them but you were going to try. Maybe it was Thor. Maybe it was the gentle heat in the cab with the chill outside. Maybe it was the clean smell of spring scented air. Maybe it was a hard day’s work that was so different than the long hours you kept at home. Right now, it didn’t really matter. You sat back with a sigh of content, able to ignore the subtle aching in your limbs. Finally, Thor let out a gentle hum, a sound you guessed actually reverberated through his body.

“When we get back to the house, we’ll take care of those hands, all right?” You nodded and he shifted the truck into gear, turning back the way you came this morning and it was suddenly all you could do not to reach out and rest one of those hands on his arm.

The gravel crunched under the wheels of Thor’s truck as he dropped you off at the front of the house, telling you he was gonna take a shower and then he’d be back up to bandage your hands. You tried to tell him you would take care of it, really, but he insisted. Deep down, you knew you had taken care of blisters on your heels before but nothing like this so you gave in, hiding a smile as he drove the truck down to the other cabin.

When you got to the bathroom, it took every effort not to just quit and wallow right there on the old tile floor but after a few struggling moments, you peeled your clothes from your body and stepped into the warm water, ignoring the stinging of the wounds. It took a few tries with washing off the dirt of the day, with every contact with soap intensifying the hurt in your hands. As you stepped out, you knew you’d be popping some Advil tonight; it would be foolish not to, you guessed.

You threw some leftover chicken noodle soup on the stove and plopped unceremoniously into one of the kitchen chairs, leaning your head against the wall as you relaxed. The fact that you hadn’t worked on the Harrison case for two and half days now nagged like a trapped rat at the back of your mind. Your laptop was currently upstairs though and there was no way you were forcing yourself up those steps again until you absolutely had to. Instead, you checked your emails on your phone, briefly scanning over the subjects on each of them and filtering out the spam. You set it back down with satisfaction. You’d just worked one of the hardest days in your life and you guessed it was probably going to remain tough from here on out. Despite that, you felt more nervous energy bubbling in your veins.

You decided to pull out the old maps you had found at the little desk in the living area. The house was small compared to the expanse of the land itself. Your grandfather hadn’t been a person who needed extravagance, that was for sure. Maybe you’d convert one of the guest rooms into a study. It would certainly be a lot easier to spread out property maps in an office rather than a little desk in the living room. You put little x’s where you thought the boundaries were. You were somewhat familiar in your work life with reading property maps but these… the maps were old enough that you were second-guessing if the plot already marked was accurate. Another thing to put on the to-do list for a town run. Land maps would be public record, especially in a town as small as Dove’s Reach.

A knock on the front door snapped you out of your thoughts. You hollered that the door was unlocked as you rolled the maps up and put them back on the desk out of the way. You ladled soup into bowls, setting them back on the counter to cool just a bit. You heard him knock his boots on the door jam outside and then set them with a thump just inside the door as he ambled into the kitchen. You reprimanded yourself as you turned and got caught off guard again by his size. His arms were crossed and he was leaning against the wood of the kitchen entrance, completely filling it up, quietly surveying your movements. You thought he was zoning out but you were not entirely sure.

“Uh, I hope chicken soup is okay,” you let out. His eyes met yours and he nodded enthusiastically as he shot you a dazzling smile. You gave him one back. “Somewhere else just then?” He nodded and you took one bowl at a time to the table, a heavy cloth in between your skin and the bowls. You hissed as the edge of one of the bowls caught a patch of the blister, the hot ceramic making the burning more intense than it should be. Thor was behind you immediately, taking the bowl and steadying it. It was a good thing because you were certain you couldn’t have prevented a spill at this point.

“Let’s take care of those blisters first. Looks like that soup is a little too hot to eat just yet anyway.” You nodded as he placed a gentling hand on your shoulder, maneuvering you to the chair you were sitting in earlier. The pain was pretty bad at this point; you had taken Advil about fifteen minutes ago but it hadn’t taken effect yet so here you were, miserable, and trying to fight the hot tears welling up in your eyes. It was embarrassing. Thor cleared his throat. “Did your granddaddy have a medicine cabinet around here?” You took a shaky breath and pointed to the little doorway off the kitchen.

“There’s one there in the laundry room on the opposite wall from the door.” He stepped away from you and into the little room. You could hear him open the cabinet door and rummage around. You hadn’t looked in there yet to see what supplies were available but you doubted any of it was still usable. Yet here was Thor, a huge grin on his face, some bandages in one hand and a questionable-looking jar in the other.

“I knew if your granddaddy was as much of a working man as you had mentioned that he’d have some of this here with him. Best ranch and farming remedy for just about anything.” You knew the look on your face was one of clear skepticism because he laughed, a deep booming thing that made you want to listen over and over again. “I know you city folk probably like to go to the doctor’s for everything but let me tell ya, if we put this on your hands twice a day and keep them all wrapped up, those blisters’ll be gone in no time. Three days tops,” he murmured as he finally looked at the ragged state of your palms. He was moving slower again, pulling out a chair and placing it right in front of you.

He sat down and despite the pain, or maybe because of it, your breath hitched when he caged your knees with his own. “Let me see ‘em up close, darlin’” he breathed as you held out your hands for closer inspection. He let out a low whistle as he gingerly took one, then the other to examine the raw skin. He rubbed a small circle on the inside of your wrist and you were acutely aware of every little detail as his calloused thumb against the soft skin there elicited an erratic heartbeat. He sat like that for a moment before seemingly catching himself; leaning back and reaching over to open the jar of salve. It was not a bad smell but you wrinkled your nose a little at it. He glanced over at you and smiled.

“This might hurt a bit. But it’ll help.” You nodded and braced yourself just a little. The balm itself didn’t sting but the contact of fingers on the blisters definitely did. There was no use hiding your grimace so you just let yourself go, taking deep breaths and letting them slowly out through your mouth. He was so gentle. This close and with his concentration on your hands, you allowed yourself to watch him unhindered by the threat of getting caught. His fingers were steady and slow and he was so sure of himself. You found yourself leaning into his touch, holding your breath. After he was satisfied with one hand, he took the roll of bandage material and slowly wrapped it around your palm, down around your wrist, and back up again to secure it in place.

“You did real good today,” he said quietly, still looking down, almost as if he was unsure he should say it. As if he thought you may not want his opinion. A smile spread across your face as you let out an exasperated groan.

“If you say so,” you replied, willing him to look up at your face to see that you mean it. He must have felt your eyes on him because he turned to you then, looking back. Searching. You felt the heat rise in your cheeks and creep down your neck and something leaped in your belly. He was so close. You could see his eyelashes. See how his eyes weren’t just one shade of blue but several different ones. You could smell him. A similar scent to when you first met him but also mixed with a fresher element from his shower. You could smell his wet skin and how it went from a day of work to warm water to the chill outside to the warmth of your house. It made you want to lean forward and bury your face in the place where his neck meets his shoulder.

You must have been staring a hole into him because he bit his lip then leaned back, finishing up with your other hand before grabbing the supplies and heading to the laundry room. “I do say so,” he rumbled from the little room. When he came back out again he’s smiling. His hands were on his hips and for whatever reason, it was exactly the release of whatever emotion that had transpired moments ago. You laughed, grabbing some bread slices and dropping them in the toaster. They popped up and you spread on some butter, ushering him to sit back down.

The conversation was easy, more idle chatter than anything else. Questions about each other’s lives. How long had he lived here? All his life. When did you know you wanted to work in law? As long as you could remember. You wanted to help people at the heart of it. How did he learn to train horses? From his daddy and his grandaddy before him. Would you ever consider keeping the ranch? The question caught you off guard and a rush of emotions flowed just beneath the surface of your calm exterior. Your pause told Thor what he had guessed the moment he saw you go to work on the land that morning.

“Of course I would,” you murmured as you pushed your empty bowl aside. You leaned onto the tabletop, one arm across its surface and the other supporting your face as your eyes stared off into space. “I just… I just don’t think it’s in the cards for me right now. If it had fallen into my lap under different circumstances or at a different time, maybe. But now? I don’t think so.” Your words trailed off and sounded empty even to your own ears. But as you glanced back up at Thor, there was no judgment there. Looking into his eyes, you could almost imagine a future here.

A future here was a dream though. A dream you were not keen on indulging. You tossed him a smile and grabbed the bowls to put them in the sink. Dreams were good. They could keep a person going. But you were already living a dream back home so you plastered your best convincing expression on your face just as he stood and brought the toast plates to the sink. You watched as he washed both of the plates, slowly, like he was waiting for you to amend your words. But you didn’t and he thanked you for dinner and headed for the door.

You followed him to it, leaning in the doorway as he stepped outside into the cold night air. He zipped up his jacket and turned back to you, a curious expression on his face. If he had thoughts about any of the night’s conversation, he didn’t voice them. Instead he just gave you that lopsided grin and bid you goodnight. Without a second thought, you reached out and grasped his wrist. He turned to you, looking at where your hand held on and then back to your face. You let go immediately.

“Um, thanks for… for today? For your help. Thanks for your help so far. I really appreciate it.” He chuckled low and quiet, a sound that seemed to continually get under your skin, and warmed you up from the inside out. He nodded.

“The pleasure’s all mine, ma’am.” You watched from your place as he stepped off the porch; you could still see how his breath fogged up the air. “Good night,” he called over his shoulder.

You did not retreat into the warmth of the house until the darkness swallowed him up.

“This is ridiculous. What do you mean there’s a stipulation?” Another ten days had gone by and you were just now getting around to meeting with your grandfather’s attorney. Thaddeus Jones was emblazoned on the golden placard on his desk. The man before you did look like a Thaddeus but at the beginning of the meeting, he had insisted that you call him Jonesy. He sat back in his chair with a look somewhat like that of a golden retriever being scolded.

“Well, your grandfather wanted to give you time to… enjoy the little things in life again. He thought that maybe you’d need a break from all the hustle and bustle in New York. As such, in his will he specified that you could only sell the ranch if you stayed there for one year. If at the end of that year you decide that you still want to move forward with the sale, then you are more than welcome to and will receive any and all profits made from said sale. If, however, you have a change of heart, the ranch is also yours to run as you please. But if you decide to sell any time before then, all profits made from the sale will go to our local youth program.” There was no use trying to hide the stunned expression written all over your face. You had to stay here for a year? How were you even supposed to go about this without feeling torn about one thing or the other? You weren’t in it for the money. You knew that with a certainty that sat deep in your gut. And donating to a youth program was a great use of anyone’s money.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude. I just thought this wouldn’t be so complicated.” Jonesy nodded solemnly, his round spectacles sitting towards the tip of his nose. “I thought this would be a sign and done deal. I thought I wouldn’t feel so conflicted about leaving,” you finished quietly and suddenly it was as if the air had been punched from your lungs. There it was. There was the real reason this whole thing felt so ludicrous. It wasn’t the stipulation itself--it was the fact that you were actually considering it. You glanced out the vaulted window of Jonesy’s office. It was on the second story of his building and gave you a sweeping view of Dove’s Reach. It also gave you a focused picture of the huge storm brewing outside. Massive cumulus clouds gathered not so far away, the heart of them dark and foreboding. It mirrored the storm in your heart.

“I suppose the good news is that you have a while to make a decision. I’ll just have you sign some preliminary papers today and then you take all the time you need. It is a lot to take in but your grandfather was a good man, one of the best. I’ve known him since we were young colts ourselves. I’d like to think he knew what he was doing when he made this decision.” It was difficult to argue with any of that, considering you didn’t get the chance to know him better yourself. Maybe this was a good thing.

“Thank you, Jonesy. I really do appreciate it.” You bit your lip and glanced outside again. “That should work for today. I have a feeling I should be getting hom--getting back to the ranch before that hits.” You pointed and Jonesy watched you for a moment before nodding.

There really wasn’t much for you to sign at this point. Mainly papers about you having seen the will and that you had a knowledge of what was going to come of it. You gathered your copies and shook Jonesy’s hand before leaving; you were instantly glad that the two of you had decided to speed things up a bit because as soon as you exited the building, a cold gale hit you in the face, ripping back the hood of your jacket and nearly blowing your hair out of its braid. It would have been twice as cold had Thor not given you direction on which clothing was worth spending money on. You gave him a call, letting him know you were on the way back. It was a new routine, one that you had started. It felt good to have someone to stay in touch with. It was unlikely you’d get lost in such a small town, but still.

“Drive safe, darlin’. The closer you get out here, the harder the wind’s blowin’. I already put all the tools away and got most of the larger open spots on the barn boarded up. Also dropped some buckets on the front porch just in case. From what I could tell, the roof seemed pretty sounds but just in case.” A pause. “How did the meeting go?” You sucked in a breath.

“Different than how I thought it would go. I’d rather talk about it later though. I’m thinking I’m gonna head straight to bed when I get back. It’s just a lot. See you tomorrow morning?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

The drive back was definitely worse than the drive out. Wind and rain pelted your vehicle, so much so that by the time you got home your knuckles were white and your hands were aching when you released the steering wheel. Thunder rumbled closer and closer and lightning flashed in the distance. A warm bath and warm pajamas were currently at the top of your list. Then bed. You smiled when you saw there were indeed buckets on the front porch, all mix-matched colors and various sizes but they would do if the roof started leaking. At least you wouldn’t have to be scrambling to find anything if it did. There was also a note taped to the door, scrawled in surprisingly loopy handwriting.

Grabbing some clothes and things from my place, won’t be back for a couple hours. Call if you need anything :)

You smiled and stepped inside, glad to be out of the weather. As you turned again to glance out at the land, the sky darkened visibly even as you stood there. It looked like it was going to be a long night.

Your phone screen was too bright in the dark space of the living room. 8:30 PM. The power had gone out and it had taken you a little bit of time to scrounge up some candles to keep things lit. You knew you should just go to bed but quite frankly, you knew that wasn’t a possibility. The storm raging outside was unlike any storm you’d experienced before. Sure, there were big storms back in New York but this… the wind and rain was coming down so hard, you were sure the roof was going to tear off. It was doing surprisingly well right now but with each big gust, the whole house groaned. The thunder and lightning were even worse. The sound of both was so close, so loud, so frequent that your ears were ringing. There was no way to research now with the internet out but you were pretty sure you had read something about lightning being able to strike you in a house.

You paced, already familiar with the location of the furniture, every wall, every corner. It was a comfortable dance around the couch, passed the coffee table, to the window by the fireplace and back. A flash of lightning burst in the sky, illuminating every contour of the layout of the house. Almost immediately the clap of thunder sounded like some ancient drum and despite the logical part of your brain telling you it’s fine it’s fine it’s fine, you dropped to your knees.

“Holy shit,” you breathed through clenched teeth. Your hands were shaking as you brought the phone to your ear. Thor was probably already asleep. He had gotten back about an hour ago and was a naturally early riser because he somehow was able to fall asleep early every night. He was probably asleep--

“What’s wrong?” The sleepy gravel in his voice sent shivers tripping down your spine. He had been asleep. But those two words were still calm. Concise. Protective. You were silent. Now you felt stupid.

“Uh, it’s--it’s nothing. I’m sorry I woke you. I can’t sleep. This storm is pretty wild. Um. I thought maybe you’d still be awake and wanted a drink but it’s fine. We have--” You didn’t know if it was your rambling or if he sensed the fear in your voice.

“I’m comin’ up.” That was that. A dial tone. He had already hung up. There was no chance for you to object. You waited by the front door, listening to the rain and watching for more flashes of lightning. You heard Thor’s heavy footsteps as he came up the porch steps, saw him as a flash of lightning illuminated his outline from behind. You hastily opened the door. He hesitated for a moment, only long enough to watch as you nearly leaped out of your skin when another boom of thunder cascaded about you.

He stepped into you, wrapping you up in a hug. It was unexpected but you felt yourself sag into him. His jacket was wet from running through the rain so he slipped it around you and suddenly you were enveloped in warmth. You buried your face in his chest, as he rested his chin on the crown of your head, rubbing his hand down your back. You took deep pulls of his scent as his voice rumbled above you, into you from his chest.

“Aw, it’s just a little lightnin’, darlin’. Just a little storm. You’re safe. Nothin’ to worry about, I promise. You’re safe.” He kept murmuring it as he nudged the door shut behind him with his boot. Murmured your safety into existence like a mantra. As you rested there in his arms, your hands under his jacket around his back, you tried to remember the last time you felt this way, like nothing could touch you in the world. The house could crumble around you and you would be fine. In his arms, you would be fine. You gripped a little tighter, noticing with mirth how your hands could barely touch around his abdomen.

“How about that drink?” You said it into his chest as he stilled above you, breathing in slow and steady as he nodded into the top of your head. You reluctantly backed up from him as he slipped passed you into the living room making straight for the fireplace. He had it roaring as you brought two glasses of whiskey on the rocks and set them on the coffee table. You sat, dragging the blanket around your shoulders and allowing yourself to zone out while you stared into the fireplace. The crackling of its embers still couldn’t drown out the maelstrom outside, however. Thor took off his jacket and hung it on the coat rack by the door. When he sat next to you, the couch sagged under his weight. He took a sip of his drink before sitting back and opening his arms in invitation. You didn’t wait this time, instead scooting over to nestle up against him. Heat radiated off of him.

“Did you know the diameter of a lightning strike is actually only about the size of a quarter? Think about that, that big ol’ powerful force of nature the size of a coin.” No you didn’t know that. Another flash of lightning, another clap of thunder. This time you didn’t jump. “And thunder can actually be heard as far away as twelve miles from the actual strike.” Another sip of whiskey. “Lightning can also strike outside of the rain zone. Those strikes are called anvil crawlers.” A log shifted in the fire and your eyes drooped. He chuckled quietly as he intoned “In Norse mythology, the sound of thunder supposedly comes from my namesake as he rides his chariot across the sky.” You offered a lazy smile even though he couldn’t see it.

Thor continued on with more various facts about thunder and lightning and the storms that brought them. The taste of the whiskey sat light and spiced on your tongue, and your eyelids became heavier as you relaxed into him more. The fire burned steady and even though the storm continued to rage outside, at a certain point Thor’s voice faded into nothing as you fell asleep.

You woke up to the sun shining directly in your eyes. You groaned, shielding them from the crisp light and instantly regretted taking your hand out from under the blanket away from your heat source… Thor was stretched out behind you on the couch. It could barely fit the two of you but his arm was locked around your waist, caging you in. His breath came slow and steady on your neck. You could hear the rooster calling from his coop by the barn, hear his hens clucking about him. The cat you still hadn’t named was curled up on the rug by the fireplace, the embers almost completely died down. Thor took a huge breath, tickling the hairs on your neck as he rumbled something into the skin there. Your heart ballooned in your chest.

“I guess my facts weren’t that interestin’, seein’ as how we both fell asleep. Want some coffee?” You nodded as the two of you sat up. The cat chirruped from his place on the rug. He stood and arched his back in a stretch as well, coming over to the two of you for his morning pets. You both reached down to touch his hand, your hands meeting in the middle. Thor offered you a sheepish grin as he stood. “Uh, coffee is… ?”

“In the cupboard above the pot.” You smiled back, not bothering to hide any of the warmth in its shape. You stood, letting the cat out the front door. He seemed a little indignant at the fact that it was so wet outside but his ears swiveled and he was out the door and racing down the steps. You added some kindling and more logs to the fire, satisfied as flames leaped into existence. Thor handed you a mug of steaming coffee, with cream and a little bit of brown sugar. How he knew how you liked your coffee you didn’t know. But you liked that he knew.

The storm had cleared. A peek of blue sky could be seen from the window. With the clear sky came clear thoughts. It had been two weeks already since you had come to Dove’s Reach. Two weeks since you learned you had the rights to a whole ranch. A day since you had learned that you had to stay here for a whole year if you wanted to see any profits from selling. And only a night since you had realized that a year was no time at all.

[eastertag]

Pretty in pink

@fallenfurther gift for @willow-salix

—

Her mobile, which had fallen into the crack in the sofa, buzzed violently. Wriggling to the side, Selene retrieved it and tapped open the new message.

Gordon: Please say you know who did it?

Gordon: I don’t want to get the blame.

Selene: Did what?

Gordon: Thunderbird One is pink.

Selene couldn’t believe the words before her, but her instincts told her Gordon wasn’t lying. Pushing John’s arms up abruptly, she went from lying on him to standing in seconds. Her man gave her a bemused look but didn’t move.

“Where’s the fire?”

“Thunderbird One is pink.”

“What? That’s a joke. Gordon’s pranking you.”

Selene thrust the phone under John’s nose and watched his eyebrow raise. He stood slowly, understanding all the possible implications of such a statement, and together they headed to the lift. Taking it down to Thunderbird One’s hanger, they joined Gordon in gapping up at the rocket plane. There before them was indeed a pink Thunderbird One. At least the details were pink. From the usually blue engine compartment with its white one and the blue detailing on the bottom fins were now the colour of FAB 1. Even the nosecone was a darker shade of pink. A grin crossed Gordon’s face as he started to chuckle.

“I look forward to your funeral,” John spoke entirely deadpan.

“I didn’t do it.”

“Then why are you laughing?”

“Because whoever did is a freaking genius!” Gordon exclaimed. “This is the prank of the year and whoever did it deserves a medal of bravery.”

“More like a medal of stupidity,” countered John, “if we get a rescue and Scott has to fly with One like this, all hell will break loose.”

“Should we tell him?” Selene asked, wondering if she should message her best friend or not.

“Be my guest,” Gordon responded cheerfully, phone in hand and snapping evidence of the crime. John wandered up to the Thunderbird, a frown of thought on his face. Selene followed, watching her man’s every move as he scrutinised the pink stripes. He opened his mouth to speak.

“What on earth? Who did that? What the hell is going on?”

Scott’s voice went from surprise to anger as he stormed up behind them. His fists were clenched and shaking. They all cared deeply for their individual craft and this was a complete violation of his. Had someone painted Thunderbird Four a new colour, Gordon would be just as furious.

“It’s not as bad as it looks.”

“Not as bad as it looks!?” Scott spat at John. “Thunderbird One is PINK! How would you like it if I painted Thunderbird Five pink?”

“I would like to see you try that, and it’s not like anyone sees Thunderbird Five that often.”

A growl came from the eldest Tracy, though John didn’t flinch. He knew even, as Scott was going red with fury, his brother was not a threat, so he continued to be the voice of reason.

“It appears to be a simple wrap, probably designed to be temporary.”

“I jolly well hope so.”

Selene just observed as Scott stormed off to the side of the hanger towards the adjustable platform. He jumped up into the driving seat and moved it up to his Thunderbird. Climbing on, he raised it so he could examine the damage. His hand reached out and stroked the darker pink hexagons that surrounded her white one, the hurt in his eyes clear to all. John shook his head, while Gordon sniggered to her left. No doubt the man was snapping more photos. Scott rose higher and let himself into the belly of his ship.

“On no! They are SO dead.”

The anguished voice from inside the Thunderbird had Gordon running past to call the platform down. Selene and John were right on his heels, climbing up and being raised above the ground. She was thankful the closest one had been the lift with the guard rail, as she held on tight. Carefully stepping into Thunderbird One the reason for the cursing became clear. Everything that had been blue was now pink. Even Scott’s seat, which he had climbed up to like a monkey, had been sprayed pale pink with deep pink cushions. Selene bit her lip to fight the grin, though Gordon just collapsed in peels of laughter.

“Incredible,” John gawked from her side. “I’m impressed by the effort they’ve gone to, though this definitely screams Brains’ handiwork. I suggest finding him to ascertain the best way to remove it all.”

Selene herself was struggling to take in the dramatic colour change. It was like being in a completely different vehicle. It was almost like Penelope had come in and redecorated to her tastes and claimed it as her own. The blue figure of Scott above them looked very much out of place in his own Thunderbird. The man jumped down before her, a frown creasing his forehead. He slipped a hand under Gordon’s elbow, lifting the crying man to his feet.

“Good idea, John. The sooner this is sorted the better.”

They watched the commander drag Gordon out, who was trying to dry his eyes and snap a few more photos at the same time.

“If you could keep those photos off social media, I’d be very grateful.”

“Hey!” Gordon yelped as he was dropped onto the platform bed. “The world has a every right to see these. They are golden!”

“I promise they won’t be released today, however Gordon has got a point. If released at the correct time, they could be invaluable.”

Selene looped her arm through John’s as they followed after the grumbling Scott, carefully stepping onto the platform. She did snap a quick photo for herself, just in case, knowing that John would have Gordon’s photos saved somewhere safe soon enough, which she could just ask to see. The platform lowered smoothly, and they clambered down the ladder. Scott decided the ladder was too slow and threw himself athletically over the rail to the floor. He started running only to grind to a halt when Sally rounded the corner with a pink baldric in hand.

“There you are Scott,” the wise woman smiled, “I’ve been looking for you all over. I need you ready to launch in the next half hour otherwise we’ll be late.”

Selene joined the men around her in shock. Not one of them had considered Sally would be culprit. The woman was a plotter and mischievous, but this took the biscuit.

“You did THAT?” Gordon gawked; arm thrown high in the direction of the Thunderbird.

“With Brains’ help, yes.”

“I’m not launching Thunderbird One until it’s all removed.”

Scott’s eyebrows knitted together as he crossed his arms. Sally didn’t falter, passing a data pad to Scott as she passed.

“Yes, you will. I just have to pack this, then we can launch.”

Gordon stared after his Grandma his wide brown eyes full of a newfound respect for the matriarch. John peered over Scott’s shoulder, reading whatever was meant to convince Scott the Thunderbird One needed to be pink. The man’s tense body slumped with a sigh.

“Don’t you dare call me out for a rescue or I’ll disable the bagel machine on Five AND ensure none make it safely to the island for the next month.”

John raised an eyebrow, and his emerald eyes glinted as a sly smile crossed his face.

“You know I can’t promise that.”

“I’m taking the second seat. I cannot miss this for the world.”

Gordon gleefully ran towards the stairs up to the changing rooms and docking area. The colour slowly drained from Scott’s face as he realised that having Gordon there would be worse than being called out on a rescue. Selene could almost here the jokes and puns Gordon would rain over Scott.

“No way. You are not coming.”

Scott shouted after the aquanaut, who had just lept up the first few steps. Gordon threw himself onto the handrail, cupped his hand to his mouth and bellowed.

“Grandma! Can I come?”

“It’s up to Scott who can come along, but I believe you are on standby for rescues.”

“John’s here. He can take my place.” Gordon latched the eldest Tracy and brought out the puppy eyes, “Please, Scott. Let me come along.”

“No.” The commander was back, standing straight and certain, “The only person who I will allow to come is Selene.”

“Sure, I’m in.”

Selene gave Scott an appreciative smile. She intended to make the most of this opportunity, as Thunderbird One would be reverted back to her original colours the moment she returned. A dimpled grin of gratitude was sent back.

“I need to go suit up. I’ll see you inside.”

The man jogged off towards the elevator, while John held the tablet out before her. Taking it, she scrolled through an email exchange that had occurred over the past few days. It was the first email that tugged her heartstrings and explained Scott’s quick change of tune.

Dear Make-a-wish,

My name in Leanne Darcy Brown. I am ten years old, and I have incurable medulloblastoma. I am having chemotherapy to help prolong my life so I can do as many things as I can, but I don’t have much time left. I have always loved planes and wanted to be a pilot. I have been to many air shows and love sitting in the cockpits of the planes they have on display.

My wish is to fly in Thunderbird One. It is my favourite of the Thunderbirds as it is the fastest, and it would be awesome to go at top speed in it. Although, if I was the pilot of Thunderbird One it would be pink and not blue, as pink is a much better colour. I know this might not be possible as Thunderbird One needs to be ready to help people, so my other wish is to go up in a stunt plane and do loop-the-loop, and other cool tricks.

Thank you,

Leanne

Selene blinked as John pulled her into his chest, resting his chin on her head. She rested her cheek against his shoulder and grounded herself, letting the world settle to the sound of John’s heartbeat.

“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

John’s voice was soft as his brushed against her ear. Twisting, Selene gazed up into his dazzling eyes and smiled. They both knew she would be going; she always went when she was need, and Scott would need her. The boys did charity events whenever they could, doing their best to spread hope and raise money to help those less fortunate. They experienced losses on rescues, each having people that held on longer than others, but at least they had tried to save them. Sometimes meeting the people they could do nothing for, despite all their resources, could be tough. Sally climbed down from the lift and set it moving to its original position, before heading towards them.

“Shall we get going?”

John pressed his lips to her forehead, and she stole a quick kiss, before breaking apart. Selene looped arms with the matriarch, and they headed towards the changing rooms. The spare seats for One were already in position for them, so they climbed in and allowed the mechanism to load them into the ship. Moments after they clicked into place, Scott’s chair extended out to collect him.

“Everyone ready?”

Scott glanced over his shoulder as Thunderbird One ascended to her launch station in silence.

“We’re A-okay back here. You just worry about getting to those coordinates on time.”

Sally chimed from beside her, clearly happy to be flying. There was a speed demon in her. The woman was buzzing, arms shaking slightly.

“It’s turned out perfectly, hasn’t it?”

“It definitely meets her pink dream.”

“Brains’ has done a fantastic job on such short notice. I was behind on the inbox, which I always regret as it means I miss emails such as these. When I saw it, I knew just had to do something. Brains was with me at the time. It was his suggestion that we make Thunderbird One pink for the day. He told me to just arrange it all timing wise and leave Thunderbird One to him. That man is a genus.

“You could have given me a warning, Grandma.”

Sally just waved away her grandson’s comments like an annoying fly, making Selene laugh.

“So why is today so important?”

“Oh, the foundation managed to secure Leanne on a stunt plane flight, so they’ll be at an airfield making all the clearances needed simple. The airfield was happy to accommodate us despite the short notice. Leanne is also taking a turn for the worst, her mobility is becoming poor to the point that she’s struggling to walk, and she’s on a fair amount of medication to keep her comfortable. It’s starting to become a now or never situation. The poor dear. Hopefully this will give her a day to remember.”

Selene reached out and held Sally’s hand as she wiped a tear from her eye. The doctor part of her must understand what’s going on with the child. Rubbing circles on the woman’s skin, there was a lot to marvel. The woman’s determination and care, efficiency and resolve. She had brought a girl’s dream into reality, and it was fantastic. Even if Selene didn’t appreciate pink as much as Lady Penelope, she could appreciate how Brains had used two shades to keep all the small details of the ship, including the logos and warnings located about them. The Thunderbird slowed and Scott landed effortlessly. They all disembarked onto the tarmac, where two suited ladies awaited with their wide eyes on the ship. Their name badges read Kaia and Dakota.

“Welcome and thank you for your response and generosity. May I be the first to say Thunderbird One looks incredible.”

“I’m sorry it was such a late response. This is Scott and Selene.”

There were handshakes all round before they were led into the nearby hanger and escorted into one of the offices. Selene quickly spotted Leanne, dressed in an International Rescue blue flight suit, chatting away to a woman in a similar, but white, flight suit. There was a spread of food and drink beside them, and there were three other adults standing to the side of the room. The couple with teary eyes and smiling warmly at the child were Leanne’s parents, and the other was a male nurse. Selene nabbed a sandwich from the platter and munched away as she stood beside Scott. Everyone stayed silent, letting the room be filled with the excited ramblings of Leanne, who still hadn’t noticed the newcomers. Stealing a ham sandwich earned a raised eyebrow from Sally, and a jealous side glance from Scott. Apparently, there was an etiquette she had forgotten. Finally, the nurse cleared his throat and Kaia introduced them.

“Leanne, this is Sally Tracy of International Rescue and her grandchildren, Scott and Selene.”

Selene held in a chuckle as the child’s jaw dropped and her eyes zeroed in on Scott. His uniform and tall certain demeanour clearly stating who he was. Her chestnut eyes sparkled with excitement as her hands flew to her cheeks.

“Hello Leanne.” Scott introduced himself, stepping forward and kneeling before her so he was at her level. His presence was calming, and he was giving her his best dimpled smile. “I hope you’ve had a fantastic time in the stunt plane. I used to enjoy performing similar manoeuvres when I flew in the Air Force.”

All Leanne could do was nod, completely star struck.

“Well, I can’t promise you any stunts, but I can show you around Thunderbird One before taking you and one of your parents up for a quick circle of the planet.”

“Y-Yes please!” She squeaked.

“Before we head out, I have this for you.” Sally stepped up behind Scott and held out the bright pink baldric, “so you can be one of us.”

The delight almost burst out of Leanne to the point she that she was shaking. Sally helped slip the loop over her head and secure the baldric in place. The child ran her fingers over the iR logo. With the blue of the flight suit, she really didn’t look amiss next to Scott. Her father stepped up and helped Leanne to stand, before looping his arm through her elbow. It was the moment the reality of the situation first hit Selene. With her father supporting her, she could walk but it was clear she was struggling to balance. Scott moved to be the other side of her and engaged them in conversation, though Selene knew he was primed to help if needed. They all followed out to the tarmac. There were many exclamations of wonder at the sight of Thunderbird One. A few tears were shed, and many photos taken. It was a pleasure to see Leanne’s face lit up and full of life as she posed next to Scott. Everyone was allowed inside for a view before Leanne and her father were strapped in for their flight. Selene put her arm around the mother as the air around them was whipped up by Thunderbird One’s thrusters.

“Thank you,” she sobbed, “You can’t imagine how much this means to us, and to Leanne. She fought so hard. Then to find out it had come back. All her dreams shattered, but this. This was just perfect.”

Rubbing gentle circles into the woman’s back, Selene guided her back inside to wait for their return. Selene gave her ear to the woman, letting her spill and release her feelings, knowing that the simple act of talking can help lift some of the weight. Her own heart ached for the family and their situation. Medical treatments had come so far, but there were still times when that progress had yet to come far enough for everyone. People were still being lost. Slowly the mood lightened, and the conversation moved on to lighter topics. The food was offered to them and they happily snacked as the spoke. They put aside a plate and bottle of pop for Scott. Sally’s wrist pinged to indicate the imminent return of the Thunderbird. Again, they all left to go to the tarmac, although this time the nurse had a hoverchair in tow. The grins on both Leanne and her father were priceless as they headed over laughing. Leanne was helped into the chair after a hug with each of them. Scott slipped his arm around Selene’s shoulder and gave her a squeeze, which she returned. They waved goodbye before climbing back into Thunderbird One. They launched immediately, allowing Leanne to watch the machine from below.

“Do you mind dropping me off in Kanas? I’ve planned a weekend away with some friends, and this saves me flying back out tomorrow.”

“Sure thing, Grandma. You got any requests Selene?”

“Just home for me.”

Thunderbird One landed beside the house and they waved goodbye to Sally. Scott sat in the vacated seat as he scoffed the sandwiches they’d saved gratefully. Selene could see the emotional weight that sat on the man’s shoulders. She leant over and rested against him. He would talk when ready. As the man glugged down the cola, the comm bleeped and John floated before them.

“Scott. There is a couple of climbers stuck on a mountain and Thunderbird Two is currently deployed.”

Scott sighed. The world knew when to pick its moments.

“You okay with a quick detour, Selene?”

“I’ll be here if you need me.”

Scott gave her a smile before climbing up into his seat.

“Send us the coordinates. Let’s just hope they don’t mind pink.”

[notquitecanon]

hello! i hope you’re doing well and staying safe!! i was wondering if you could do a imagine/fic where y/n is also in the bau and gets hurt on the job, and spencer is super worried, protective and sweet when they finally find her? thank you so much!! i adore your work and honestly can’t wait to read loads more!! 🥺👉🏻👈🏻🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

This is way longer than I anticipated. Sorry I got a little carried away.

TW: uh, blood, guns, basically if you can’t watch criminal minds, don’t read this??

_____

Everything hurt as you started to come to, confused and out of it. Slowly, you remembered what happened, raising a shaky hand to find warm, sticky blood on your temple where you had been hit. It was hard to keep your eyes open, even the dim lighting of the basement was too much for your throbbing head. Nevertheless, you pried them open and looked around for anything you could use against your attacker- who, at this point, was undoubtedly the unsub. 

“I knew filling in for JJ while she was on maternity leave might be a little more dangerous than teaching at the FBI academy, but I didn’t expect to get hit in the head just for showing my badge-  I know I retired from the field early, but I used to get a lot farther before someone tried to hit me.”  You thought, wincing as you tried to sit up- everything from the neck down was hurting, “What did he push me down the stairs too?” 

Finally, you were able to push your self so you sat against the wall- which you tried to ignore the dark red smeared and splattered stains on- as you heard the unsub stomping around upstairs. If you strained you could barely hear him talking to himself, definitely delusional, those are the most dangerous types. Delusional or not, he knew you were FBI (and judging by the sun flitting in through the one, tiny window you’d only been out a couple hours) so it wouldn’t be long before people came looking for you. 

Peeling off the blazer you had worn that day, you took a deep breath. You just had to stay alive until they found you.

_______

Meanwhile at the local police station:

Spencer tiredly popped his neck before taking a sip of his coffee (the station hadn’t had Tea and he needed the caffeine), relishing the short mental break before he went back to the board. Morgan was with Lewis going over the latest autopsy results while Rossi interviewed a couple of parents in one of the station’s waiting areas- so the conference room they had taken over was unusually quiet. Not that the genius minded. Those meticulous eyes raked over the map where he’d originally designed the geographic profile, but they’d exhausted every possibility in the area. He glanced over his shoulder at the fresh map where he had been trying to come up with another one, but something didn’t feel right. He knew the original geographic profile was right, they just had to be missing something. 

In his peripheral, he saw Hotch slip into the room with a folder in his hand- like Reid, his mind was stuck on something too- a missing person's case. The only person in the whole town who fit their profile went missing five years ago at fifteen. They’d already interviewed the man’s parents, who just explained that he was a troubled individual and slipped away in the night. That didn’t sit well with Hotch, so he sent you back to their house to ask some follow-up questions since they hadn’t been answering their phone- he just forgot to tell Spencer. 

Spencer hummed in acknowledgment of his arrival, and Hotch gave him a nod, not even looking up. The doctor tapped a finger on the map of the suburban town they were in, sighing “I feel like we’re missing the one piece of information we need to solve this case.”

“Isn’t that how it always goes, though?” Rossi teased lightly as he sauntered in, the three agents could hear the latest victim’s mother sobbing as she left the precinct. They all grimaced but carried on. 

“Yes, but I agree. We’re definitely missing something.” Hotch agreed as Morgan and Lewis rushed into the conference room. 

“You’ll never guess what we just found.” Lewis announced as she pulled two evidance bags out of her coat pocket, tossing one to Hotch who shared with Rossi and one to Spencer. The clear bags both contained a stained scrap of paper, but the writing was clear. 

“I’m Still Here.” Reid read aloud, throwing Morgan a questioning look. 

“These were hidden in the last two victims throats, the ME is reexamining the other victims as we speak.” Morgan clarified, “We only found this because a different ME examined the lastest body.”

Hotch frowned, remember the lackluster medical examiner they first encountered. As the team threw around ideas about this new find, Spencer looked around the room realizing a voice was missing. 

“Hey, has anyone seen (Y/N)? I haven’t seen her since she left to revisit the dumpsites.” He asked, not paying attention to Morgan’s teasing. (You and Spencer had been dating for months before you got asked to temporarily join the team, and the team had only found out about it recently. Hotch agreed to let you stay, since your work with them was only temporary and JJ would be back in two weeks anyway.)  

Hotch glanced at him, furrowing his eyebrows, “After she did that, I asked her to follow up with the Greys since she was already on that side of town.”

Spencer turned his head to gaze out of the large window at the setting sun, Hotch seemed to follow his line of thought, “That was hours ago, has anyone heard from her?” 

The air in the room turned tense as everyone drew up blank, everyone in the room could see the lines of worry and stress tension rapidly appearing in the youngest team member as he left the room. Minutes later, he came back looking even worse, “Guys, her phone is going straight to ‘caller unavailable’”

Hotch pressed a button on the conference rooms phone, near immediately Spencer’s claims were confirmed with a monotonous, “I’m sorry the number you're attempting to reach is unavailable please try again at a later date.” 

Morgan was quick to do something similar, switching to speaker as the line connected this time to a bright, cheery voice as Spencer began nervously picking at his fingernails, foot-tapping as she greeted them, “Hello, crime fighters, what can I do for you!” 

“Baby girl, we need a location on (Y/N)’s cell phone.” Morgan was quick to cut to the chase, negating their usual banter. Even over the phone, Spencer could feel the hacker’s mood change only confirmed by the immediate clicking of keys followed by muttering. 

“Oh, ok, oh no, that’s never good.” She whispered as she worked, “Oh! oh...”

“What is it?” Spencer pressed immediately, almost tripping over a chair leg as if getting closer to the phone would give him answers faster. Rossi tried to comfort him with a reassuring hand on his shoulder, but Reid didn’t even notice it. 

“That last transmitted location was 5 hours ago.” She informed them,  “Address is on your phones.” 

Spencer did the mental math in a fraction of a second, five hours ago was around noon. You’d been missing since noon and he’d just found out? A flash of frustration went through the doctor before melting into an even greater sense of worry- a lot could happen in five hours. 

His genius brain was working so fast in a downward spiral of all the terrible possibilities that could happen that he almost didn’t hear Hotch announce, “That’s Mason Grey’s parent’s house, she was there to ask some follow-up questions.”

“The kid that went missing?” Rossi asked as the missing piece clicked in Spencer’s brain. 

“I’m still here! What if Mason Grey didn’t go missing, but his parents just hid him. He was showing early symptoms of mental problems, and we’ve seen it before.” Spencer almost shouted. Garcia was still on the line, and announced, “And, the house is in the middle of the kill zone” 

“Neither one of the Grey’s showed up to their jobs today or yesterday. That’s not a good sign is it.” 

“That kind of isolation could drive someone crazy, especially if they were already mentally ill,” Lewis added. Spencer had already made up his mind, and every minute that they weren’t on their way to you was slowly driving him crazy.

Hotch only thought about it for another minute, “Vests on, we’re leaving in five minutes.”

Spencer was in the car in two.

__________

You could barely see the sun setting through the tiny basement window, but it didn’t bode well as it was your only source of light. Your attempts to explore hadn’t been very fruitful, as once you finally managed to stand up you were made painfully aware that your knee was dislocated. Nevertheless, with a huff you resigned yourself to limp around. 

Fruitful or not, you made some discoveries. First, you found the remained peices of your destroyed phone- considering it was in four large pieces you didn’t even attempt to turn it on. Next, you discovered the tiny window was sealed shut so you couldn’t even attempt an escape. Lastly, you found a locked room in corner of the room with an all too familiar rotting smell seeping from under the door. That must be the Grey’s you decided solemnly. The door itself was old and rickety-splintering in some places, even with bad leg you figured you could probably get it open. I could probably use my shoulder and ram it down, bodies or not, there might be a window in there that isn’t sealed. 

“Get away from there!” 

A shout startled you, and instinctively you ripped your hand off the doorknob you were jiggling. You didn’t have to turn around to know he had a gun, you heard the safety click off. Holding your hands up, you were quiet. With these types of unsubs, it was best to let him call the shots. 

“T-turn around.” He demanded so you did, slowly. Greeted with the face you’d only briefly seen earlier before he’d hit you over the head with a bottle. The same face from the missing posters Hotch had shown you. This had to be Mason Grey, the missing teenager from five years ago- he’d be something like 20 years old now. He was using both hands to point a gun-your gun- at you, hands shaking as he glared at you. 

Softly speaking, you rose your eyebrows, “Are you Mason?”

He didn’t answer, using the gun to motion you to kneel down. You were already at a disadvantage, and you didn’t like the added weakness of being on the ground. 

“You’re FBI.” It was a statement not a question, but you nodded anyway. 

“Yes, I am, and my team knows I’m here. If they get here and you’re pointing a gun at me, I promise you, it won’t end well for you.” You informed him, voice stern but not malicious. It was a fact, not a threat. 

“What if you’re dead when you get here?” That wasn’t a threat either, a genuine question. Somehow, that was scarier.

“Well, since your parents are behind that door and they’ll connect you to at least five victims? It still won’t end well for you.” You calmly informed him as he moved one of his hands to nibble on his dirty fingernails. His forehead was sweating, eyes darting around, and hair greasy. He was scared.

“You were never missing were you?” You asked quietly, voice soft and sympathetic. His head shook.

“Did your parents make you stay down here?” 

This time he nodded, lip wobbling as he took a sharp, deep breath, “I was different and they didn’t want people to know, so they made me stay down here. If I tried to leave, they’d lock me in there. Once they figured out I was leaving at night to go see my girlfriend, they tried to lock me up again. So I locked them in there, to see how bad it was.”

His girlfriend? Mason Grey’s real girlfriend died shortly after he went missing, maybe he saw all his victims as her? But you couldn’t worry about that, towards the end of his explanation his voice turned angry, erratic. 

“If the FBI comes here. They’ll lock me up too. You’re gonna lock me up! I DON’T WANT TO BE LOCKED UP AGAIN.” He was yelling, inching closer to you and jabbing the gun towards you. He was distracted, so he didn’t hear the sirens approaching. But you did. 

I just have to hold on a little longer. 

“Mason, I don’t want to lock you up. If you put the gun down, I can help you. I’ll tell my friends what happened to you and that you cooperated and didn’t hurt me-” You tried promising him, but you were cut off by the sound of squealing breaks in front of the house. Your eyes flicked to the tiny window, it was dusk which allowed you to see red and blue flashing lights. 

“Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!” He bellowed, for a moment he clawed both hands into his short greasy hair. Nervously, you strained to hear stomping feet above you. Then you heard the basement door open, and at the top of the stairs, you could see those unmistakeable converse paired with Morgan shouting behind him. 

“Mason Grey, FBI.”

Spencer was here. You thought, sighing in relief, but it didn’t last long. You could see their feet, but not them so they definitely couldn’t see you- couldn’t see the gun. A moment too late, you saw Mason erratically wave the gun towards them, towards Spence. 

“NO!” You shrieked, jumping up and grabbing his arm as you tackled him. The noise and pain came at the exact moment you hit the ground with him, almost immediately rolling off of him and grasping at the warm, wet, extremely painful wound on your stomach as your eyes screwed shut. 

“(Y/N)!” You heard distantly as you tried to bring yourself back to reality, “We need an ambulance!”

You cracked your eyes open to Spencer crouched over you, eyes filled with worry as you brushed the hair off your forehead, behind him Morgan was shoving Mason up the basement stairs, probably rougher than he had to. 

Breathing heavily, one of your hands pawed at the source of pain but Spencer instead took it in his, “You’re gonna be ok, you’re going to be just fine.”

You barely nodded, trying to slow your breathing as the genius grabbed the blazer you had discarded earlier. Balling it up, he pressed against the wound to stop the bleeding. You cried out in pain at the sudden pressure reflexively squeezing his hand, Spencer winced, “I know, I know, I’m so sorry, (Y/N).” 

Everything was hazy after that, you honestly didn’t remember much, just flashes of his face, the EMT’s, him kissing your forehead begging you to stay awake, until finally you were allowed to slip off into a dreamless sleep.

_________

Spencer was sitting in the waiting room, hands still bloody as they clasped tightly. To the untrained eye, it would look like he was praying, but really he was mentally recounting everything he could have done different. I could of asked where she was earlier, I could have snuck behind him instead of letting Morgan announce us, I could of gone with her to the dumpsites so I would have been with her when Hotch asked her to go to the Grey’s home. I could of asked her not to take the job with the BAU. Derek was sitting across from him, watching him carefully and sympathetically. He was the one who had to physically hold him back from following the doctors into the surgery area, besides a whispered apology the younger agent hadn’t said anything to him since the doors closed. 

Spencer had ridden in the ambulance with you, while Derek and Hotch took an SUV behind. Rossi and Tara stuck around the Grey house to finish up the case and were still there. 

Derek watched as Spencer’s knee bounced faster than he thought was possible, the kid’s fingernails were nubs from being bitten, and Spencer had bitten his lip so much that it had started to bleed. The older agent wanted to comfort him, but didn’t know how. “Kid-”

He started, but was quickly cut off by Hotch striding back into the waiting room- he had left earlier to demand information, “She’s out of surgery. The doctor said that even though it hit an artery, the bullet missed all her organs. She’s going to be fine.” 

Derek had never seen Spencer look so relieved, he practically melted back into his chair before bowing his head. Hotch continued, “They’re getting her settled into a room, but I asked them to come get you when she’s allowed, visitors.”

Spencer just nodded allowing his eyes to close as Hotch turned to Morgan, “I’ll call Lewis and Rossi if you’ll tell Garcia.”

Morgan chuckled before agreeing, but all Spencer could think about was that you were going to be ok. 

______

Two hours later, Spencer was sitting beside your bed while you dozed- he’d been informed that you would wake up soon and decided that he wouldn’t move until you did. After the team had all come and checked on you (Spencer might be in love with you, but they were all worried as well), Derek had driven Lewis to your hotel to gather your belongings. Rossi and Hotch periodically checked on him but gave him some privacy by waiting in a lounge down the hall. 

Absentmindedly thumbing through a well-loved copy of War and Peace (the Russian Translation mind you), in two hours he could have read the book four times over if was actually focussed on it, but he was still struggling through the first half of the book. Every time you so much as sniffed in your sleep, the book was discarded not to mention that he was so caught in thought he wasn’t reading anywhere near his usual 20,000 words per minute. Sighing, he moved his eyes back to the top of the page, forcing his eyes to read the lines he’d long since memorized and mentally translate them to English. 

“You look like shit, honey.”

War and Peace clattered to the floor as his head snapped up to meet your eyes.  You hadn’t moved much, but he was the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes. Still a little fuzzy from the anesthesia, you just watched him read trying to ignore how tired and anxious he looked. 

Without thinking you trying to sit up, but both the pain and the man next to were quick to convince you to lay back again. Spencer’s touch was gentle (it always was, but more so than usual), like you’d break if he used to much force. That was going to get annoying quickly, but you’d enjoy the doting for the moment. 

“H-How long have you been awake?” He asked as he sat back down, scooting the chair so close to the bed that his long legs had his knees pressed to the underside of the bed. You smiled softly.

“Not long, I just opened my eyes and you were muttering Russian under your breath. You only read aloud like that when you're worried.” You answered, smile turning sassy as you played with his fingers- something that always calmed him down. He managed the slightest chuckle. 

“Well, when my girlfriend has a GSW, a concussion, and bruised ribs, I get a little anxious.” He nodded, watching your hand in his. 

“Don’t forget the dislocated knee,” Hotch announced from the door, getting yours and his attention. Hotch, Tara, Rossi, and Derek (who was holding Garcia up on facetime) were waiting in the hall. You nodded in stride. 

“Oh, can’t forget about that. Is that all? Nothing much to worry about then.” You halfway shrugged, but threw a glance to Spencer and squeezed his hand as if to silently promise him, I’m ok. 

He just smiled, raising your hand to his lips to press a sweet kiss to your knuckle. Your cheeks reddened, Spencer had never been one for PDA especially in front of the team, so he must have been really worried.  

“Derek Morgan, if you don’t hand me to (Y/N) right now, I’m going to scream!” Garcia demanded, bringing your attention back to the team waiting in the door. You sent Spencer another smile before receiving the phone and tuckering in for a long, classic, Garcia ‘i was so worried’ speech. 

_______

After an hour of visiting with the team, Hotch decided it was time to let you get your rest. Derek ruffled your hair and teased you on his way out, while Tara only told you to feel better soon (you weren’t offended, Tara seemed lovely, you just weren’t near as close to her yet). As they filed out, Hotch poked his head back in the room. 

“We’re needed back at Quantico, but you won’t be cleared for air travel for some time. I contacted JJ, and she’s ready to come in. Once you’re discharged from the hospital, you’ll have to drive back. Reid, if you want it, you’ve already been approved some days off if you’d like to stay here as well.” He paused to smile, “Thanks again for everything you’ve done for the BAU. It’s been a pleasure working with you, but I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around.” 

This time, Spencer’s cheeks turned red as he nodded, only blushing more when Rossi winked as he left, throwing a last remark over his shoulder, “Feel free to take the scenic route, lovebirds.”

With the rest of the team gone, it was quiet, but you didn’t mind. The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a bit until Spencer spoke back up, “As much as I loved having you at the BAU, it’ll be nice to not be so worried about you all the time.”

“Yeah, there’s only room for one person getting shot at in this relationship, besides I miss my students.” You giggled, leaning back against the criminally uncomfortable pillows, “Just keep in mind that I feel that worried about you all the time.”

You hummed as he pressed another sweet kiss to your forehead before spouting off a long winded mathematical statistic about getting shot. You half-listened, but the complex math was going over your head, so instead, you just thought about having to go back to your old job. You’d miss the BAU, but you had plenty of stories to tell your students. 

Scooting over as far as you could, you patted the newly empty space beside you. Spencer looked skeptical, afraid to hurt you, so you used a tiny bit of guilt-tripping with puppy dog eyes and a quiet, “I’ve been shot and I just want to be near you.”

Reluctantly, he climbed into the tiny bed beside you after slipping out of his shoes. You giggled at the sight of his mismatched socks as he gingerly settled in beside you. He tensed as you moved to lay in the crook of his shoulder but having you so close, he couldn’t help just relax. His long arms reached over and picked his book back up, and as he started to read again he absentmindedly played with the ends of your hair. 

“So, what do you think, wanna take the scenic route with me? We just might get lost.” You smiled up at him after his arm finally, tentatively wrapped around you.  First, he glanced at your hand, which had reached up to mess with his fingers and then to meet your eyes. 

“Is that a promise?”  He asked, taking your hand in his, “Because I kind of like the sound of that.”

“Spencer, I’ll always get lost with you.” You promised, deciding against your better judgment to stretch up to kiss him. You didn’t make it all the way to his lips, so you settled on his jaw before he fussed over you to lay back down. 

“Well, now that that’s settled.” You whispered voice strained at the light pain in your abdomen after you settled back into a comfortable position beside him and closing your eyes. “Read to me?” 

“Always.”

[tenglows]

sweet aftertaste

summary: it’s late at night and student!ten and his friends are left with nowhere to go; ending up at the bar where lounge singer!reader is performing.

inspired by halsey’s song and video “finally // beautiful stranger”

if you want to see an edit based on this, click here!

“so what are we supposed to do now”

yangyang sighed and sat down on the sidewalk

being downtown at half past two am with nothing to do was definitely not in the boys’ plans.

but it was now, considering they had been kicked out of the house party for breaking an (apparently) very ancient porcelain vase

“it was totally sicheng’s fault though”

but no one really cared about who was at fault, there was no time for that.

what bothered them more was that no one wanted to go back to the dorms yet

but it wasn’t like they could just go and crash another party

they just know the people at their college

and well

the big party was that one, the one they surely didn’t dare to put a foot on again

ten kept looking around the deserted street no one was really familiar with while the others bickered in the back

he found it nice, even if it felt a little bit lonesome considering the hour and all the small houses showing no sign of corporality

there were no many shops in the block, and if they were, they were closed and dim

until ten caught sight of a small pub

a classic, old-fashioned with a wood design and a few hanging lights that were the only source of brightness in the view

he signaled his discovery to his friends and they all looked at each other for confirmation before excitedly nodding

they didn’t encounter themselves with a rousing ambience when they entered the bar. just a typical bored bartender and some grown men devouring peanuts and beer at the counter

ten’s eyes focused on a small stage, a guitar placed on the wood floor. some holes making it look like it was gonna collapse anytime soon

some of the others got themselves some beers and when they were in the middle of asking ten if he wanted something,

someone’s unknown steps made that floor crack. the slow screeches made ten’s gaze feel trapped in curiosity

it was you

a student who struggled to pay rent and had to resort to singing late at a local bar to generate any sort of income

it wasn’t always this late, though

but that day you also had to cover your coworker’s shift at your other job

and yeah, you could have just told the pub’s owner that you would just play the following night

but it wasn’t just about the money. the truth is that you loved singing. of course it wasn’t a lie that you would prefer to make more out of it,

but sometimes a heartfelt praise from a costumer was all you needed to get the energy to raise that guitar all over again

you were surprised at the sight of more people than you would have thought taking the hour and location of the place into account, but it also made a sigh of relief leave your mouth

after all, performing for an empty audience always left a bittersweet aftertaste in your stomach

you smiled at the expectating boys that looked around your same age

and one of them smiled back. you weren’t one to get nervous when performing, since you were more than very used to it

but somehow the way his face glowed when he smiled made you relax your fingers and grip, that you thought were already relaxed

you introduced yourself and started strumming the guitar

ten, meanwhile

had never seen a purer face

and each melody that left your mouth had him more lost, more captivated

he listened attentively at the lyrics you had mentioned you wrote yourself

you sang about your grandmother and the stories she'd tell you about living in germany. how her own grandfather would tell her that the freckles on her face resembled stars

you had such a way of talking about her that made ten's chest throb. in that moment, he believed that he knew her. how she seemingly always smelled like coconut and how she baked the most delicious cakes ever made. he imagined her living in germany and picking the same flowers every evening, her hair dancing with the wind even though in reality, he didn't even know which color it was.

the ballad ended with a final strum and at that point ten was convinced that the guitar was created solely with the purpose of being touched by your fingers.

of course he and the boys exploded in claps and cheering, the men he had noticed when they first entered joining them too

ten could swear he even saw johnny shedding a couple of tears

and it was understandable. you had something and ten wondered if you had the power to brush the strings of all their hearts at the same time you did so with the guitar.

ten eyed his friends and he pointed at you as he sat up from his chair

them smiling knowingly and telling him they would wait for him outside

"hey um" he started, his hands in his pockets as he went through posible ways of starting a conversation "my name is ten, and i really liked your performance"

he mentally shouted at himself for not being able to hold eye contact with you. he was not a shy person, he was actually very outgoing and had no trouble in meeting new people

it was funny, then. how for some reason you made him nervous and he oddly made you feel at ease

"thank you so much. i actually wrote that song not so long ago, my grandmother helped me"

and that's when it all started.

you talked to him a little bit more about your grandma and he told you he had a similar relationship with his aunt, sharing stories about each lovely woman

you found out he was a dance major and didn't hesitate to tell him that was admiring

he also guessed you were a music major, and commented that you were doing a great job if it was that easy to sense there was more than just natural talent in there. you apparented like you knew a lot about what inspires you

that made you feel content

and you also asked yourself how a stranger had successfully seen through you that much

but something about ten just felt right

and you weren't sure if it was your overflowing emotions, or the late hours of the night or the lack of sleep you had gotten lately

but before ten you had never seen a mouth that you would kill to kiss

after a bit more of chat, you and the beautiful stranger decided to exchange numbers since the bar was closing and ten had to go back to his friends

you had to come home to your roommates as well.

(the next day at work, your co-worker who you had covered was tripping over her words to apologize all over again. she knew that the change resulted in you performing at a later hour, and was scared that that might have been prejudicial for you.

you just hugged her with the biggest grin on your face. and thanked her. she had never seen you smile so wide)

for both of ten and you, it was good news that you kept in touch since then

you learned so much about ten in a short period of time.

he also sang (he had promised he would show you sometime. and once, as you were falling dozing off on the phone with him, he started singing a lullaby when he was convinced you were asleep. you totally weren't. and his voice was velvet through the line)

he loved to draw and he did it marvellously. he had showed you some of his artworks and you always begged for him to explain the meaning behind it. but in the majority of the cases, he himself didn't even know it

you also learned that he used way to many smiley faces when texting, that he drank iced tea as his life depended on it, and he always dreamt of the ocean.

you soon came to know that ten was the sort of person you learn new things about each day, and you never got tired of it

it was scary

you didn't have much experience feeling this things

this love things

you had had some crushes, of course. still, they were all innocent crushes who either faded into thin air or turned into short-lived flings

on top of that, you never were a scaredy-cat type of person

at least that was what you thought before ten,,

because now you had received a certain text from ten that made you drop in the trash the carrot you were peeling

"i want to see u tomorrow :("

"i have my two shifts ://" (you were never really one to use emoticons, but i guess that's one thing you inhabited from ten)

"i can go watch you perform, if you like"

"i would really like it"

so now it was friday and you found yourself almost at midnight, at the bar you knew perfectly, but now you felt as if it was a completely different and new space you had never breathed in before.

you were tapping your foot in the stage so much the floor was actually breaking down even more. you decided to stop, you couldn't afford being nervous over ten's pretty face

you tried to distract yourself fixing some last things on your guitar, when you heard someone getting up on stage with you

"woah, it feels nice seeing everything through here"

"i know right? i never get tired of audiences. i like knowing that for a few minutes everyone is aware and probably thinking about the same thing"

ten looked at you with shiny eyes. you were truly the only source of brightness in the view

you obviously had to include the grandma song when performing (ten sang along and some giggles escaped your lips).

and then proceeded to present a new song you had just finished retouching the night before

ten raised his eyebrow and he looked even more concentrated than before, probably thinking about how you hadn't mentioned any new song you were working on

the song was about him

about the wish of ten letting himself fall in your arms

and although the lyrics could be a little more straightforward, you knew ten would get it anyways

he always did.

you had finished and now the following jazz singer was filling the room with a tranquil euphony

ten asked you to dance, it was a slow song and your hands found their way to his shoulders, his hands steadily on your waist.

"the song was beautiful" and there was something in the way that he said it with a shy but cheeky tone that indicated that you were right, you knew he had realized. and you were more than glad than he did.

"you know, you can join me singing anytime. you said you liked how it felt"

"i wouldn't mind taking up that offer"

in that moment you knew

you knew that it was finally safe for you to fall.

you had sung about wanting ten to feel secure enough to let himself drown in your embrace, but what you didn't know

is that he had already fell

he had made himself at home in your arms and was waiting for you to open the door too. and now you had

so it went on

after day that, ten went to every single one of your performances

and you also went to see him whenever he had a dancing show

you praised him so much every time he looked like he had red dye all over his face

he had sung with you at the bar multiple times already,

all his friends coming to see the growth of the young romance

"you should be thanking me for breaking that stupid vase!!!!!" yeah - you really liked sicheng.

you never experienced that bittersweet aftertaste of an empty audience ever again

because now ten was always the audience,

and you were his

and that's all you needed.

he's right here now,

and you think he'll stay.

(also, ten soon became your grandma's favorite person to bake cakes for.)

[skylander5000]

Home Is Where the Guilt-Tripping Is

read on Ao3

Summary: Laura returns home, tired after a mission with the Avengers, to an insecure Gabby Kinney. How is she going to make her feel better? Probably not in the way your thinking.

or

Gabby is feeling insecure because Laura had been spending so much time with the Avengers. Laura is quick to fix that.

A/n:  So a couple of things before you read. This is sort of my own headcanon. Doesn't really take place at a specific time in the X-23 comics. For context, just imagine post- Age of Ultron, except Laura was there.

Laura had just got home, fresh from a week-long mission with the Avengers, suit covered in a mixture of dirt and blood. She was desperate to get out of the dirtied blue and yellow spandex and into a hot shower. The cheap, dingy hotel Steve had them set up at didn't have hot water, so a scolding shower sounded like bliss to her aching joints. It felt like the metal of her claws was grinding at her bones, creating unwanted and painful friction.

She set down her go-bag on the kitchen counter and stripped off the jacket she used for cover. In the dead of night, the bottom portion of her costume just looked like graphic leggings. If a pedestrian were to stop her, the possibility of anyone recognizing the pattern on them to be Wolverine's was unlikely. But just in case, Laura was regularly altering the suit's design to avoid that scenario. Besides, there was only a baseline for what the Wolverine looked like; muscular, dark hair, fitted in something resembling a yellow and blue suit.

A warm cone of yellow light from a floor lamp illuminated the small apartment. The only sound was the rain beating against the custom Plexiglas windows. She'd had them installed shortly after moving in, finding the hustle and bustle of the city unbearable with her advanced hearing. The intense tumult was now a nearly undetectable thrum that Laura only picked up on occasion. Nothing seemed out of place. Save for her desk, now cluttered with papers and an open laptop.

Gabby had been doing her homework here, she deduced. That wasn't an exceptional occurrence. The Xavier School was only a 30-minute bus away, and her sister often came to visit if things were a bit hectic. It turns out a building housing 50 or so teenagers wasn't the best place to study. Every now and then, the young girl would sleepover. She even slept over the day before Laura left for her most recent mission. A part of it was odd for Laura, though. It wasn't that she didn't enjoy her little sister's company. Laura loved it, welcomed it even. Gabby was a calm and comforting presence. But, it had been a long time since Laura has had anything resembling a roommate, and she wasn't the most accommodating when it came to space. Privacy was an important thing for her, and while she trusted her sister, she was by nature, a cautious being. To avoid intrusion and unnecessary conversations, Laura made sure to establish some ground rules.

The first being that Gabby was welcome to come over anytime she just had to call in advance and tell someone where she was going. Last time the 13-year-old left without telling anyone, the X-men were out until 3 a.m. scouring the city of New York. Meanwhile, she was asleep on Laura's sofa, fast asleep with a frozen waffle in hand.

The second rule was probably the most predictable. Gabby was not allowed in Laura's bedroom without permission. She was also to stay out of personal storage spaces and the medicine cabinet in the bathroom unless it was an actual emergency.

The third rule was one the Xmen decided upon collectively. Gabby, if she was going to stay the night at Laura's, had to have her all of her homework done. Furthermore, she must be in bed by a decent hour, especially on school nights. Gabby, while she was sweet and innocent and pure, disliked anything to do with school. She went to a traditional middle school, after all. Laura and the other Xmen had all determined that she needed a regular, base education, along with her studies on mutants and power control. Gabby had shunned the idea from day one.

"Why do I need to learn what they do. I'm not human," The 13-year-old had argued. Jean had only sighed, adjusting to give the lecture she gave to all the students about how all knowledge was beneficial, no matter your species. Laura was quick to cut Jean off though, stealing Gabby's attention as soon as she spoke, "If you go you can have free roam of the ice cream shelf in the freezer," Gabby had agreed to go then, still with some reluctance.

The fourth and final rule was more for Laura's comfort than anything, cautious by nature, remember. Gabby needed to keep an extra suit at the apartment. So in case of an emergency, she could quickly act without compromising her identity.

Laura pulled her phone out the front pocket of her bag, shooting off a quick text to Jean and Natasha, informing them that she got home. Although, she was sure Jean was already aware. The telepath was always checking in on her, making sure she was okay. The brunette was quick to shut off the phone completely before returning it to the go-bag. She didn't like using phones, but they were a necessity for missions. The ringers were loud and annoying. Phone calls were even more of a strain on her ears, the static, and piercing rings very apparent. In her case, they did more harm than good.

She began the process of peeling off her costume as best she could while walking, managing to wiggle one arm out of the form-fitting material before halting. Suppressing a laugh, she distantly examined the person-shaped lump currently lying across the sofa. Its breathing was calm and rhythmic, the rise and fall, the only indication of life from how still it was lying under the many quilts.

Laura worked the suit down to her hips, leaving her in a black tank top. Cautiously, as not frighten the lump, she kneeled and placed a hand on what she thought to be the creature's shoulder. The fabric began to contort as it moved. Laura pulled back the blankets, evoking a small squeak at the sudden intrusion of light. She smiled at the sight before her. Gabby, long hair disheveled, squinting up at her with a line of drool across her cheek. Her school clothes were wrinkled so heavily that Laura knew Gabby was going to receive a lecture from whoever was in charge of laundry this week.

The young girl's sleepy expression did not last long, once she realized who'd woken her. She tumbled off the couch and into Laura, tightly hugging her chest, face buried in her neck. "Hey Gabby," The older laughed, reciprocating her embrace with the little remaining strength she had. Gabby said, "I missed you so much," "It was only a week," Laura chuckled. Gabby looked at her, her brown eyes impeccable replicas of Laura's, "It felt like more than a week," There was a pout on her face that tugged at Laura's heartstrings more than she liked to admit. She affectionately rubbed the younger's shoulders, "Come on Gabs, don't do that to me," Gabby relinquished her grip but stayed in the cage of Laura's bent legs. They were just a small reach away from each other. She knew Gabby liked it when they were close. Some called it clingy. Laura preferred to think of it has endearing. "You know I didn't want to go," That was a lie. Laura was thrilled to work with the Avengers again. But Laura was determined to wipe that pout off her sister's face. "But the Avengers needed my help,"

Gabby fiddled with her fingers, eyes avoiding Laura's at all costs. She had some apprehension. The girl had something to say, but either couldn't or was too embarrassed to admit it.

Laura lifted Gabby's chin so that they were looking into each other's eyes once again, "What's wrong, Gabby?" The 13-year-old gave the most sorrowful look Laura had ever seen on her innocent face, "Do you like them more than me?" "The Avengers?" Gabby gave a small nod in response. "Gabrielle," Her sister's full name was reserved for only the most genuine of moments when Laura wanted her to understand the sincerity of what she was saying. "Of course I don't, why would you ever think that? I love you more than anything,"

She hated seeing Gabby like this, all sad and doubtful. Her sister was the happiest, most optimistic kid she'd ever known. But now her innocent features were dejected, and her eyes were shiny with tears that threatened to brim. Laura's heart was aching and heavy, guilt pinging through her like a pinball machine.

"Natasha," Gabby spoke so quickly and quietly, if it weren't for her enhanced hearing, Laura would have never caught it. She sighed, an awe of realization passing through her in waves. She rubbed a calloused thumb across her sister's tan cheek, making sure to speak as softly and calmly as possible, "Just because Natasha and I are dating doesn't mean I love you any less," "Do you love her more than me?" The girl asked, finally looking up at her. Laura gave a reassuring smile, "I love you both, equally. But, the way I care for Natasha is different," Gabby gave a confused expression, brow furrowing adorably. Laura was quick to resolve her confusion, "I love you, platonically, and I love Natasha, romantically," She paused briefly to read Gabby's expression before continuing, "Now that doesn't mean I love either one of you more than the other. It just means that the way I love each of you is different,"

All seemed resolved, the discouraged mug replaced with the usually cheery one. But, there was a mysterious glint in those brown eyes that had Laura worried.

Gabby opened her mouth to speak again, except now there was a pout on her face. The pout that she knew bent Laura to her will, "Why're you away so much?" Her voice was that soft, innocent tone that could break Laura apart immediately. It was a cheap shot using both the pout and that voice, and Gabby knew it was. She was fishing for something.

Laura chose her next words carefully. If she knew her sister, and she bet she did, she was going to guilt Laura into doing something, Laura simply didn't know what that something was yet. She went in subtly at first, making sure that Gabby was off guard, mind clouded with the allusion of victory, "When I'm away it is to help my friends with problems they have trouble solving," She rubbed her thumb across the young girl's face once again, "Also, Natasha is a new addition to my life, and I want to make sure that she knows I care about her," Laura paused one more time, allowing what she said to sink in before she went in for the kill, "But if you dislike me dating her so much, I guess I can call things off," Laura knew it was a low, but so was what Gabby did. You know what they say, fight fire with fire, or in this case, guilt-trip with guilt-tripping.

Gabby turned her head away from Laura's stroking gesture, suddenly entranced with sofa. She knew she'd been found out, caught in the midst of deception. "No, I don't want you to do that," She kicked a socked foot tenderly against Laura's booted one. The older chuckled, rubbing the younger's arm in an attempt to show she wasn't mad.

There was a beat of silence before Gabby spoke, and when she did her tone had shifted into a hopeful, devious one, that both perplexed and terrified Laura, "Maybe if I met the Avengers I wouldn't feel so bad about you leaving,"

Laura cursed herself silently. Gabby had won, and she knew it, the coy, but still adorable smile on the 13-year-old's face said so. Laura stood, knees cracking as she did. She looked down at her sister and couldn't help but laugh at the puppy eyes staring right back at her. She sighed out, "Gabrielle, do you want to meet the Avengers?"

A piercing squeal erupted from the child, causing Laura to cringe slightly. She giddily wrapped her arms around Laura's waist, hugging her as tightly as she could. "Thank you, Laura!" She said, face buried in the older's stomach. Laura reciprocated the embrace with a gentle pat to the young girl's back.

Laura couldn't help but smile as she watched her sister run laps around the apartment, joyously chanting, "I'm gonna meet the Avengers!"

She sighed, eyes following Gabby around the room, "What have I done?"

[miracleboiz]

Making a Home Ch.3

Kita Shinsuke had experienced a lot in life. He had been raised with his grandmother, a loving foster parent and for some time he followed in her foot steps before finding his own path. He thought his foster care license had expired before getting a call at three am with two small boys thrust into his arms. Miya Osamu and Atsumu, from broken homes but still fighting. Thirty days before his license expires. Thirty days to make a choice, keep the boys or let them be separated into different homes. Thirty days to fall in love with them.

Words: 4k

Relationships: Gen

Warnings: Mention of past child abuse, non-graphic abuse

Not from Kita, but it is mentioned. I will post any warnings before any panic attacks or vague descriptions of abuse.

Read below or on AO3

The twin's gazes dashed around the room, eyes wide and soaking up everything around them. Their grips on each other's hands tightened for a moment before they relaxed, Osamu tilting his head up to stare at Shinsuke.

"What..." He chewed his lip and pulled the fox closer, nearly dislodging the flower on its head. "What's a... weddin' bo-... boutique?"

"Well, it's a shop that sells things for weddings. Both western and Japanese in my case." Shinsuke said softly, stepping out a little further to show them the shop better. "Most shops only sell dresses but we do a lot more here. That is where our tailor makes sure the clothes fit, you can make a wedding registry- a list of gifts you want- over there. We have a card station so you can choose your designs for invitations."

Shinsuke pointed each station out in the wide room, explaining it to the rapt attention of Osamu and the bored looking Atsumu. He led them in, around a set of tuxedos and male kimonos, careful not to move too fast and overwhelm them.

Sugawara was already in one of the mirrored corners, carefully arranging some fake flowers that came from between the mirrors. He glanced up and saw them in the reflection, eyes widening and Shinsuke watched him try to stifle a squeal. Instead he ducked back down, shifting the ottoman chairs instead to curve around the mirror and disappearing into one of the changing rooms.

On the opposite corner, Akaashi was already sitting down, a large ink brush in his hand that was gliding down the page, either a commission or a wedding order. Behind him a large wall of different card stock hid him from the gaze of the average window shopper. He didn't glance up at the sound of Shinsuke talking, probably already zoned out until either his phone alarm rang or someone touched him.

In between the two stations, the wall curved in leading to a decent sized office with two desks. Books of dress designs and venues littered three bookshelves and a wall of ribbons and flower designs rose up at the back. Many customers liked to use their own wedding planner, but Shinsuke had to admit having his own on site made it a lot easier when dealing with customers who tried to do it all without help.

On the other wall there was another mirrored corner, with a shelf coming out of the wall with all of Sugawara and Shirofuku's materials for tailoring. Under the window to the right was the register, currently covered in multiple packages labeled Castle Bakery. Against the wall to the left, wedding dresses and kimonos were posed on mannequins and bridesmaid outfits were on racks.

In the final corner was where Azumane designed and sewed together specialty outfits. Shinsuke could just barely see him hunched over the tail end of a pale peach dress, carefully slipping a needle in and out of beads and the dress. Fabric was already pulled out and laying across his table and two other mannequins.

"You do all of this?" Osamu said when they finished the tour, eyeing the Castle Bakery boxes as Shinsuke came to a stop beside the register.

"I manage it all, and help Azumane design and create dresses. Each place has someone who takes care of it though. So it makes it a lot easier." Shinsuke explained, cracking open one of the boxes that had his name on it. Two muffins sat in the middle with a note attached to the top of the box followed by the ingredient list for each box.

Shinji made these this morning. Don't worry, we watched him. DON'T LET TORU HAVE THE ONES WITH PEANUT BUTTER~ Takahiro

Shinsuke chuckled softly, carefully lifting the two chocolate chip muffins out and offering them to the boys.

"These are fresh from the bakery across the street, are you still hungry or would you like to wait till later?" Predictably, both boys reached for them. Atsumu held his for a minute, frowning at it and reached out to stop Osamu from shoving it in his mouth. His eyes glanced up to Shinsuke then back down, repeating a few more times before Shinsuke intervened.

"Is something wrong Atsumu?"

"What's... in these?" He said hesitantly, eyes down on the ground to keep from looking disrespectful. "I-I just mean, Osamu's allergic to lotsa stuff and he... I..." Atsumu's mouth moved inaudibly, trying to keep calm and Shinsuke wondered how many times Osamu had been fed things he was allergic to by unwitting or uncaring foster parents.

"It's alright. I read Osamu's allergy list last night and this doesn't have anything dangerous to him in it. Would you like to read the list yourself?" Shinsuke asked, peeling the list off for his box and offering it to Atsumu when he nervously nodded. In a fashion that would make allergic-to-peanuts-Oikawa proud, Osamu inhaled the muffin despite his brother's protests, grinning when Atsumu passed the list back agreeing that it was safe to eat.

Atsumu peeled the wrapper off his muffin, carefully nibbling until Osamu reached for it. Atsumu responded by shoving the entire thing in his mouth, chewing and swallowing faster than Shinsuke thought was possible for a child and nearly giving him a heart attack. Atsumu didn't look any worse for wear though, sticking his tongue out at Osamu a moment later.

"Do you want to be introduced to the others who are here then? We can drop off their muffins and then head to the store." Shinsuke asked a moment later, lifting up the boxes and checking the names. Shirofuku's was nearly three times as heavy as the others and Shinsuke had to admit it was amusing that the bakery knew his tailor so well.

The twins looked around, Atsumu looking bored again but he still didn't say anything as his brother nodded. Osamu paused after a moment though, glancing at his brother and then Shinsuke.

"Are you sure it's not a bother?" He asked, then shook his head. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean… You said it was okay… But… I just… I mean… I’m sorry, I’m sorry… please… We can do whatever you want Kita-san… I-I… I don’t… I don’t mean to be rude… ”

Shinsuke crouched next to him, eyes softening with worry. The six year old looked seconds from a complete meltdown, jumping when his brother’s hand clamped down on his wrist. Osamu’s breath quickened and his eyes rolled with fear.

“Osamu?” Atsumu asked, confusion clear on his face and quickly buried beneath panic as Osamu yanked out of his grip. His hands curled into his chest like he was trying to hide them from sight.

“Osamu, just breathe.” Shinsuke said softly, carefully waving Atsumu a few steps away. “It’s alright, you haven’t done anything wrong. You’re not in trouble I promise…. Breathe in for seven seconds…. Now breathe out for eight, you can do it… There you go, great job Osamu, now again…”

Shinsuke talked him through it, relaxing as the boy’s breathing started to slow. His head was still pulled in like he was waiting to be struck, but his hands finally relaxed from their curled position. He glanced up at Shinsuke, then back at the ground, tears slowly leaking out of his eyes.

“Osa-” Atsumu said, startling when his brother jumped again. He reached out for him, but Osamu just shied away, fingers starting to clench again.

Atsumu’s face twisted with panic, his own breath coming out harsher as he started to slip into a panicked state as well. Shinsuke had to assume Atsumu had never seen his brother have an anxiety attack before and was terrified at the idea that he was scaring his brother. Shinsuke was going to have to cut that off as soon as possible or else neither of the two would be okay for hours.

“Atsumu?” Shinsuke murmured softly, turning his gaze to Atsumu’s scared one. “Your brother had an anxiety attack, sometimes when it happens people don’t want to be touched. He’ll be just fine though, I promise. Why don’t we head back to the house, okay?”

“N-no!” Osamu shouted, then flinched. His hands instinctively moving to cover his face, he shook slightly as he lowered them again, not looking at either of them. “Y-you… wanted us to m-meet them. I’m sorry…. I won’t… I won’t be a bother… I’m sorry.”

“Osamu.” Shinsuke said slowly, watching Osamu cling to the stuffed animal. “You are not a bother, I promise. You’re not in trouble either. Remember when I said sometimes you get tired of people and you need to rest? We can rest now Osamu, it isn’t a bother at all. I promise, your feelings are more important than meeting a few more people.”

Osamu buried his face into the fox’s fur, a harsh breath racking through him. Shinsuke wondered how often he teetered on the edge of panic and worry, how often his brain would work too fast and drive his anxiety up until his small body couldn’t contain it anymore. And how often had he been punished for it.

“It’s alright now, we can go calm down for a bit and have some lunch when you’re ready.”

“What…” Osamu’s voice was breathy, nervous and embarrassed, “What about… shopping? Y-You wanted to…”

“We can still go shopping later if you’d like, but you being okay is more important Osamu.” Shinsuke smiled softly when Osamu’s eyes peeked over the top of the fox’s head. “Let’s head back inside and we can talk after we nap for a bit, alright? The store won’t go anywhere. You and Atsumu can think about all the toys you want to look at and new clothes you want to try on.”

Shinsuke stood back up, waving his hand at Atsumu to motion him to start heading back towards the door to the house. Shinsuke barely caught a glimpse of a worried looking Koushi before he was slipping away again before he could accidentally startle either of the children.

Osamu lagged behind, eyes still darting around the rooms like he was waiting for his punishment. Even Atsumu was quiet as he walked, constantly looking back to make sure Osamu was okay and trying to slow down to match his pace though Osamu only stepped away from him, clinging onto the small stuffed fox in his arms.

“Atsumu,” Shinsuke tried to call him but was ignored. There was a flash of annoyance before he let it go, after all Atsumu didn’t really understand what was going on. He just saw his brother suffering.

Shinsuke took a few more steps until they were beside the male mannequins again, opening the door and leading the two to the next door. He opened it, waiting for them to pass him before he stepped into his house.

“Osamu,” Shinsuke called this time, watching the flinch before Osamu’s head lifted to try and meet his gaze unsteadily. “Do you want to stay with Atsumu or would you like to lay down for a bit?”

There was a pause, one that seemed to immediately set Atsumu on edge, before Osamu reached out and shakily took his brother’s hand. The nod was small, barely noticeable but enough for Atsumu to relax slightly. Their hands squeezed each other, trying to pull any sense of comfort from one another.

“Alright…” Shinsuke hesitated, not quite sure what would be the next step. On one hand, he didn’t want Osamu to feel pressured to stay in his room but on the other Kita didn’t want him to get worse-

A tug on his shirt caught his attention and he looked down, blinking softly at Atsumu’s doe eyes staring up at him. Atsumu tugged again, pulling Shinsuke down to his level and leaning up to whisper in his ear.

“Do you have any movies?” He whispered, glancing at his brother as Osamu shifted from foot to foot. “When Osamu has nightmares they help…. Maybe… they can help now too?”

“That’s a great idea, thank you Atsumu,” Shinsuke said softly, watching Osamu perk up slightly, “you two can go sit on the couch while I see what movies I have.”

It took a moment, Osamu still looking hesitant before Atsumu tugged him along. Worried eyes glanced back at him more than once but Shinsuke just nodded until Osamu was comfortably on the couch, leaning his weight on his brother.

Shinsuke turned and made his way to the back office, pulling open the first drawer on his left to look at all the random things Akagi had left at his house. Shinsuke himself wasn’t a big movie watcher, he owned three and he wasn’t sure any of them qualified as kid-friendly as they were all documentaries. However, Akagi considered that a travesty and had a habit of leaving movies and books around that he wanted Shinsuke to look at.

After nearly two minutes of pulling things out, Shinsuke’s hand finally landed on a case. He pulled it out, eyes catching on Studio Ghibli. The front of the case itself was a cute, gentle animation of a small human fish child. He turned it over, reading the back before deciding it would work. He didn’t know much about Studio Ghibli but he did know Oikawa and Sawamura had both bought movies out of the collection for their own children.

Shinsuke returned to the living room, not surprised to see Osamu still curled around his fox, his brother leaning as close to him as he could. They both glanced up as he entered and he dipped his head slightly in greeting, moving to the tv and pressing the on button before moving to turn on the dusty DVD player Akagi had wired in for him. He placed the movie in and sat back, watching it flicker to life.

He grabbed for the remote, barely remembering how to use it. It was different from his old one, instead of a long strip it curved almost in two, with two sticks that Shinsuke was certain moved. For longer than he wanted to admit, he stared blankly at the device until he heard Atsumu’s voice.

“Are… you okay Kita-san?” He asked slowly, shrinking away slightly when Shinsuke turned to look at him. Shinsuke held up the remote in explanation.

“Remember when I told you that I was very boring? That includes not knowing how to use one of these. Do you know?” Shinsuke asked, offering the remote over.

Atsumu took it, looking it over with Osamu before they both grabbed it and pressed one of the sticks. The screen clicked as it moved over from a blue background to a picture of a DVD, Shinsuke watched with interest as they hit another button. The movie went black for a second before fading into an animated scene. They pressed another and music started to filter through the room quietly.

Shinsuke waved for them to keep the remote, moving to grab the blanket on the couch and laying it over Atsumu’s lap who quickly moved it to cover him and his brother.

“I’m going to be over here and make lunch in a few, let me know if you need anything okay boys?” Shinsuke said softly, only getting minute nods as they stared into the screen already enraptured. He watched them for a moment longer, taking in the hiccups in Osamu’s breathing as he tried not to cry and Atsumu’s aggressive fussing as he tucked the blanket as tightly around his brother as he could.

Quietly, Shinsuke moved to the back office again. He grabbed a notebook and a pen, hesitating before snagging a few more movies from the pile he had uncovered. The boys would be bored over the next few days while Shinsuke got them signed up for the closest school and they waited for the weekend to end, this would help stave off some boredom atleast.

He sat on the armchair when he returned, only nodding his head when they looked up at him. Osamu’s cheeks were shining with a few tears that had fallen but his eyes were dry and his breathing was even. A wave of relief washed over Shinsuke as he pulled his gaze away from the two and started to scratch out the characters for their names on the notebook.

He looked at Osamu’s name, glancing up at the child for a moment before starting to write.

Osamu was sweet, naturally inquisitive and playful. He enjoyed his comfort items more than Atsumu seemed to but he wasn’t completely helpless. However, he was a lot more naturally shy than his brother and prefered the background position his brother allowed him to play. He struggled with letting his own emotions be known and feared being punished for them.

He was going to need a much softer hand to nurture him into someone who could stand up for himself. While being attached to his brother wasn’t an issue right now, they would have to be monitored to make sure it didn’t shift into unhealthy codependency. Though Shinsuke wasn’t particularly worried about that right now, Atsumu was protective but Osamu had made it clear he was able to say what he wanted.

Atsumu though, was a little tougher to write about. He hadn’t shown much of his own nature beyond being protective of his brother. He seemed to keep it locked away, eyes only on his brother and any threat that could arise. He was fierce, ready to fight the world for his right to stand up. If anyone was going to get unhealthily attached, Shinsuke would put his bets on Atsumu.

Atsumu hadn’t shown many interests outside of his brother and it worried Shinsuke, even with the snow he hadn’t cared until Osamu had commented on it. He didn’t care much about the shop, unlike Osamu who had been endlessly fascinated by everything. Even now, watching the show, Atsumu was only half watching. His head turned to eye Shinsuke and their gaze met for a moment before he was looking away again.

Hopefully with the start of school on Monday, Atsumu would be able to branch out for himself. Shinsuke wanted to help him break out of the cycle of being Osamu’s unspoken parent and guardian. It would never go completely away, but Atsumu had endless potential he could unlock if he looked into what he wanted instead of how to protect Osamu. Shinsuke wanted to watch both of them flourish, not just Osamu

Shinsuke scratched out the last character, humming softly to the song coming from the tv as he looked over his notes. They weren’t complete, he couldn’t know the boys in one day but it was a step towards finding them a good home. The more information he knew about what the twins needed and how they acted, the better he could assess potential parents and let them know exactly what the boys needed in their life.

Shinsuke looked up again, taking in Osamu’s completely enraptured look on the tv and Atsumu’s fidgeting feet. Atsumu’s gaze wasn’t on the tv again, instead it was caught on the clock above it. Each click was copied by a flick of Atsumu’s fingers against the bottom of the blanket. His eyes roved over the room again, picking through items before landing on the tv as Osamu gasped at whatever was on the screen.

Shinsuke paused as the doorbell rang, watching the boys both look at him immediately. A mix of apprehension and curiosity was scrawled across their face as they watched Shinsuke put the notebook down and make his way to the door.

Shinsuke knew Oomimi had said he would be visiting later with the boys’ files, but he expected a text before anything. No one else would be dropping by without calling first.

A quick peek through the window made Shinsuke sigh as he recognized the wild hair. He pulled the door open and looked up at the grinning face of Akagi with disappointment.

“Hey sexy, where are the little ones?” Akagi winked, before holding up a packet of papers in explanation. “ ‘Mimi got called in to a meeting so I said I would bring this over to you because I want to meet my new nephews.”

“Akagi, I didn’t adopt them.” Shinsuke said slowly as he opened the door, glancing at the twin faces peeking over the back of the couch curiously.

“Doesn’t matter, they’re my new nephews!” He grinned, wiggling his arm and the plastic bag rustled on his elbow. “I brought presents. Heya! Didja tell your brother about me?”

Both boys had perked up at the word present but they shrank down again when they realized they were being looked at. Atsumu looked at his brother before shaking his head.

“I didn’t…. Fox-kun.” He said, wincing slightly as Akagi’s name escaped him. Akagi burst into laughter, stepping into the house to let Shinsuke close the door.

“Close enough, Atsumu-kun. Just call me Michinari or Ojisan. Osamu, I’m Michinari, I helped bring you guys home last night and brought over that little Ruppell’s fox that you’re holding.” Akagi greeted, smiling brightly at him even as Osamu shrank down. Osamu’s gray eyes looked to the fox before slowly pulling it free of the blanket and holding it out for Akagi.

“Oh no, honey, it’s yours. I brought them over for you. They’re yours forever.” Akagi explained, nodding when Osamu’s eyes widened in disbelief. Osamu immediately turned and stuffed it back between himself and his brother, eyes shining as he looked at his brother.

Atsumu looked a little hesitant but he was quickly relaxing again as Akagi moved to steal Shinsuke’s chair. The ex-libero pulled open his bag, pulling out objects of different sizes. He waved a case at Shinsuke with a bright smile.

“I’m glad you got the playstation to work, I was starting to think I bought you that for nothing.”

“That’s what it’s called? And I thought you bought it so you could play it when you stayed over.” Shinsuke said dryly, taking the case he was being offered with a frown. Ark: Survival Evolved, it said.

“This looks inappropriate for children.” Shinsuke could see the twins looking at the game with excitement obvious in their eyes. His heart softened at the hopeful looks, had they ever even had video games before? They probably had to deal with other kids using it against them too.

“I mean, you capture and train dinosaurs, you can change the settings to creative so they don’t have to actually kill anyone but it’s fine, really. I also got Minecraft and Spyro which are super family friendly, but I mean, It’s dinosaurs Shinsuke-kun. Just play with them?” Akagi asked, eyes fluttering slightly as he looked up at Shinsuke. Shinsuke pressed his lips together as he thought it over before he turned to look at the boys.

Osamu was nearly on top of his brother’s back as they leaned closer, eyes on Shinsuke. Hope and excitement glittered in them as the end credits of the movie played, they both gave identical smiles, excitement making them seem to shake with excitement. Osamu’s cheeks were still a little wet and he wasn’t getting as close as Atsumu was but he was branching out, even if it was nonverbally. It was a start that Shinsuke couldn’t ignore.

“Oh… Oh alright, if I can sit with you then they can play this game. But if it’s too violent then you can only play the other two, okay boys?” Shinsuke asked and all three of them let out a cheer. Shinsuke could have sworn Akagi was the loudest of the bunch, his own mind feeling incredibly lucky to have the three of them here.

“I’m going to start lunch then, can I trust you two to keep Akagi from breaking anything?” Shinsuke asked, fighting back a smile at Akagi’s offended shout.

The twins burst into giggles, nodding and sitting back down so they could pat the couch and offer up the Playstation remote. Akagi whined, grumbling as he made his way over with the three games held out for the boys to look at. Atsumu waited until Osamu had grabbed one to look at before taking the other two for himself, they leaned together, looking them over with hushed whispers and soft gasps of awe.

Akagi turned, giving Shinsuke a soft smile.

“I’ll keep an eye on them, go on. They’ll still be here when you get back, you dad.” Akagi teased, turning back to Osamu’s bubbly questions.

Shinsuke gave them one last look, trying to push down the affection rising up. He was a foster parent, he wasn’t looking to adopt right now. Especially not when he was alone and would be raising them by himself.

He paused in the kitchen, listening to Akagi’s dramatic storytelling and sighed. Scratch that, he wouldn’t be raising them alone, he had a family it was just a little different.

[kimjongdaely]

The Art of Sin [Chapter 2]

Gang!AU, Racer!AU, Tattoo Artist!AU

Pairing: Chen x Reader

Warnings: Language, violence, sexual situations, vandalism

Summary: He’s an artist. He does it all for the ‘art.’ Tattooing. Racing. Sex. All because he thinks they’re beautiful. There’s no one here that doesn’t know his name, because it’s everywhere. On every graffiti-filled wall, every tattooed skin, every cheer of the crowd. His name is there somewhere, because it’s all his—this world. And when he lays his eyes on you—well, he’s never seen anything more beautiful. And he’s going to make you his masterpiece.

Chapter 1│Chapter 2│Chapter 3 [M]│Chapter 4 [M]│Chapter 5 [M]│ Chapter 6│Chapter 7│Chapter 8 [M]

She yelps, her body jolting at the pain. His hold on her is tight though, to keep her from moving. He’ll be damed if it ruins the tattoo.

“Wait, wait.” She cries desperately, her nails digging into the leather of the chair. “Can I take a break?”

Jongdae is reluctant to pause, but sighs. “Sure. It’s a small tattoo though, it won’t be much longer before it’s finished—”

“Please.” She shakes her head, and he can’t help but stare at the way her hair strokes her collarbones at the movement. “It really hurts.”

He nods, wiping over the area with a rag to remove blood and ink, seeing her wince. Her friend, who was sitting off to the side, comes over as Jongdae moves away, rearranging his desk and making sure his tattoo machine is in top shape.

“Looks great so far!” Her friend exclaims as she examines the area. “How much longer do you think it’ll take?”

“Maybe ten minutes.” Jongdae replies with a smile. “Just bear with the pain a little longer, ‘kay?”

She nods, jaw clenched. He can see the crescents of her nails in his chair, along with countless others that accumulated over the years. He should really buy a new one soon.

“So,” Jongdae starts, putting on his signature friendly smile. “What’s your name? Why’d you want a tattoo?”

She looks hesitant to give out her name, but eventually tells him. “It’s my birthday today.”

“Oh!” Jongdae beams. “Happy birthday! How old are you turning?”

She smiles, looking more relaxed now. “Never ask a girl her age, mister.”

He chuckles, nodding. “I’ll remember that. You ready to continue?” He asks and she nods. He smiles his famous smile; an innocent, sincere smile that got him out of every sticky situation so far. She’s a good girl. Very obedient. He likes that.

He sits in his chair again, leaning over her. Her collarbone protrudes delicately, so beautifully. It certainly is a good place for a mark. His mark. “I’ll count to three, and then I’ll start.” 

She nods again. “1…2…3.”

She yelps.

Jongdae peels the latex gloves off his hands, throwing them into the trash. There’s a knock at the door, Chanyeol poking his head inside. “You done, Dae? Wanna take a smoke?”

“Not for me.” Jongdae answers, stretching. “But I’ll keep you company.”

“I don’t need your company.” Comes Chanyeol’s snarky reply, though he holds the door for Jongdae. The garage is hot like usual, and he wipes the sweat off his brow. The smell of oil and smoke is intoxicating, his favorite smell. Or rather, he just got way too used to it, so it feels like home.

“You guys taking a break already?” Jongdae asks, noticing the lazy atmosphere. “Damn, don’t let Junmyeon know or he’ll throw a fit.”

“We work hard.” Chanyeol laughs. “We deserve a smoke every now and then.”

Sehun and Jongin are outside already, Sehun kneading his tense muscles, rolling his head side to side. Chaneyol leans against the walls of the garage, Jongdae following.

“So.” Chanyeol starts, taking out his lighter and lighting his cigarette. “That girl just now.”

“She was hot.” Sehun butts in with a sly smile. “She’s your type, isn’t she?”

Jongdae hums, neither agreeing nor denying. “Well, she was very beautiful.”

“She’s gonna come back for checkups, right?” Chanyeol grins. “You gonna make a move?”

“Worry about yourself.” Jongdae rolls his eyes. “The ice-cream girl, right?”

“Fuck off, Jongdae.” He growls, exhaling the smoke. “And go fuck a girl for once.”

“Alright.” Jongdae chuckles. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Jongdae kicks at the floor, staring at the walls of the garage. His hands are itching for a can of spray paint, his mind already whirring with ideas to fill the wall. He shakes his head, kicking a pebble. Junmyeon’s already berated him for spray-painting the walls too much, so he has to keep the desire in.

But that’s alright. He doesn’t really mind it. He’s doing what he loves, tattooing. It’s an honest job, and quite popular too. Keeps him creative, keeps his hands moving. Most of the time, it’s enough.

His mind falls back to the girl that was just here. He’s sure her soft groans of pain can turn into something else entirely, something beautiful. The butterfly on her collarbone is one of the best ones he’s done so far. He’s had his fair share of tattooing butterflies, but that one is somehow special, since it’s on her.

He grins, kicking the pebble all the way down the road until he can’t see it anymore. His butterfly will certainly fly right back into his hands.

You stare at your new tattoo in the mirror. You have to admit, Chen really did a good job both with the design and the actual application. You made sure to follow his directions on aftercare so that it doesn’t get infected, but he wanted you to drop by again for a quick checkup—just in case, he said.

You don’t really mind. EXO Customs isn’t that far from your apartment, and you hate to admit it…but you’re excited.

You’re excited to see Chen.

Something about him really clicked with you��or rather, you’re just really attracted to him. Nothing wrong with attraction at first sight, but a part of you wavers.

There’s something in his eyes…his smile…You’re sure there’s more to him than the friendly tattoo artist he makes himself appear as. Which is why you can’t shake off the slight feeling of impending doom, but that might be your pessimistic side exaggerating your anxieties.

Impending doom, you snicker at yourself before you throw on your black crop-top, something that will show off your new tattoo. You grab your bag, slinging it over your shoulder as you head out the door.

You walk into EXO Customs, greeted by Byun again. He smiles, face lighting up in recognition. “Hey! Back for a checkup?”

“Yep.” You answer, flashing him a polite smile. You head in, where Chen’s tattoo parlor is. A tall mechanic with icy white hair flashes you a grin that seemed to hold a bunch of secrets. You look at him weirdly, but don’t dwell.

He opens the door quickly after you knock. He seems happy to see you, his eyes shining as he motions for you to come in. “How’s the tattoo? Have you followed my instructions?”

“Yeah.” You answer, sitting down on the leather chair. Your eyes scan his office, seeing the scattered papers of sketches on his desk and pinned up on the walls. “I don’t think it’s infected or anything.”

“That’s good, that’s good.” Jongdae hums as he puts on his latex gloves. “Just lean back and relax, alright? I’ll take a look and make sure it’s all good. You might need a touch up—tattoos sometimes fade or peel after healing.”

You nod, relaxing yourself against the chair as he leans in. His gloved thumb traces the pattern of your butterfly, and you can feel the heat through the glove. It’s a gentle pressure, and oddly comforting. 

“Yep, looks good.” He says, leaning back. You breathe out, having been holding your breath unconsciously. “You’ve been a good girl.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks at the statement, leaving you embarrassed. “Uh yeah. Thanks.”

Jongdae chuckles, and you grow even more embarrassed. Oh man, you’re making a fool of yourself in front of this super hot guy. “You’re surprisingly cute.” He has a strange look in his eyes, a swirling gold within his irises that hypnotize you. He seems to be thinking before a smile graces his face.

“Well,” he says, peeling the gloves off. “You don’t seem to need a touch up. But,” his smile grows wider, anything but innocent. “If you would like one, you can come find me later, after the garage closes.”

“What?” You blurt out, confused. “What do you mean—”

He hands you his business card, tilting his head at you. He still has that smile, a mischievous smile that a good boy should never wear. It brings tingles down your spine, makes your head blur. “Well then, see you.”

And then you’re ushered out, like nothing happened.

You’re here for a touch up. You remind yourself as you pace the front of the garage. It’s closed, the lock on the door makes that very evident. There’s not a soul in sight, the silence making you second-guess your decision. 

Oh, fuck it. You’re here for anything but a ‘touch up.’ Telling you to come here after they close…you know damn well what he’s insinuating. And the worst part, the scariest part is that you don’t hate it. No, you’re excited. You’re anxious but excited and you’re totally going to regret this but you’re not at the same time.

You take a deep breath, pulling out Chen’s business card and dialing his number. It rings, and you think he might not pick up.

But then—

“Hello?”

His voice is low and husky through the phone and it makes you shiver. “Hi, Chen. It’s me. I’m outside—”

“Great.” He cuts you off. “I’ll be right there.”

He hangs up, and you wait. You rub your arm, the air pretty chilly now that the sun’s gone. Being here all by yourself feels unsafe, and you hope Chen will be here soon.

He’s a lot quicker than you expected. He looks a little different than when he was in his tattoo parlor. He looked a little more proper when he’s working, wearing a simple t-shirt and jeans. Now, with his hair swept up and a leather jacket on his shoulders, he suddenly looks a thousand times more attractive.

Your heart jumps, and your cheeks warm.

“Hey.” He greets, flashing you a grin.

“Hey.” You greet back, much quieter than he was with a lot more shyness sprinkled in. 

He takes a step towards you, as if seeing you’ll run away. You don’t. He tilts his head at you, smiling again. “Ready?”

No. Yes. You nod.

He takes your hand, his motions slow and smooth like he’s done this a million times. And he might’ve. He starts walking down the road, the feeling of his hand in yours almost too perfect. He’s warm and gentle, and your heart won’t stop hammering.

“Where are we going?” You ask, not being able to stand the silence, no matter how comfortable it was. You can’t stand listening to your rapid heartbeats, because you’re sure as hell he can hear it too.

“To a hotel.” He answers.

He brings you to a nearby hotel, checking in. It’s elegant, but definitely not high class. As you go up the elevator and make your way to your room, it’s silent. Your hands are still linked, but yours are getting sweaty and you feel so embarrassed by what you’re doing.

He unlocks the door with the keycard, leading you in. The room is dark, and has a musky scent. The door clicks shut behind you, locking.

“You sure about this?” Chen asks, holding both your hands in his gently. You can’t see him very well, but his voice is soft and soothing. “You can leave now if you want.”

You should. You should definitely leave if you’re sane and rational but you’re anything but that right now. You shake your head slowly, squeezing his hands. “I’m sure.”

Your face feels so hot right now, your whole body on fire. In the darkness, you’re anticipating it even more than usual, your senses heightened and you’re so nervous, so nervous.

But then you feel him take a step forward, his breath fanning across your cheeks and your body responds so eagerly, your excitement and nervousness spiking.

His hands trail up your arms, barely touching your skin and leaving goosebumps in his wake. You can feel him smile as he leans in, lips pressing against yours.

Previous Chapter│Next Chapter [M]

The Art of Sin Mini Masterlist

EXO Customs Collab Masterlist

A/N: Well, I’m definitely excited to be writing smut. And there’ll be a lot of it in the fic, so that’s something to look forward to :) I’d love to hear from you!

Tags: @ninibears-erigom @baekwell--tart @fairyyeols @suhoerections @kpop---scenarios @skjdln @yeoldontknow @kyungseokie @loser-dot-com @writingstuffandmore @enchanting-exo @vivianhuynh77​ @ephemeralsehun

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©kimjongdaely

Talk to me!

[fyx-ation]

So, I just got around to beating Kingdom Hearts 3

Yeah, I’m late to the party, but it took them 13 years to make this... thing... And my urgency to play it came and went over a decade ago. The following dump may contain spoilers and corn. I’ve barely digested this game, so I’ll just let whatever pops into my head splatter out on the keyboard where it may.

Who is this game for exactly? You might say, oh, people who played the other games. They’re in their 30s or 40s now but age doesn’t hinder interest in video games. Case in point, I’m 40. I played the first two games and Birth by Sleep. I tried Chain of Memories but it was... not good. I bought the DS game, 358 2 Days, but never played it. It’s actually still in the wrapper. Oops. I never played Dream Drop Distance. I own the collections that came out for the PS3 a few years back.

This game isn’t for that audience, really. The dumpster fire that is the Kingdom Hearts plot gets pretty dark and tragic and so convoluted that you need to open a wiki or youtube dissection video to understand it. And at the same time, all of the levity is sucked out of it by Donald Duck and Goofy being Donald Duck and Goofy. The big bad Xehanort wants to erase everything and start the world over, hyuk. 

This design has not aged well. I was in my early 20s when I played the first game, and I took the game for what it was--a weird mashup of DIsney and Square. The subject matter wasn’t very heavy. Awkward, spikey-haired protag joins forces with (sigh) Donald Duck and Goofy to save different kingdoms from the Heartless.

But then the story just got out of control. Over the course of several console and -ugh- phone games, about 20-30 or more characters are introduced, and that’s not including the Disney characters. For every game, about 5 new plot threads are introduced. The gravity of the situation, the main plot of stopping Xehanort, is strangled by the mounting unresolved plot threads. They just keep weaving together until you’re left apathetic yet still somehow thirsty for a conclusion.

You won’t get one. The end of KH3 is one giant slap in the balls, and I don’t have balls. My phantom testicles cried out like baked potatoes in the microwave when I watched the final cutscenes and post credits sequence. Just... wtf is this shit? Are you seriously not going to resolve more than half the shit presented to us over two decades? You’re seriously going to end it like that? A teaser for some new saga? You think I give a shit now, after you did this to my phantom nuts?

So, who is this game for? Well, considering they sucked about 95% of the Final Fantasy element out of the game but pumped it full of Disney commercials, you might say, Oh, it’s for kids. You’d be half right.

Let’s say the target audience is kids 15 and younger. They’re not going to have a clue what’s going on with the story. They might have played the collections which had some summaries of the story. They might have resorted to youtube and wiki for some explanations. If your game needs that much effort, I’m just going to assume that the audience is still going to be lost as hell on the story.

The Disney kingdoms are just there for fan service. In previous games, you had a purpose and a mission on each one. In 3, it feels like you’re steered toward them to watch a commercial. Sora’s only mission is to learn the “power of waking” (that’s KH babble for deus ex machina) and Organization XIII members show up to fart out some vague story bits. Other than that, he doesn’t really have a purpose being on any of those worlds. He never learns the power of waking, and it’s half-heartedly implied that his experience has made him stronger. It’s never implicitly explained or shown that he’s regained his memories or found new powers.

In a lot of the worlds, Sora is bearing witness to the actual plots of the Disney movies. The wildest part of this is that if you haven’t watched the movies, you would be lost on what is actually going on. The Kingdom of Corona was the first big offender. A lot of stuff happens off screen, and if you have not seen Tangled, it’s not going to make a lot of sense, regardless of how old you are.

You pretty much have to watch the Toy Story franchise, Tangled, Frozen, Big Hero Six, the first three Pirates of the Caribbean, etc. to be able to process what is going on because the story depends on it. It doesn’t stand up on its own.

That’s a lot of homework for a kid, if kids are the target audience.

That’s probably my biggest beef with the game--it’s tone deaf. If you peel apart the story and expose the potential outline underneath, it could be appropriate for all ages. But it’s layered with far too many characters, good and bad. It’s smothered with over five games worth of unresolved plot. And it’s coated in sugary Disney sweetness to appeal to kids (I guess???).

As for combat, it’s marginally improved, though I still felt like I spent more time flailing at enemies far away from me than was necessary. I think KH2 and Birth by Sleep were better, satisfaction-wise. The carnival rides were a bit much. They were overpowered and didn’t feel earned. I think I used links maybe six times in my entire playthrough (which means I only saw some of them once).

There are tons of mini games. Some are fun. Some are tedious. Flying the Gummi ship is super counter-intuitive, and I only became relatively good at it when I just started flying around destroying rocks for keyblade upgrade materials.I never bothered making my own custom ship, which is something I really enjoyed in previous games.

The game is beautiful. It’s never looked so good. But shiny, pretty graphics do not a good game make. Same goes for the music.

I’m sure I could continue ranting, but I think I made my point. I’m not sure who this game’s for, but if you have any inclination to play it or to introduce the series to someone, maybe don’t. It doesn’t leave me with any satisfaction for having played it. It introduces even more bullshit just to tease a new series (like, legit, you’ll see a couple old Disney villains talking about something THROUGHOUT the game and it goes no where). 

I... just want resolutions. Is that so difficult?

Instead, I have to imagine an ice pack for my imaginary balls.

[rocketpowerreg]

winter’s coming, soon after summer → rc cola

TAGGING → @rocketpowerreg​ @nicoladerocha​ TIME → Saturday, 9/7 Mid-afternoon LOCATION → Reagan’s floral shop NOTES → The one where Nicola and Reggie try to be civil with each other only for Nicola to accidentally reveal to Reggie that her closeted ex from North Carolina was a homophobic, cheating bully  AUTHOR’S NOTES → Remember when Nicola yelled at Reggie last summer? This is worse and she wasn’t even trying to hurt Reggie this time 

REGGIE CLIFFTON

"Mom, I'm good. Really. Promise-- don't worry about me." Reggie muttered into her phone, walking the streets of New York City with a skateboard under arm rather than under her feet, "Yeah, yeah, I know you still will, but don't. Love you, too." And with that, the call ended. While Reggie had had a rough couple of days in her head, she had thought going out and wandering the streets would help. It hadn’t , so the conversation had been a welcome distraction as Reggie aimlessly wandered sidewalk to sidewalk. Though now that she was off the phone, she was taking in the surroundings and recognizing she was by Raegan's flower shop. Rather than just go home she decided it was better to find another distraction. Her first instinct was to go to the shop and see if Rae needed an extra set of hands. But then she remembered the cook book they had talked about Raegan mentioned her shop sold and figured now was as good a time as any to thumb through it. Cooking had become a bigger escape for Reggie as of late. While she couldn't get herself past the mental blockade to get herself to be as physically active as before, at least her culinary skills were getting honed in on. With the anniversary of her injury recently passing, Reg was trying to have her mind be focused on doing something nice for her old soccer team rather than think about the day that completely ended her soccer career. That also had to be a good sign... right? 

"Hey, anybody home? Paying customer coming in, so if you're fucking in the back it's time to come out." Reggie announced, expecting to see the usual suspect of Raegan behind the counter, and potentially Matt coming from under it.

NICOLA DE ROCHA

While working in Reagan’s flower shop wasn’t exactly the job Nicola envisioned herself having post grad, she was so incredibly thankful for it.  April offered her a spot behind the counter at ACup, but Nicola didn’t dare tell her even the espresso machine looked intimidating.  Sure, she wasn’t exactly built for customer service, but she really shone when she was free to arrange the flowers.  What could she say?  Aesthetics were her thing.

As soon as she heard another voice never the shop, Nicola dropped her phone, as if she wasn’t just scrolling through Instagram and made herself look busy.  Her brows knit together as it was Reggie who entered the shop instead of Reagan, “Ew, don’t be vile, Cliffton... the rumored ‘brothel’ is the next block over,” Nicola teased as she occupied herself cutting ribbon like she was supposed to be doing in the first place.

“What are you doing he— “What brings you in today?”  She asked giving herself a major pat on the back for those seamless customer service skills.

REGGIE CLIFFTON

The moment there was a note for Reggie to be less... well, herself, she knew she wasn't running into the redhead she was thinking would be there. Instead, it was the brunette with a bite and a constant thorn in her side Nicola De Rocha. While unexpected, the amused smirk on her face showed it wasn't unwelcomed to see her. Especially in a rubber apron and with dirt potentially under her nails. It was satisfying, albeit, strange, "Nice save, De Rocha," Reggie teased, approaching the counter and turning on her heel to rest her back against it, "if I hadn't grown up knowing what neighborhood you lived in, I might have just figure this was your first job, not your first time living upon the working class." While Reggie didn't know all the details of what happened, she had come by Raegan's shop enough to of known the financial situation of Nicola had changed. Reggie wasn't the type to judge things like that, especially because in truth, she thought pretty fondly of Nicola. They came from different parts of the same state, and had been background players in each other's and Spencer's lives. Having that relationship change into something more of its own entity was also welcomed by Reggie. Her attention scanned over the shop, taking in all the various flowers, gardening supplies, and products that were currently on sale.

"I wanted to check out this cook book Raegan said she had in stock. It looks like things have gotten a little rearranged since the last time I was here," her head turned and eyes landed on Nicola with a knowing smiling, "I'm gonna take a wild guess you had a hand in making that happen, didn't you? When you can't change outfits as much, you might as well change shop." Laying it on thick was practically Regina's specialty, but she liked to think the both of them had thick enough skin and a complicated enough history that all the teasing was assumed to be from a good place. Usually.

NICOLA DE ROCHA

Nicola served an exaggerated eye roll as Reggie spoke next, but chose not to reply.  Maybe this was some sort of karmic revenge on Nicola.  She was known for making biting remarks concerning the neighborhood Reggie grew up in back In North Carolina after all.  Even before Nicola’s financial situation changed her eyes were peeled open to her born privilege.  It wasn’t lost on her that even now as she needed to work for a paycheck at a day job, her parents would bail her out it it really came down to it.  Being cut off started a point of contention between Nicola and Emilio de Rocha, and Nicola wanted to prove she didn’t need Daddy’s credit cards to make it in New York.

“Yes, I did have a hand in this, in fact I did it just to annoy you,” Nicola teased as she made her way from behind the counter.  As much as she wanted to leave Reggie to find the item herself, she figured she might as well make herself useful.  While potentially earn back some karmic points from all the times she made digs at Reggie’s expense.

“I believe you’ll find what you’re looking for in the newly reorganized kitchen goods section,” she offered doing her best Vanna White impression as she showed off the section of books.

REGGIE CLIFFTON

There was no denying that Nicola had a personality to her. Even when she was having to adjust to a world she used to look down on people for being part of, Reggie couldn't help but notice she kept her sharp wit and graceful elegance as if nothing changed at all. It was impressive as hell, but mostly, it was entertaining to lay witness to, "Oh ho ho, how fancy this place has become," Reggie pointed out playful exaggeration, pushing off the counter to make her way towards the designated section and bowing her head in polite thanks as she neared Nicola, "I'd say I'd like to buy a vowel, or maybe a book, but Lane seems to insist on having a 'people don't actually pay for things' policy." Reggie joked, knowing there was a a glimmer of truth to the statement. 

 Her eyes darted to the shelf, skimming cover to cover until they landed on the book in question. Or the one she assumed it was-- there would at least be some recipe she could use most likely, "It must be weird working for someone who's loaded. And someone like Raegan-- she's kind of like the nice version of the people from Wilmington. Which it makes sense that people like her weren't actually in it. The place might’ve been too bearable that way." Reggie glanced up and winked at Nicola. Sure, she did mostly mean the statement, but it wasn't meant to be a dig at the girl herself. In the past it might have been, but not anymore. Somehow, Reggie was sure she knew what she meant now that Nicola's horizons had broadened beyond that of their county lines and parents bank accounts.

NICOLA DE ROCHA

Not even Nicola could pretend like she could take any credit for Reagan’s shop being as elegant as it was.  She was simply given the creative space to make adjustments if it suited the aesthetic.  The changes could potentially catch fresh eyes and draw in new customers, maybe those business classes would be a total waste after all!  “I have noticed she runs her business like a Salvation Army, but it’s kind of sweet,” Nicola shrugged before adjusting one of the nearby bouquets.  “I mean it’s a terrible business model, but something tells me Reagan isn’t in this for the money.” 

 Nicola wanted to take offense to the comment made about the people from her hometown, but Reggie was kind of right.  Most of the people back in Wilmington were at best snobs and she chose not to think about what they were like at their worst.  “I want to argue with you but I’m constantly reminded that Spencer’s parents are Wilmington’s exception not the rule.  You should see what my old social circle is up to,” she added with an eye roll, this one surprisingly not in Reggie’s direction.  “They are all collectively turning into the worst kind of people."

REGGIE CLIFFTON

Grabbing the book off the shelf, Reggie let her focus be on thumbing through the pages of the recipes inside. If she was actually cooking, holding a conversation wouldn't be something she would want to continue. However, she was having a pleasant conversation with Nicola and that warranted to be enjoyed. The two didn't have a lot in common, and not in the cute way like Nicola and Spencer had. It was in a way where if they managed to not just stand awkwardly around each other, that was a feat. Maybe the two of them had changed in NYC more than it seemed. At least now they could poke fun at the people from back home together. 

 "Sorry, did you just say your old social circle? 'cause damn, they must really be some pieces of work if you're not even wanting to call them 'friends.'" Reggie playfully pointed out, looking back up at Nicola as she shifted her weight to lean on the display case, "But I believe it. No offense on anything, but I always hated whenever I went to your guy's school. You could just feel the judgement in the hallways. I don't know how you or Porter dealt with it daily."

NICOLA DE ROCHA

“They were hardly friends when I was in high school,” Nicola offered with a shrug.  Of course that realization had only come with the luxury of time, back then she was loyal to all they represented— being popular and more importantly being accepted.  They accepted her but that was because she stifled the parts of herself they wouldn’t have.  Nicola’s eyes darted to the book in Reggie’s hands at the mention of Spencer, considering she was the one who had to deal with the brunt of it all.  “None taken.  Considering I actively contributed to the culture… I really have no room to take offense.” 

 A thought occurred to Nicola as she remembered the atrocious group photo that had just popped up in her Facebook memories this morning.  Nicola pulled her phone out of the apron pocket, “Want to see a photo?  A throwback Thursday as the youths say,” she chuckled as she held up her phone.  “Bonus points if you can point out my beard."

REGGIE CLIFFTON

While Reggie was having no trouble scanning through the recipes and listening to Nicola, truthfully, Reggie had zoned out near the end. It wasn't Nicola's fault, or even Reggie's, it was just habit from having to learn drown Matt out since they had become roommates. So for a few seconds, Nicola's phone didn't get Reggie's attention and just remained suspended near her face. It was the few seconds of silence that made Reggie glance back up from the pages she was analyzing to be faced with a picture. One she had never seen before, but it had more than one familiar face.

"Jesus, what the fu-" Reggie started, her surprise quickly getting replaced with undivided attention. She stood straight up, hand reaching out to steady Nicola's phone and get a complete look of the photo. Her brow knitted together, eyes zeroed in on one face and one face only. A girl with dark hair, deep green eyes, and a smile Reggie knew all to well. Yet she could not even begin to understand what her ex-girlfriend was doing in a picture with Nicola DeRocha. Or any of what she called her social circle. Reggie desperately needed to know more, "Who is that? The chick between you and that guy? What's her deal?" Reggie had to stop herself from asking 'why is she there' as that was one she wasn't sure she would get, or want, an answer to .

NICOLA DE ROCHA

Honestly Nicola thought she was being playful and self deprecating by showing Reggie this photo.  It was the closest she’d ever had to an awkward phase, “Reggie, I have braces in this photo and I”m desperately hanging off a boy’s shoulder… this is prime roast material!”  Nicola’s eyes glanced back to the photo, and out of all eight teenagers posed, she couldn’t for the life of her understand why she’d focus in on Jinny Edwards of all people.

Foremost Nicola answered Reggie’s question with an eyeball, but maybe enough time had passed since high school where Nicola could find the humor in this situation.  “Jenna Edwards.  I don’t know what she’s up to these days because she blocked me everywhere, but at least she gave me an excuse to break up with my beard by making out with him a bunch junior year.  Still a total bitch move though, ya know?"

REGGIE CLIFFTON

Jenna Edwards 

 So it was was her. 

She blocked me everywhere 

Her Jinny had done that too. It absolutely was her. 

... making out with him a bunch junior year 

No. No. It couldn't of been her. 

Reggie felt a lump in her throat and looked at Nicola with eyes a little too dark to fully express how lost she felt hearing these things. Reggie and Jenna had been together for months by the time she transferred schools. Going to different schools didn't matter, her being in the closet didn't matter, her parents barely liking Reggie even as a friend didn't matter. It had made things harder, but they had never broken up before college. Not until after Reggie’s accident and certainly well after junior year of fucking high school. To say Reggie's mind was racing was putting it lightly, and it wasn’t helping her throat was closing up. It was getting hard to speak-- to say anything.

 "She... what?" Bewildered, that was her tone. She was at a loss, "He cheated on you with her? That's not... you're kidding right? You sure you're talking about the chick with the freckles?" On one hand, Reggie was pretty composed for someone who was feeling sick to her stomach. On another, it probably just seemed like she was surprised someone cheated on Nicola. Two things could be true, but she was much more focused on getting the truth on who Nicola knew Jinny Edwards to be and who Reggie had been perhaps too blind to see all along. 

NICOLA DE ROCHA

“I know, right?”  Fell a little too quickly from Nicola’s lips when Reggie seemed to be in disbelief that Nicola got cheated on.  At least that’s what it sounded like to her ears, and while she deemed Reggie’s doubt warranted… it wasn’t like Nicola had been a faithful girlfriend either, but least she had the good sense to trade up!  Nicola zoomed in on the photo, so it was cropped upon her ex and the girl in question, “Don’t let the freckles fool you, she was an obnoxious bully,” Nicola recalled with a shake of her head.  It wasn’t like the rest of her friends were much better, but as snobby as they were they never tore Nicola down.  At least now directly to her face.  “She called me d*ke-cola once— to moderate laughter, when I left a party early to hang out with Spencer.  I refuse to believe she clocked me by the way!  She was just being a bitch."

REGGIE CLIFFTON

A misunderstanding was all Reggie was hoping for at this point, but the moment Nicola had the picture zeroed in on Jinny there was no possible way this was. Nicola was a woman of many things, being this cruel wasn't one of them-- it was clear she had no idea who Jinny really was.  Or more like she didn't know Jinny's role in Reggie's life.  That part didn't surprise Reggie considering all the lengths she had gone through to keep them a secret. Hanging out in public was almost always met with a No, her going to Reggie's soccer games happened only before Jinny transferred, meeting any of her new friends from her new school was completely out of the question since Jinny said she "didn't have any," and the possibility of being together to the world wouldn't be allowed until they were in college-- far, far away from North Carolina. During the course of their relationship it had become frustrating keeping up with the rules, but Regina loved her. Jinny loved Reggie. And the world had told Reggie for years that love made everything worth it in the end... 

 It was now making sense why the couple winded up where they did. 

Throughout all the years since their break up, Regina had lamented herself for becoming a spiteful, awful person after her accident, especially to Jinny. For years Regina had seen Jinny as someone good in the world she had completely broke the heart and soul of from their constant fights near the end. She had never considered Jinny to be someone keeping secrets from her... especially ones of her bullying others with homophobia. The lips Regina had kissed and loved had also went around the school hallways saying slurs as jokes. It was sickening. It was infuriating. And god it was heartbreaking.

"I- uh, yeah. Sure. Maybe." was all Reggie managed to get out to Nicola after far too long of a silence. It was hardly answer but it was all she had after staring far too long at the photo again. Though, to be fair, Reggie wasn't exactly feeling the most present at the moment due to how much of her past just got shattered. She was beginning to feel herself questioning everything and it was getting to be heavy- too heavy. Reggie was starting to feel the weight of Nicola's words and the past actions of Jinny crushing her bit by bit. She felt like she was going to faint, or that the ground would swallow her up. For a moment, Reggie wished it would, because she couldn't stay where she was any longer. She needed to leave. She needed to stop looking at this picture. She needed to do fucking something. 

"Look, I... I gotta go, De Rocha, I can't fucking be here anymore," Reggie quickly tossed out, shoving the phone back towards Nicola as she could no longer keep looking at the picture. She didn't mean to have such a bite to her words, but currently Reggie's emotions were a little on the edge. Yet she didn't want Nicola to ask questions either, "I just... I feel sick or something so I'm... I'm gonna go. Thanks. I-I mean, sorry-- whatever. Fuck it. Who cares?" She muttered, looking for her skateboard so she could leave. The tone of Reggie's voice ranged all over: sincere, to unsure, to seemingly pissed. She could have explained herself better, but Reggie was in no place to. All she wanted was to get the hell out of Reagan's flower shop. She had no plans besides that. Given the entirety of what she thought to be true of her past was now in shambles, thinking beyond the current moment was impossible. Much like how her finding a way to get past this felt.

[mollyraesly]

Time with Wolves--Chapter 15

A/N: Sorry for the long wait!!

Once her midterms were finished, all Sansa wanted to do was leave campus as soon as she could. She boarded her train with such eagerness that the ticket collector seemed a bit concerned. “Are you alright, miss?” the old man had asked, not unkindly. “Yes,” she said with a polite smile. “Just eager to get home.”

“Where’s that?” “Winterfell,” she replied. “Ah, a Northern girl. What’s a lass like you doing so far South?” Sansa let out a sigh, but was saved from having to give an answer by a question from the next customer. She waved goodbye to the man and hurried to find a decent window seat. Throughout the train ride, she tried but failed to distract herself by answering neglected emails on her phone and flipping through the fashion magazines she’d bought; the latest couture couldn’t ease her antsy fidgeting and neither could boring administrative emails. So instead she turned to the window to watch the landscape pass by, her heart beating just a bit faster the further north the train went. When she finally stepped onto the station at Wintertown, the chill in the November air made her shiver. But she was grinning as she watched her breath form small clouds of white and gray wisps. The air felt crisp, like air ought to.  She rolled her suitcase through the crowd, searching for the exit. When she spotted her father waiting for her by one of the brick columns, tears welled in her eyes. Beaming, she hurried toward him. “Father!” Ned swooped Sansa into a strong hug, and in his arms she felt like a young girl again. “I’ve missed you,” Sansa told him, her voice cracking. “I’ve missed you too, little one. It’s not been the same without the whole pack together. But now you’re home, everything is just as it should be.” He kissed the top of her head and took her bags for her, and Sansa was reminded that the world still had true knights. She filled him in on how the travel had gone and on what she thought about her performance on her exams.

Ned did not seem overly concerned about Sansa’s academic performance, for no one put more pressure on her than Sansa did herself to do well in school. “You’ve always been so motivated, Sansa,” Ned said with pride. “I wish that would have passed on to Rickon.”

“Still having trouble?”

“Your mother and I are at Winterfell Middle School every other week,” Ned told her. “To be honest, I think they should give us a parking spot, considering how many kids we’ve sent through.”

By the time they got into his truck, the conversation had turned to the situation back at home. Sansa peppered him with questions so she’d be ready for what awaited her. Arya had already slept off her jet-lag, so she wouldn’t be a complete ghoul. Bran was still tinkering with his wheels to make them work better on snow—so she needed to watch out for puddles everywhere. Rickon was still grounded for setting Mr. Luwin’s pumpkins on fire on Halloween, and Robb had been dodging everyone’s questions phone calls of late so was expected to have some bad news he did not want to share. “And how’s Mom dealing with Thanksgiving prep so far?” Ned gave her a secretive smile. “That bad?” “You are as much needed as you are wanted, daughter mine.” When they arrived home, she heard her siblings before she saw them. The house smelled like dinner—beef stew with peas and onions—and the warmth of the heat engulfed her after the brisk walk from the driveway. “Look who’s here!” Ned called. “Sansa!” “Sansa!” “Sansa!” She was nearly tackled to the ground by Rickon. “You’re home!” Rickon screeched. “I’m home!” Sansa replied with equal enthusiasm. She planted kisses on his face, which made him scowl and her laugh. She then reached out to Bran and all but knocked his wheelchair over. “My genius brother!” she sang. “Oi! What does that make me?” Sansa turned around to find Robb. “My older brother!”  He, too, groaned as she kissed his cheek. “Where’s Arya?” But as she asked, her little sister appeared down the stairs, stomping in bulky combat boots. “Arya!” Sansa sang and threw her arms around her. “Look at you! You cut your hair!” Arya had cut her hair into a short choppy bob that fell just beneath her eyes. “Do you like it?” “I love it,” Sansa replied. She spotted some ink behind Arya’s ear. “Gods, did you get a new tattoo?” “Do you like it?” “I love it!” They all began to speak at once, until Cat called them into the kitchen. Sansa found her mother behind the counter with a somewhat frantic look.  “Sansa!” she exclaimed. “Thank the Gods you’re here.” She forced a meat thermometer into Sansa’s hand. “Here, I need you to check to the roast for me.”

A minute later, Sansa had washed her hands and was wearing one of the aprons she’d soon herself back in high school that had pumpkins and apples patterned all over it. As she was throwing a loaf of bread into the oven to get it nice and warm before serving, Cat scooped her into a hug.

“You grow more beautiful every day,” her mother said.

“You’re just saying that because I’m the only one who helps.” Most of her siblings subscribed to the philosophy of don’t be good at something you don’t want to do.

Cat sighed. “At least the only one who I can trust to help and do the job well. Do you remember when Bran volunteered to bake a cake two years ago?”

Remembering that catastrophe, and Bran’s disbelief that he could understand high-level physics but not how to crack an egg properly, they both broke into giggles that only faded when the fire alarm went off from all the rising steam coming off the oven. Dinner that night was loud and happy, as was Thanksgiving. Sansa peeled potatoes and diced onions till she thought her hands might go numb, but they managed to feed over 25 people—even more than usual, as Gendry and his mother had come, as well as Theon and his sister Yara. And Robb had unexpectedly brought his new and apparently serious girlfriend Jeyne Westerling, about whom none of them had heard anything. “Do you think she’s pregnant?” Arya had asked Sansa when they were sent into the linen closet to grab more napkins. “Arya!” “Her shirt looks a bit roomy. Did you see that puffy part at the belly?” “People dress casual for Thanksgiving,” said Sansa, trying to be nice and set a good example. “It is a holiday about eating.” She looked pointedly at Arya’s too-big leggings ensemble. “But c’mon, didn’t you see that bulge?” Arya goaded. “Old Nan saw that bulge, and she’s past her eighties!” Sansa hissed and then clasped her hand over her mouth in horror at what she’d just said. Arya cackled. “Why would Robb be so stupid to introduce her to everyone on Thanksgiving?” “Maybe he thought it’d be a good buffer? I mean, we can’t exactly ask him, in front of the turkey, can we?” “He’s a moron,” said Arya, looking very much like her birthday had come early. “This will be so fun.” “Oh, Arya, please don’t do anything to Jeyne.” “What about Robb?” “After Jeyne leaves, he’s fair game,” Sansa proclaimed. “But if that girl is knocked up with Robb’s baby, she’s suffered enough.” Arya feigned gagging. “What a Thanksgiving,” she observed with glee. “What a Thanksgiving,” Sansa agreed with a sigh. They didn’t tease Robb too much with Jeyne around, but the teasing was merciless as soon as she left—only stopping when Ned asked to have a private chat with his eldest. “Is Robb gonna get grounded?” Rickon asked. “Worse,” Bran said sagely. “I suspect he’s about to be forced to finally become an adult.” “That sucks,” Rickon observed. “Indeed.” Sansa did the dishes with her mother, who seemed to be taking out her frustrations on the good china. “Watch it, Mom. You’ll break the plate.” Catelyn turned to her oldest daughter. “Sansa, promise me you’ll be smarter than Robb.” Sansa grinned. “Aren’t I always?” She decided to let things cool down at the Stark household and went out the next morning for some Black Friday shopping. Retail therapy had always been Sansa’s preferred method of cheering herself up, pampering herself, or really just spending a Tuesday. She bought a pair of classy drop earrings, a beautiful suit and skirt combination at an upscale designer shop for a fraction of the cost, a gorgeous chess set for Bran, a new pair of mile-high combat boots for Arya that were electric blue and absolutely ridiculous, and some sweet infant onesies with ducks and baby elephants on them—just in case she’d be attending a baby shower in the near future.  Armed with lemonade and a cinnamon sugar pretzel, she left the mall and went to the wolf preservation. Combing her fingers through Ghost’s fur and feeling the warm heavy weight of him against her was exactly what she needed. “You are such a good boy,” she cooed while rubbing behind Ghost’s ears. “You’ll spoil him if you continue on like that,” Mr. Mormont warned. “He could use some spoiling. I don’t see him enough.” “You almost done with the South? When you coming home for good?” Sansa paused a moment before answering. “I’ve applied to law programs all around Westeros. I’m not sure where I’ll be next year.” “You know, Winterfell U has a good law program. No reason to travel the country when you can get a good education in your own backyard.” “Yeah,” she replied, thinking it over. She smiled at Mr. Mormont. “But just think how spoiled Ghost would be then.”

Mr. Mormont rolled his eyes. “You’d think he was a dog they way you treat that beast.” Her time with Ghost lasted for another hour before she needed to head home to help with dinner. She kissed his face, and Ghost silently purred.  “I hate leaving you,” she told him. “You think after a few years I’d be better at it. But no. I still cry every time.” Ghost gave her such a sympathetic look that Sansa felt like he’d really understood her. “Winterfell U does have a good law program,” she murmured under her breath. After dinner, Sansa was losing spectacularly to Rickon and Bran in a game of Mario Party — she always played Princess Peach, Rickon Wario, Bran Yoshi— when Arya barged in. “Wow, Sansa, you still massively suck at this game.” “Oh, quiet!” she hissed. “I’m doing my best.” “And your best is losing to the computer Waluigi.” Sansa pressed pause. “What is it?” “Do you want to go to The Bear and the Maiden Fair with me and Gendry in a bit?” Sansa sighed.  “What?” “Well, I just woke up so early today—“ “Your choice.” “And I’m still tired from last night.” “Your fault for being so helpful.” “And I don’t know if I can stay up that late.” “We’ll get you some caffeine.” “But—“ “Oh, c’mon, Sans. You’re leaving soon, and I won’t see you for months. Come out with us. Just a few drinks.” Sansa bit her lip. “Don’t they card at The Bear and the Maiden Fair?” “Yeah, so?” “Well, last I checked, you were still only 19.” Arya rolled her eyes. “Gendry knows a guy. C’mon, it’ll be fun. There’s going to be dancing.” “I do like dancing,” Sansa mused.

“And you can have an excuse to get dressed up.”

“I do like doing that.”

“And wear your new earrings,” Arya pressed.

“Oh, those are so cute,” Sansa sighed. “And I already told Gendry to pick us up in twenty.” “Minutes?” “No, decades.” Sansa gave her younger sister a frosty look she’d learned from her mother. “Gods, yes, minutes.” Sansa inspected her ensemble of warm gray sweatpants and Robb’s old sweater from high school. “I need to change.” Arya grinned impishly and gestured her head toward the paused screen. “I’ll fill in for you. Maybe you’ll finally win a mini game.” Sansa hurled her controller at Arya, who had the audacity to catch it easily.  As she made her way to the stairs, she heard her sister muttering complaints about her character choice. “Princess Peach is a feminist icon, and I will not hear any differently!” Sansa called as she climbed the stairs. “You can still wear dresses and be powerful!” “I know! I know!” Arya shouted back.  “This is the hill I’m prepared to die on!” Sansa sang. She put on a pair of navy tights, a green plaid skirt, and a matching sweater. The light makeup she’d put on earlier had held up, but Sansa swiped on just a bit more mascara and coated her lips with just a hint of lip stain. Old habits died hard, and she snuck into her parents’ room to spritz on her mother’s perfume. She found her father on the stairs. “Going out?” he asked. She nodded. “Arya wants to go to The Bear and the Maiden Fair.” “Don’t they—“ Ned began, but then he sighed. “I’m sure your sister has a way in all worked out.” He kissed Sansa on the top of her head. “Call if you need a ride home.” “We might be our late. I don’t want to drag you out of bed.” “It won’t be me.” Ned’s eyes glimmered. “Robb will be more than happy to come pick up his sisters and learn the importance of staying sober and being a responsible parent.” She and her father shared a look that was interrupted by Arya hollering her name. “Gendry’s here!” she screeched. “Let’s go!” “I’m being summoned.” Ned smiled. “Have fun, Sansa.” “Thanks, I’ll try.” Sansa should not have been surprised that Arya, who looked even younger than she was, was nevertheless right that she’d have no trouble getting into the bar, but she was still impressed when Arya handed her a lemon drop and a ginger ale. “How?” “I told you. Gendry knows a guy.” “But it’s illegal.” Arya shrugged. “Lommy doesn’t care.” “What’s a Lommy?” Arya motioned for Sansa to grab her drink. “Cheers!” She downed nearly half her beer while Sansa sipped daintily from her drink. “Oh, you can do better than that.” Arya observed. Sansa took a larger sip. “There. Happy?” “Not nearly.” Arya looked to the bar. “Lommy! We are going to need some shots.” “How many?” “Eight.” An hour later, Sansa had very much forgotten how tired she was as she, Arya, and Gendry danced to loud pop music. She couldn’t quite remember how many drinks she’d had, but she knew that Arya and Gendry had had more. Gendry was actually a good dancer, which she had not expected, as he was normally a bit stiff and tough. Maybe it was the fact that Arya was so much shorter than him, and so they had to find inventive ways to dance together.

Sansa was quite happy to stand beside them and dance along. She had gotten quite hoarse from shouting along to the lyrics, but she was grinning like a loon anyway. To her welcome surprise, she’d run into Loras, Margaery’s brother, and his new boyfriend Renly. After another round of shots, they’d all gone back to dancing, and Sansa laughed as the couple cooed over how attractive Gendry was. “He’s called the Bull!” Arya informed them. “For a reason!” “You did good, little Stark,” Loras said. “Very good!” “He did better!” Sansa shouted. “Look how beautiful my sister is! And so talented! And just the best. I’m so proud. Arya, you know I love you, right?” “I love you too!” “Let’s move back to Winterfell,” Sansa said. “I’m so tired of being so far away. Let’s come back—and—and we can be roommates!” “YES!” exclaimed Arya, punching the air.  But no further discussion was had, as a new song started playing—“The Dornishman’s Wife (Remix Version)”— and they all started screeching and stamping to the beat. An hour later, the effects of the alcohol, despite its copious amount, had begun to wear off, and Sansa was starting to feel tired. Loras and Renly had gone to the bathroom over twenty minutes ago and had never returned. Sansa, knowing Margaery, suspected they would not come back. “My feet hurt,” she whined to Arya. “Mine too.” Gendry leaned over to let Arya climb into his back. Sansa frowned. “We shouldn’t have drinked—drank—drunk—hah! grammar! Suck it, English! I know my past participles. I’m a fucking Queen!” “Sansa!” “We should get water.” Gendry nodded and started toward the bar. “We should call Robb,” Sansa announced suddenly. “Robb?” Arya asked. “To take us home. Gendry is too drunk to drive.” “S’ too loud. Won’t hear anything.” Sansa tried to respond, but her brain couldn’t think of any response. “I’ll text him,” Arya said as Gendry returned with water and struggled to make his way onto a barstool. She pulled out her phone, and her whole face scrunched in concentration as she typed. “He’s coming!” She declared after a minute. Sansa cheered.  They sipped their water and discussed the food they wanted to eat to sober up. “Pancakes,” Arya said. “Mmm,” Sansa agreed. “And bacon.” “Yes! And eggs.” “Fries,” Gendry volunteered. “And a cheeseburger.”

“Oh my god, yes, but with bacon.”

“Yes, and pancakes too. On the side.” Both Stark girls agreed that was the best option. “We should go to the Ice Shack,” Arya said. “Rob will take us.” “They have the best milkshakes,” Sansa sighed dreamily. “I’ve never been there,” Gendry said. The next ten minutes were spent by the two sisters trying to remember and describe everything on the menu to him. At last, Arya’s phone vibrated on the bar counter. “He’s here!” “Fries!” Gendry cheered. Sansa pulled on her coat and did her best to walk evenly out of the bar, Gendry and Arya ambling slowly and laughing behind her. They opened the back seat of Robb’s red Mustang and collapsed inside. Sansa fumbled with the handle, and with some muttering was able to fall with some grace into the front passenger seat. The dazed grin on her lips died when she turned to her left and saw that it was not Robb sitting behind the wheel. “Jon?”

[webcricket]

Looking Glass

Chapter 3 - The Quote Unquote Situation

Pairing: CastielXAU!Reader

Word Count: 1914

Summary: A summer hiatus series. The reader is a refugee from the apocalypse AU where angels pursue humans with righteous wrath under the rule of the archangel Michael. Against all odds, the reader awakens in a world where the apocalypse never happened and not everyone is who they seem to be. Does her heart truly long to save her world, or does it belong now to the last person she ever expected to give it to?

A/N: I know everyone is eager for the reader and Cas to properly meet and greet - it’s happening next chapter! Until next week, feel that slow summer simmer...

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Sam’s gaze locks on his brother’s mouth flexing wide; hazel horror enlarging in the suspense, his own mandible gapes and aches with a pang of physical sympathy at viewing the freakish yawn of square jawline. A cringe creeps across his shoulders, constricting the muscles there so that his neck recoils into itself. Unable to tear his aghast gawp from the impending massacre, he rubs the phantom pain afflicting his chin with a thumb and watches.

Jaw unhinged and snake-like, Dean’s teeth and lips warp in seeming docudrama slow motion to engulf a full corner of a meat-stuffed soggy sesame seed bedecked bun swimming in red sauce. A piece of saturated bread sheers away under the stress, carrying with it a rubbery appendage of artificial orange cheese that extends from his grease glistening fingers to the plate.

Sam can almost hear a melodramatic British narration of the scene in the dull background din of the diner: ‘Witness the fervor of the squirrel – that eager huntsman of epicurean delights – consuming what may be his final meal in single-minded preparation for the coming wintery apocalypse.’ If it were farther from the truth, it might be funny. Despite this grave thought, Sam tries a relaxed smile on for size so as not to dampen his brother’s glad mood.

The elder Winchester lets out a long, low, and borderline sinful groan of decadent approval; a stupid gooey-gummed grin stretches his stuffed cheeks. Freckled lids flutter to drape across greens glittering with wanton gluttony. “Ohmygod,” he moans around the mouthful of chili cheeseburger ecstasy. With no room for spoken words to escape, gobs of chili dribble from the corner of his overfull mouth and ooze down his shirt with every muffled syllable. “You have to try one of these!”

Staggered to silence by the sloppy show, Sam’s slim smile curls up and twitches on one side in a patent blend of outward revulsion and amusement as Dean devours another bite before bothering to swallow the first.

For the Winchesters – Dean in particular – it’s often like this on the other side of a whopping failure sandwiched by a win. Food, drink, and a frivolous attitude abound to celebrate a turnaround in their favor. It’s Dean’s version of having room to breathe after having a portion of the weight of the world lifted from their chests; Sam generally obliges to play the role of hapless bystander.

For the moment, anyway, the knockout punch of losing Gabriel and their source of rift-revealing archangel grace to use to journey to the Armageddon-devastated universe to rescue their mom, Jack, and – if they’re feeling magnanimous – maybe even Ketch, is semi-superseded by Rowena’s redemption; after all, she’s a powerful ally. Sam allows himself to crack a compact authentic smile about that witchy bit of progress. Perhaps the situation finally is turning around for them.

Dean’s cell phone, discarded on the tabletop in front of him beside an as yet unused napkin, jumps to life; it vibrates and blasts out the opening instrumental of Stairway to Heaven. Gastronomic orgasm denied mid-chew, the hunter drops the dripping burger on his plate with a juicy slosh. He smacks his sticky hands together; and in lieu of the obvious choice of using the readily available napkin, he swipes his messy fingers across his pants. “It’s Cas,” he mumbles.

“Ya think?” Sam sasses, spiking a brow as if he didn’t already know by the not-so-subtle ringtone.

Dean scowls at his brother. Wiping his face with the back of a sleeve, he snatches up the phone. “Hey Cas! You’re not dead!” He punctuates the proclamation with a smirk even though Cas can’t see the facial quirk to appreciate it; not that he isn’t happy their angelic ally is alive – he’s thrilled – it’s just that this ‘Hail Mary!’ notion of his to ask Heaven for help was an idiotic gambit in a long line of rash ideas using the angel’s own life as collateral again.

Castiel’s blues spin upward in their sockets to regard the drab grey ceiling of the bunker hallway. He can hear both the conflict of condescension and relief fringing in Dean’s tone. He’ll never admit it aloud to his friend, but in instants like this a simple ‘Hey man, I knew you’d get through this one!’ would go a long way toward bolstering his ever-floundering morale. Instead, he finds Dean’s default setting of shocked sounding jocular jabs when wrong about stuff – stuff like the wisdom of Heaven’s arguably second least favorite fallen son trying to crash the pearly gates to implore aid and the peril of undertaking such a task – pointless and demeaning redirection.

He’s a billion-odd-year-old being capable of making his own decisions – poorly informed, plotted, or otherwise – and taking responsibility for the outcomes. He asked Dean once to show him some respect; he’s still waiting on it. And anyhow, if they’re keeping tabs on who has died or almost died more times in desperate dim-witted self-sacrificing plots to save the day, Dean’s the one with the winning score. The angel offers a snarky rejoinder instead of pointing out this fact. “While I appreciate your unwavering confidence in my ability to not get dead again, this isn’t about the angels.”

“It isn’t?” Dean laughs in nervy anticipation of the update’s evidently non-angelic punchline even though he knows odds are the joke won’t be remotely funny and invariably involves worse news; Cas is just about the least hilarious – on purpose – person he knows.

“What’s going on?” Sam prods from across the table. He recognizes his brother’s uncomfortable chuckle. “Is it about Gabriel?”

Dean catches the angel’s slow nasal inhalation of breath happening through the speaker. Shaking his head, he holds up an admonitory finger at his brother to beg silence.

After a pregnant pause and a quick glance at the locked door of the bunker sleeping quarters room designated by the number 15 – which also happens to be the angel’s chosen room – as he paces by it on hallway patrol, Cas states, “I’m in the bunker and we have a . . . situation.”

“What kind of situation? Did you drink the last beer?” In Dean’s mind this is both the best and worst case scenario defining a situation at the bunker.

“Situation?” Forehead corkscrewing into a knot in the middle, Sam ignores Dean’s warning digit.

Peeling the phone from his ear, Cas halts in the hall to grudgingly glower at it; and via it, Dean. Snorting sharp through his nose, his frustration flecked blues again roll skyward at the Winchester taking nothing about this call seriously. He regrets not choosing to call Sam instead. Pinching the bridge of his nose, jamming the device back to his ear, he grumbles, “Dean, this is serious.”

Air of good humor precipitously threatening to plummet, Dean gripes in retort, “It’s you, of course it’s serious. Once, just once, maybe you could lighten up a little bit.”

“Need I remind you that Michael is maneuvering as we speak to breech the walls of his world to crossover and destroy this one, and you’re suggesting that I lighten up?” Cas doesn’t bother to repress the gravel of a reproachful rumble grating his voice.

“Just a little bit,” Dean answers in smug satisfaction at successfully riling the angel who ruined his lunch.

“Perhaps that would be a viable option if your apocalyptically traumatized houseguest hadn’t attempted to murder me a few minutes ago with a meat cleaver in the kitchen and then barricade herself in my bedroom after she fled.” And here his friends had conveyed worry about homicidal angels – all the extant nine or ten of them currently keeping Heaven from flickering out of existence forever; not that anyone’s going to ask him about that concerning development.

It sounds too much like a rousing game of Clue for Dean not to snicker. “She tried to off you . . . with a meat cleaver?”

“What’s going on?” Sam asks, making a mental note to request that Cas call him first in the future – if only for the sake of efficiency.

Cas huffs a longsuffering sigh, “Well, Dean. Evidently she thought the bag of flour and variety of canned goods hurled at my face weren’t sufficient to subdue me although I offered no protest. Suffice to say, she’s not a big fan of angels. Though, along with the physical violence, she used much more colorful phrasing to make the point.”

Dean scoffs, “Why the hell did you tell her you’re an angel? You know where she’s from angels are public enemy number one.”

“That’s the problem – I didn’t say anything; I didn’t have to. Somehow, she knows me; knows my name. And she’s absolutely terrified of me. I don’t know what to-”

“Alright,” Dean interrupts, gathering the gist that he and Sam need to hoof it back to the bunker before their rescued apocalyptic butterfly takes flight and flaps her wings to cause chaos somewhere in their world. “We’re a half day’s drive out. Hang tight.” He shoves his plate aside with a frown, muttering, “And maybe in the meantime, try apologizing or something to smooth things over.”

The angel’s brow furrows at the proposal insinuating he wronged you. “Apologize for what?” Apologize for healing you? For being courteous? For being . . . himself?

“Figure it out.”

“Dean? Dean!” Call disconnected, the angel clamps his fingers across the black screen and drops his arm limply to his side. When it comes to the number of times a pair of angelic eyes can ascend to their heavenly zenith as a result of a solitary phone call, Castiel holds the record encompassing all of creation. Glaring at a cobweb strung across a corner of the ceiling, the confused notion he should be sorry nonetheless niggles him. In healing you, he remembers the rejuvenating touch of his grace brushing the outskirts of the charred wasteland of your mind – a swath of still smoking cauterized devastation where he did not dare venture without permission. He remembers the broken vow necessity of what he did to Donatello. He wonders if he – the other him – did that to you.

You lift your earlobe from where it’s been compressed to numbness listening to the conversation happening outside the wooden door. Looking at floor, in the trickle of light streaming through the space at the bottom of the doorframe into the darkened room, you see the shadow of the seraph shift, hesitate, then disappear. The words he spoke to this Dean character echo in your mind and wobble your legs: ‘Need I remind you that Michael is maneuvering as we speak to breech the walls of his world to crossover and destroy this one . . .’

Sinking to sit, you wrap your arms around your knees and continue to anxiously watch the gap of uninterrupted light for any sign of his return. Your body rocks in a reflex of comfort. Michael’s world, you think, your world. And . . . this one. It would explain why Castiel, this Castiel, appeared so genuinely startled when you lashed out at him. Why he didn’t attack. Why he mustered only enough movement to shield himself and clear a path for you to escape. And also why he hasn’t broken down the door to finish his fiery interrogation.

You shiver and hug your limbs tighter. Or maybe this is all a part of his sadistic endgame – a trick of the mind meant to confuse you, to dupe you into letting down your guard – smoke, and now mirrors.

Next: Ch. 4 - Somewhere Under the Rainbow

[sunstriderling]

gency, genji teacher and mercy as school nurse au thing? cat cafe au where either genji or mercy is the owner and one of them wants to adopt a cat?

[ one light canon divergent cat café AU coming your way.]

The crowded street leaves a small opening for the man standing behind the window. At first, Angela doesn’t pay much attention to him; he looks like a war veteran, hood pulled up over his head and the exposed wrist visible from the wrinkled sleeve of his dark shirt mechanical, implying a non-civilian grade prosthetic. She sees them every now and then, comes with the field - she used to see them a lot more, but after the incident, after moving here, she’s just tried to not think about it. The war, the suffering, the prosthetics, none of it has place in her mind today.

She turns the page of her book like her gaze from the man, sips her coffee, and plants the mug back on the desk. Her feet are propped up on the stool next to her and on her lap, a slim grey cat with dark stripes naps peacefully. Before carrying on reading, she’s distracted by the milk splatter pattern over the animal’s small muzzle, and the shivers of its whiskers, the attentive twitches of its ears perceiving the sounds of its dreams. If she didn’t respect the cat’s sleep, she’d touch those small, silky paws gripping her jeans now, but… she’d rather let the creature rest.

Interrupting her, the door bell chimes as a customer walks in; she lifts her gaze, as does the cat on her lap, although the cat is less attentive than she is. And that’s when the odd feeling of familiarity strikes her. No - she’s seen this man before.

He walks in the café, a hesitant gait to his steps, like he’s not used to moving in the daylight.

”Can I help you?” she asks him, but her voice is weak and cracks and he doesn’t even seem to hear her. Instead, he stops, looks around and then kneels slowly onto the floor, reaching out his hand to let a cat make acquaintances with his scent.

She sees his hand, and she recognises it immediately. Every piece, every joint, every pad and every curved plate - it’s her work. Her design.

The cat slips down from her lap as she stands up, stunned and barely realising she’s moving. She skips forwards and moves faster than intended, until she’s standing next to him, and he’s standing up very slowly in comparison, his red-tinted eyes examining her with the shock of recognition widening them. She hears him breathe out, but she’s holding her own gasp.

”Angela?” he calls her name the very same instant she breathes out his; Genji.

A stunned silence later, her gasp and his defeated laughter mix the same as their words did.

”Out of all people…” he mutters, turning his gaze away.

”Where have you been all these years?” she asks him, and he’s motionless for some time.

Then, as if deciding there’s no way to avoid this, he returns to her.”Looking for myself,” he tells her quietly, the same accent tinting his familiar voice, now less rough and lacking the edge it once did, ”How about you, Doctor Ziegler? I heard you are no longer in the field.”

She shakes her head.

”Painful subject, huh,” he fills in the following silence, something of a smile playing in his tone.

”I suppose it would be the same for you,” she says, and he nods.

”Perhaps we should sit down, then,” he suggests, ”and speak of other things. Perhaps we should meet as strangers today, forget about the things that we do not wish to speak of.”

Angela looks around, her eyes staying upon a white round table for two in front of an old-fashioned window, the frames of which are painted with white, although the surface is now peeling in that charming fashion that the whole interior design supports. The pillows on the windowsill are taken by a white cat that seems to melt into its surroundings; she’s a mixed breed female named Valkyrie, and she’d raised her herself. Weeks of hand-rearing after the cat’s mother had rejected her had made Angela quite fond of her, and out of all these cats, she’s the one whose papers she signed for herself - she’s the one she brings to her upstairs apartment with her every evening after closing, and who sleeps on the pillow next to hers in the creaky, heavy-framed bed that came with the place.

”Would you like -” she starts, but then she looks at him and her smile climbs up to a crooked, apologetic tone.

”Were you about to ask me what I would like to drink, Angela?” Genji asks her, a hint of tease in his voice.

”Perhaps.”

”In that case, I would very much like a glass of water, or if you have herbal tea, then only that, the flavour does not matter; no honey, sugar, milk, or anything else that would cause my system to suffer shock.”

She sighs.”Genji, I -”

”Do not apologise, Angela. It has been years since you last saw me. If I read your approach right when you came to me, it seems that you did not, at first, even recognise me. I am a different man now.”

He reaches up to his hood, pulling it down from over his messy dark hair; his mask is still covered under the high collar of his shirt like a bandana, but she can see the framework disappearing underneath his skin around his temples anyway. Genji tilts his head and examines her for a moment.

”You have not aged much,” she tells him, averting her gaze as she speaks the words.

”Neither have you,” he notes, ”At first, it made me quite uncomfortable. I felt like a cyborg vampire, as if by denying me my aging you’d denied me the shreds of humanity that remained within me. Then I understood this is nothing but a side-effect of everything you did to keep me alive. Side-effect of, if I am correct, the treatments I received to help my body recover and regenerate fast enough to survive?”

She nods slowly.”You said you would like herbal tea. We do serve that. If you’d take a seat and give me a moment,” she speaks quietly, and he nods gracefully, stepping aside without hesitation.

He seats himself by Valkyrie and the window; Angela thinks he had to notice her gaze stopping there. As she turns the opposite way, she sees him offer his hand to Valkyrie as well, and the cat - well accustomed to disabled visitors - gives him a lazy sniff before flopping back onto her pillow. As Angela sets to prepare the tea, she watches his fingers run over the cat’s soft, thick, long fur, and her mind, it seems, has gone back ten years or so in a matter of an instant. She’s reading his movements, the shifts in his body language, to determine the functionality and sensitivity of his prosthetics; she can perceive pleasure in him each stroke, the pleasant communication of a comfortable texture against the sensor pads in his hands, the radiation of calming warmth from the body of a domesticated animal, and from that she can assess that his systems are still functional and provide him the necessary stimulation and support for the production of situationally appropriate brain chemistry responses. She’d love to shut all this off and just look at him like she’d look at any figure from her past, but Genji’s not just anyone. He’s never been.

She places two mugs on the table, one steaming infusion of orange blossoms and ginger on his side, and her own cooled down coffee on the other. She doesn’t mind the state of her drink. She knows she’ll barely taste it now as she sits down, her gaze meeting the intensity and sharpness of his.

”What drove you here? You are not a waitress, Angela.”

”No, I am not. I am a barista, and a co-owner of this establishment.”

”Who’s the other half?”

”Amari’s daughter, Fareeha. She’s still working in the military, but this was her brainchild, and it is a home away from home for her.”

Genji nods.”So you still keep in contact with our past. I thought otherwise. This looked like a hideout. That is what dragged me in; I thought, of all places, my past would not haunt me here.”

He looks amused, and Angela can’t help but laugh at his words.

”I suppose we are two ghosts running for the same hills, then,” she says, ”But no, I do not keep contact - I avoid it as much as possible. Fareeha is a dear friend, however. I could not… say no when she called me. We talk on the phone often, these long conversations - often late in the night - that are mostly fantasy about what could be, the lives we would have lived in another world, but somehow this fantasy stuck and, driven by some madness or another, we… made it reality here in New York.”

He nods again. This time, he stays silent for some time after, looking out of the window; the scenery has turned rainy now, with streams of water running steadily down the stainless glass separating them from the early fall’s chill.

”I am not saying this to blame you, Angela, but… don’t you ever think about all those people who need you out there?” he asks.

She feels chills rushing through her spine. Tears sting at her eyes immediately, and she chokes on the sip she takes from her mug.

”Every day. Every hour, Genji.”

”How did you walk away, then?” he asks her.

”How did you? One day, after what happened with the headquarters, I just walked away. I do charity work even today. I haven’t left it all behind, I cannot escape my calling, but - but I cannot bear the weight of it on my own, and I lost faith that night in - I don’t want to say the world, Genji, but the world. There is so much suffering, and I’ve seen so much of it. And one day, I just couldn’t anymore.”

”So you… started hoarding cats.”

”I started hoarding cats.”

Once more, he nods. It seems to make sense to him. He’s not even laughing. Instead, his fingers bend carefully around the edge of his collar, tug it down, and he spends some time undoing the plate covering the lower part of his face. Beneath it, his face - his cheeks, his jaw, every bone in his face - is mostly reconstructed. Even his tongue, which he runs carefully over his sensor-ridden lip crafts, is artificial. She doesn’t look at him; as a doctor, she knows better than to stare, and she’s seen all of this before. Others, however, have not; there aren’t many, if any, people as profoundly damaged and as heavily modified as Genji Shimada. She can hear the few other customers turning to stare at him now, prompted by one another’s growing curiosity. To her surprise, however, he doesn’t seem to mind it so much now. He brings his drink to his lips, breathes it in through his nostrils into the filters that Angela crafted within to replace his olfactory functions, and lets out a soft breath that ripples over the surface of his drink.

”Blossoms and ginger,” he identifies the infusion, his eyes flickering over to Angela, who nods; her eyes turn to his, carefully at first, but when he shows no sign of discomfort, she lets her head turn back towards him.

”When you came here,” she starts then, ”You looked lost, but like you were lost with a purpose. You came here for something but you didn’t seem confident about your reasons.”

”Ah,” he lets out, ”Yes. You are as keen as ever. I did come here for a purpose. See - I have decided to settle down, Angela. Yesterday, I laid down my bag in an apartment on the seventh floor of an old apartment complex with cracked walls and splintered ceiling looking out at a busy modern street below, illuminated by these yellow, old-fashioned lamps and the glow of neon from the outside world, and for the first time in years, I unpacked everything. And as I was unpacking, I realised that I was quite miserably lonely, you see. A plan formed in my mind, that I told myself I would think over for a while before putting it in motion, yet… here I am today, with everything ready back at the place I suppose I should now be calling ’home’.”

She listens to him, her lips bending over the edge of her mug again, leaving no lipstick stains over the china - she’s not putting on a face for anyone anymore. It doesn’t seem anyone notices, or cares; they’re here for the cats, and she’s just part of the decor, a lonely, fair but disheveled-looking woman with young skin and an old heart.

”Would you have a suggestion for me, Angela, if I came here like any other customer and told you that I am quite lonely and on the lookout for a loving companion I could bring home with me, to cherish and care for in return for his or her warmth and presence and, I would hope, love?”

For some time, her eyes are glassy as she stares at the table between them. Then, she looks up at Valkyrie; it’s by instinct, not by reason, brought upon the combination of factors she’s looking for. Yes - Valkyrie is, by far, the best adapted cat in the establishment when it comes to disabled customers. She doesn’t mind the difference between the touch of skin and the touch of a prosthetic sensory pad as long as the caress it brings is gentle and loving; she’s calm in demeanor, but quirky and fun-loving when prompted, friendly and easily adjusting, unfazed by change of scenery, and perfectly content living in and out of the company of other felines.

But she’s hers. There is no separation between them. Slowly, she turns her gaze back to him and blinks, finding him calmly waiting for her to recover.

”Would you like me to rephrase any of that, Angela? You seem distracted,” he tells her, a vague tease in his voice.

She chuckles, shaking her head. She sighs as she lays her arm on the table, her fingers playing around with the stack of napkins at the side of the table.

”I know the perfect cat for you,” she tells him, a weight in her chest, ”the problem is, she’s the one that I own.”

”Oh? I can’t take your cat, Angela. Choose another, then.”

”No. It’s not about that. She’s the perfect match for you, in every way, as if - it was meant to be.”She smiles quietly. Perhaps she knew this day would come.”I raised her from a young kitten, she is… family to me, but my heart knew she is what you need the moment you spoke those words. It happens often, you know; someone walks in here, and I can tell from that moment, this cat was meant to be with them. This person was always meant to come here and leave with this animal, like they were bound together before they ever met. I just - perhaps did not expect that animal to be the one I picked off the streets. I always assumed she would stay with me.”

”Angela… She is your pet, not mine.”

She shakes her head.”You should at least consider it.”

”I cannot consider it.”

”Perhaps we can reach an arrangement,” she says then, lifting her gaze to him, this time quite confident - it brings out something in her, a memory, or a ghost, of the doctor she used to be.

”What would you propose?” he asks.

”That you meet this cat, firstly,” she tells him, ”I do not give away animals based on some vague instinct and a sense of destiny. You have to get to know her and confirm that this is the cat you want to take home with you, and you have to love her and promise that you will take the best care of her that you are able to provide, and that that care will meet her needs. You have to be a match not only in my mind but in the real world. And then, if all goes as I think it will go, and it usually does… you keep coming back here for some time, to her, instead of taking her with you right away. You said settling down made you feel lonely - as a professional, I can tell you that simply adopting a cat will not make you feel less detached, less out of place, even if a cat will provide you the love and warmth that you, as a human being, need to feel content. Coming here, to this café, on the other hand… will make you connect with other human beings. It will give you a routine, which is necessary in forming healthy habits in a new environment. It’ll give each of your days a purpose until you find something else; a job, perhaps, or a relationship, or a network of friends that will keep you otherwise occupied. Maybe all of these things will be coming your way sooner than you think. And when you’ve built up a proper relationship with your new cat, you can then take her home with you.”

”And where do you fit in this picture, Angela?” he asks her, his voice softer than before; he sips his infusion once more as he waits for her answer.

”Me?” she repeats, confused and thrown off her prescription.

”Yes, you. The way I am hearing it - you are the owner of this cat that I am being set to adopt now. You are the co-owner of this café, and a barista, which I suppose means that should I keep returning here, I will be seeing much of you as well.”

”Would you rather go somewhere else?” she asks, ”Somewhere that doesn’t remind you of the things you left behind.”

”No,” Genji says calmly, ”I am not saying I do not wish to come back here because of you, no. I am merely curious - are you lonely as well, Angela? Would you - perhaps like to start over with me, as a man who walked into your establishment looking for a warm drink and some company, and maybe in time forge a new friendship with me? You suggested that I would greatly benefit from such, and now I have met you, have I not? Maybe this is a good place to start from.”

She feels a distinct hotness spread over her cheekbones. Caught me, she thinks quietly - and she didn’t even realise that this was at the back of her mind this whole time. A defeated sigh leaves her, and her eyes bounce towards the rainy window as she sips her cold coffee before laying it down and looking firmly at him.

”I am not opposed to this arrangement. So be it, then, Genji; tomorrow, I would like to see you here again for another drink and a playdate with our felines.”

He smiles, nodding.”Of course. I will be here, then.”

”Good. Now - would you like to meet this cat I keep speaking of?”

”Yes,” he tells her, ”I cannot wait.”

Her eyes turn towards the long white cat stretched on the windowsill, and Genji’s hand still stuck in her warm fur.

”Well, there she is. Say hello to Valkyrie,” she huffs, her eyes beaming teasingly as she turns for him once more.

He lifts his brows, chuckles, and turns towards the cat in his chair.”Hello, Valkyrie,” he says, his fingers sliding up to her ears, stroking gently over them as the cat opens her bright blue eyes, ”My name is Genji, and I hear that you’ve been waiting for me.”

[imaginationstimulation]

He cupped the two halves of my tush and spoke directly to them. “Run away with me, girls,” he whispered. “She doesn’t understand our love.”

I lay still, staring out the window, letting them have their time together. If I protested, I’d only make his case stronger: I’m less fun than my own butt. Which is not untrue. In my essence, I am a stone, unmoving for ten thousand years, unless picked up and moved. It’s not just sex; I find this whole experience—life—gratuitously slow and drawn out. See it crawl, second by fucking second. If I’m a workaholic, it’s only because I hate work so much that I’m trying to finish it, all of it, once and for all. So I can just ride out the rest of my life in some kind of internal trance state. Not a coma but, like, a step above that.

Our son, Sam, trotted in sleepily, and I warned him not to get in the bed: “It’s all bloody.” Alex quietly removed his hands from my body; he hadn’t noticed that I was bleeding. Sam pulled back the sheets and studied the mess, smiling giddily. “You got your period.”

“Yes.”

“You said it was coming soon and you were right!”

“Yep.”

This new generation of men has been taught (by me) to feel excited about the menstrual cycle. It’s like tadpoles turning into frogs or the moon that follows them wherever they go. I’ve been waiting a long time to have my period cheered on. More and more women my age have given up on our men and are getting together with millennials, youngsters raised by women who were born in the sixties, rather than the forties. I hear it’s great. Not a lot of hangups. But that isn’t an option for me because I need a man with a historical perspective that encompasses my whole lifetime. If anything, I regret not having met Alex sooner. If we had met at my birth and I had been able to assess how narcissistic my parents were, I could have left the hospital with Alex and got started on our relationship immediately. He would have been eight years old—young, but not too young to keep me alive. I need that in a man.

Sometimes my love for him is so intense that I want to crawl inside his body. I want him to be pregnant with me and never give birth, just hold me in. At other times, I wonder, Who is that guy? And why is he in my house? When I get that look on my face, he sticks out his hand and says, “Hi, I’m Alex. Your husband.”

Sam used his small pointing finger to tap each old bloodstain on the sheet; they dated back more than a decade, a disgusting constellation. It was one of those things you didn’t notice until suddenly you did. Like ants. Like everything.

I dressed and brushed my teeth. If I went to the mall immediately and got a new sheet, then the chore wouldn’t have time to gather weight. Once a task goes on the to-do list it settles in, grows roots—the trick is to preëmpt that. I could get a tent light while I was there. We were going camping the next weekend with another family, although unfortunately I wasn’t sure I would be able to join. Too much work to do.

“I can get new sheets,” Alex said, slowly climbing out of bed, limb by limb. Sam asked if we would be watching TV today, yes or no.

“Not sheets—just one fitted sheet. There’s only one place that sells Cariloha-brand California-king sheets individually. What is it?”

“Macy’s?”

“Nope.”

“Amazon?”

“Definitely no. I told you about my bad experience—”

“You did. I forgot.”

Bedding is an unregulated corner of Amazon, where companies charge radically different prices for the same bad sheets. You can’t even get nicer sheets by paying more—money has no meaning there. And don’t bother typing in words like “Egyptian cotton” or “thread count”—you’re just offering them more precise ways to bamboozle you. Get up, find your keys and your purse, and go outside. I hate it as much as anyone, but sometimes you just have to.

My plan was to park on the street and walk into the mall, get the sheet, and go. By not parking in the parking garage, I would outwit the psychology of the mall designers who wanted you to sever ties with the outside world. But walking in off the street was disorienting. I entered through Bloomingdale’s and had to wade through the store; it was like pushing through coats to enter Narnia. Once I made it into the mall, I had no idea where I was. It took me a long time even to find a map, then I traced my finger back and forth between You Are Here and the Low Cost Luxury Sheets Kiosk to memorize my path. The man standing next to me took a picture of the map and then trekked on, studying his phone. Pretty clever. As I walked, I glanced sideways at his tan, brawny body and floppy brown hair, just to confirm. Yes. He was a famous person. An actor. Or maybe a hotelier. Maybe this was André Balazs or whatever his name was. No, an actor. Electricity revved through my veins for no particular reason, just as a courtesy to his stature. I kept an eye on him as I walked toward the sheet kiosk, bracing myself for the moment when he would peel off in another direction. But he didn’t; we continued walking alongside each other, and I began to feel that we were together. And he kept looking at me, out of the corner of his eye. This couldn’t be true but it was. Somewhere between BabyGap and Lady Foot Locker the tables had turned. Now he recognized me.

I was twenty-two when the video was shot. I needed quick money so I could get out of a bad relationship—not a lot, just first and last and a security deposit. I couldn’t admit my plight to my parents, because I had already done this and they had written me a check, with great relief, and that was what my quasi-abusive boyfriend and I had been living off for the past six months. He had come up with the ploy.

“Make it sound bad but not too bad. Don’t say I hit you. Say I threw a chair at you or something.”

“You did throw a chair at me.”

“Obviously I wasn’t fully serious when I did that.”

I felt obligated to stay until my parents’ money ran out, since asking for it had been his idea. Then he punched not my face but the wall right next to my face and I had to move very quickly from terror to concern and rush him to the emergency room, where a young, temporary doctor said that we could either wait four hours for the real doctor to arrive and fix the bone in my boyfriend’s hand or let him “have a go.” The temporary doctor high-fived me after he’d popped the bone back in.

The next morning, I woke up early and walked down to the cluster of newspaper boxes in front of the old people’s bar, and discreetly pulled out the sex-themed paper. I’d always known that this option would be there for me if I really needed it. Just as my parents were there if I really needed them, except for this one time.

I chose the job that seemed to offer the most money for a one-time deal. I thought that they would shoot it in a hotel but it happened in an apartment, on an old couch. I wasn’t directed so much as given a series of props to make my way through, like an obstacle course. A turquoise Teddy bear, a pillow, an empty beer bottle, a metal bowl. Not everything was clear to me (the bowl), but I was too nervous to speak; I just laughed again and again to demonstrate consent. My biggest fear was that one of these men, the man with the lights or the cameraman, would misinterpret my nervousness and halt everything, shutting down the set on the ground that I was being objectified against my will. At that age, I assumed that everyone, deep down, was a feminist. So one had to be careful not to trigger feminism where one didn’t want it.

I was waiting for a costume, something black and sexy or pink and trashy that would help catapult me out of myself. Instead, a man with a baseball cap, who was maybe the director, just said, “O.K., we’re rolling.” I was in shorts, a T-shirt, and sandals. I looked down at my shirt. It was from a sushi restaurant in my home town, but if you just glanced at it you might think it was racist, because of the fake Asian lettering. I imagined thousands of viewers waiting for this racist girl to get herself off. I quickly undressed and made a scissors gesture to the camera to indicate that this first part, the part with the racist shirt, should be cut. No one acknowledged this suggestion, so I rubbed against the Teddy bear, and rode the big pillow. I held the bowl, uncertain, and then set it aside. I put the beer bottle into my vagina. With all this moving around, it was impossible to become even slightly turned on—back then I had to shut my eyes and make my body completely stiff to generate any feeling. But no one said anything until after I had heaved my last fake orgasmic sigh.

“O.K., we got that,” a woman with a clipboard said. The man in the baseball cap gave me a firm nod, like a satisfied coach. I understood then that the five-hundred-and-fifty-dollar fee was not the price of my beauty or my sex appeal; it was my naïveté that I’d sold. Every person, no matter how plain, has one great erotic performance in her—the one in which she doesn’t know what she’s doing and is desperately trying to save her life. A second performance would be a copy of the first, which would require skills I didn’t have.

My face wasn’t anywhere you could see it unless you entered a credit-card number and clicked past dozens of professionals—“college beauties,” “hot Korean girl,” and so on. But a few people made it through the gauntlet. The first time I was recognized was at a healthy-Mexican restaurant; a pale man in gym clothes stared at me for a long time before making a scissors gesture in the air. It was electrifying, as if all my clothes had fallen off at once. I looked away but there was no denying our intimacy; he’d come while watching me. The next one was a father with his family; he scissored his fingers down low, surreptitiously. The last was a butch lesbian teen-ager; she just walked right up to me and asked. Each time, I’d hurry home and enter my credit-card number, clicking quickly past the college beauties and the hot Korean girl. Though I’d felt nothing at the time, seeing myself through these people’s eyes was profound and overwhelming. I’d cry out with abandon; my body would shake and shiver as I came. Then I’d sleep, immediately, for at least two hours.

The video shoot became the central sexual experience of my life; to this day, I can’t orgasm unless I imagine that I’m the pale man, the dad, or the young lesbian watching it, sometimes all of them together, crowded around one computer screen. I’m them, I’m me, I’m them, I’m me, I come. I showed it to each boyfriend I had after that, to blow their minds but also to explain my sexual orientation; I was oriented around myself in that video and anyone who’d seen it. There was only one boyfriend I didn’t tell. He was a very classy man, emotionally speaking, and I didn’t want to give him any indication of basket-casery. After I married him, I kept meaning to bring it up, to draw him into the fold of my sexuality, such as it was. But I waited too long; we were so close now. And after the butch lesbian there was a lull, a seventeen-year lull, in which no one recognized me.

I arrived at the Luxury Sheets Kiosk and the brawny man with floppy brown hair idled a few feet away, trying to decide what to do. The scissoring gesture didn’t seem to occur to him. I ran my hand over the sheets while the cashier rang up a tall woman who kept adding one more thing. His eyes met mine, and I gave him a secret little smile. Truth is, I wanted to collapse with relief. Though a lot had happened in the past seventeen years—marriage, a child, my career—it was suddenly clear to me that I’d only been going through the motions, an exhausting simulation. I wasn’t a stone. I was one of life’s biggest fans, the best example of a living thing. The amateur sex video was like a seed I had planted in my youth; it would always sustain me. Not financially but by sending me these messengers when I was most in need. My blood moved around in my body; I felt the purpose of every muscle. I was ready to dance. And just then a beat began, so I rocked my hips and pressed my wrists together, swinging them like a girl in bondage who nonetheless wanted to party. The beat ended abruptly; it was the tall woman’s ringtone.

“Hello?” she answered impatiently; she had enough going on with all these sheets. I couldn’t believe I’d danced to her ringtone. Maybe it was O.K. Who knows? Who can really see themselves? He was approaching. He was nearly beside me, his face open with surprise. I opened myself, too.

“You’re my neighbor,” he said.

“In what sense?” I said, my eyes twinkling.

“Well, in the sense that I live in the house next door to yours.”

“The house on the corner?”

“Yeah, it’s a duplex. We live in the apartment that faces Amador Street.”

“Oh. Do you park on Amador?” I was bringing up parking just to hurt myself. I hated this conversation.

“I park on Amador and my wife parks in the garage,” he said. “Although lately we’ve been trying to ride our scooters more. I’m Joel.”

I thought about bringing up my husband, tit for tat, but I was too tired. The previous few seconds had taken everything out of me. We parted, saying that we would definitely see each other soon, ha-ha.

I drove the long way around the block to avoid Amador Street on my way home. I parked and turned off the car. It was hot but I left my seat belt on, folded my hands in my lap, and took some slow breaths. Before Joel, I had still believed I could be recognized. Now I knew I was too old. How do you mourn that kind of loss? It just pulls your whole life down. My phone rang: Alex.

“Are you home?”

“Yes. I’m in the driveway.”

“Yeah, we heard you drive up. You coming in?”

“In a sec. I need to pour my heart out to someone so I can be empty and unburdened when I come inside.”

I waited for him to say, “You can pour your heart out to me,” but he was quiet and we got off the phone. He never takes the bait. Which is good. It teaches me to be more direct in asking for what I need. Or does it? So far it hadn’t.

We’d been tunnelling toward each other for years. It was hard work, but the assumption was that eventually our two tunnels would connect. We’d break through—Hallelujah! Clay-encrusted hands finally seizing each other!—and we would be together, really together, for the remaining time that we were alive. So long as we both dug as hard and as fast as we could, everything would work out. But, of course, neither of us knew for sure how the other person’s digging was going. One of us might have been doggedly tunnelling toward the other person, while the other person was curling away in another direction. That person might not even have been aware of how off course he or she was. One of us might have tunnelled straight down for a few weeks, in anger, and then tried to get back on track, but now honestly had no idea where to go. We might break through—Hallelujah!—only to find that we were seizing the dirty hands of a stranger. What to do then? Or we might simply get tired, and stop digging, decide that here was good enough. All the while saying things like “We must be getting close!” and “I can’t wait until the day finally comes!” We might never meet up at all; we might die before it happened. Or worse: maybe there had never been any hope of our meeting up, because what was that even a metaphor for? Oneness? A child’s dream of love? I got out of the car and went inside, carrying the new fitted sheet and the tent light.

The next weekend, I was unfortunately not able to go on the camping trip. I stood in the driveway and waved goodbye to Alex and Sam, tearful for no reason. Then I went inside and walked around the house, room by room, looking at all our stuff through the judgmental eyes of a monk or a nun. I did my work, very slowly, over the course of the day. At 8 p.m. I started watching TV and at 2 a.m. I turned out the light. Then the earthquake happened.

I flew out of bed and moved down the hallway like a person on a wobbly rope bridge. I lurched out the back door and along the side of the house to the sidewalk. The shaking stopped. The street lights were off, no moon. Car alarms were beeping in syncopation. A huge branch was draped across my car. Someone was standing on the corner, waving. It was Joel. I had successfully avoided interaction all week. Now I ran to him through the dark.

“I didn’t get my shoes!” I yelled dumbly, as the pavement trembled again.

Joel thought it was safest to stay outside; I thought so, too—less stuff to be trapped under if it fell. He called his wife, who was in Sun Valley, Idaho. I didn’t call Alex, since I was safe and a middle-of-the-night call is always alarming. Joel’s earthquake-survival kit was more elaborate than ours; we spread out high-tech blankets and pillows on the lawn on his side of the duplex and lay down, waiting for dawn.

Once the car alarms had been silenced, the night was strangely quiet. The freeways were almost empty. Without the lights or the hum of cars, the sky took its place as the foremost thing. Joel and I stared up at it—an enormous gray arena we could fly around in just by lying there.

“Looking at the sky should be a ride at Disneyland,” Joel said.

This was such an accurate way to describe it. I thought about the accuracy for two or three minutes and then said, “Yeah.” We squinted at our houses in the dark and saw that they were leaning; they had shifted. I thought we’d probably move, rather than repair ours; Joel’s was a rental, so he said they’d move for sure. Maybe to Ireland. I said we’d probably move to Ireland, too. The chances seemed high that we would be neighbors again, in Ireland. We scooted toward each other, for warmth, and when I turned on my side Joel spooned me, very innocently. All bodies were good, I realized. Joel’s stocky form beside me was unfamiliar, but good. Hugging. It hit me like a ton of bricks. Hugging was so moving, so basic. Why had I ever taken pride in not being a “hugger”? Two people embracing was the very building block of life.

“Hugging is the building block of life,” I whispered. Joel was quiet and this was exactly right; more words would just take away. I pressed my hand against the lawn, palming the whole earth like a gigantic basketball. Warm tears ran into the hair at my temple, one after another after another. Hello, stranger, I thought. And by “stranger” I meant not Joel but myself. My blood moved around in my body. I felt the purpose of every muscle. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t seen the video.

When I awoke, it was light out and I was lying with the next-door neighbor on his lawn. I could tell right away that our houses were fine. It took only fifteen minutes to straighten up the books and the dishes that had fallen. The earthquake had been big, but no one was saying that it was “the big one.” When Alex and Sam got home, I told a story about hiding under the dining-room table. Our earthquake, the one that Joel and I had survived, was private. I friended him on Facebook the next day and we started e-mailing. Mostly we wrote about details from that night—the silence, the sky, how time had seemed to stretch out. I didn’t have any specific or adulterous plans; I was just wholly open. I saw us going on a road trip. Or maybe taking ayahuasca and throwing up in buckets. His penis was moving in and out of me most of the time. Sometimes I made it very small, like a finger, so that it wouldn’t distract me too much as I worked or emptied the dishwasher. Just a little thrusting tick-tock that drowned out the real sound of time: 7 a.m., 4 p.m., 6 p.m., the most brutal of time’s representatives, but hardly the whole battalion.

I was waiting for Joel’s response to my last e-mail when Alex and I stumbled on him, almost literally. We were coming home from a date night; Joel and his wife were lying on their lawn, staring up at the evening sky. They’d brought out the same pillows and blankets, and a bottle of wine. It was adorable in a way that people like us find cloying, so Alex raised his eyebrows at me before calling out to them.

“Sorry! We usually park farther up but the trash cans are out.”

“No, no,” Joel said, rising to his feet. “We’re good.” He swept his hand toward their reënactment. “It’s a lot more fun without all the shaking!” His wife raised her glass toward me and smiled; she knew the whole story. Alex nodded, cocking his head curiously in my direction. I stared at the familiar blue geometric pattern of the pillowcases. Joel had taken the exquisite energy of our experience and plowed it back into his marriage. How wise. This option had never occurred to me. I had always detonated each thing in the very place where I found it.

Even after I acknowledged that I hadn’t hidden under the dining-room table as I said I had, Alex was still confused. We’d been reading in bed for less than thirty seconds when he started up with the questions again.

“It’s just so unlike you. You hate camping.”

“I know. It was an extreme situation.”

“And you’ve never once said hi to the neighbors.”

“And I still don’t want to! Joel is a completely uninteresting person.” This was now true again.

I turned out my light. He left his light on and lay next to me, waiting. Leaving a space for my confession. I had done nothing. Nothing! My heart pounded nonetheless, the dumb beast. Just as I started to roll over, Alex turned to me and used his big hands to pull all my hair back, stretching my face into surprise. He held me like this, studying my posture of alarm, then let go abruptly and fell onto his back in frustration. We embarked on a silence. It grew and grew until it was a sort of god that we could only submit to. After fifteen or twenty minutes I almost giggled—somebody say something!—and then I realized with horror that he was probably asleep. This wasn’t our silence; it was mine alone. I lay paralyzed as it hollowed and darkened, expanding in every direction with a familiar cruelty. Hello, stranger. Once, many years ago, Alex had saved me from this black hole with the kind of understanding that makes everything else in life possible. Even ingratitude.

He shifted under the covers and I held my breath. If he was awake, I would try. If he was asleep, I would sleep, too, and probably forget to try, or forget that it mattered, or what I meant by try. Try to be brave.

“Are you awake?” I whispered.

“Wide awake.”

I sat up and told the story of the video, starting with my quasi-abusive boyfriend and ending with meeting the neighbor twice. Alex was mostly quiet, only asking a few questions (“What was the bowl for?”). I left out the hugging and the e-mailing and the tick-tocking tiny penis, but, still, when I was finished he silently walked out of the room. I took a breath and held it. I had made a terrible mistake. Why had I done this? My mind stopped, poised to shatter.

Then he came back, holding his computer. He solemnly opened it in front of me, like a violin case before a maestro. I typed in the URL. The Web site looked a little different, but the major landmarks were still there.

“You need a credit card to get to it.”

He left and came back with his wallet. He typed in his credit-card number and I clicked around. I wasn’t sure where to go because the college beauties and the hot Korean girl were gone. It was all new girls. They looked extremely young. I scrolled in a daze. Brunette. Underage. Small tits. I stopped clicking.

“When was the last time you saw it?” Alex said quietly.

“I don’t know. I have it pretty memorized so I don’t need to. . . . Not since we’ve been together.”

“Oh. I think they update . . . you know, just . . . for the viewers.”

It seemed obvious now that they wouldn’t still have a video from the nineties.

“Yeah, of course. I just thought maybe they had a section for . . . alumni or . . . I don’t know.”

I shut the computer. It was too bad. Really too bad. How bad? The consequences would be enormous, I felt.

Alex was in the kitchen now, opening cupboards.

He came back with a Teddy bear, an empty beer bottle, and a bowl. He picked up his pillow and pulled the comforter aside, arranging everything along the foot of the stripped bed.

“I can’t re-create it, if that’s what you’re thinking. It was true amateur porn, not fake.”

“I understand—the real deal.”

“The people who saw it . . . they were really overcome by it. It was their top video to watch, porn-wise.”

As we talked, Alex seemed to be riding the pillow slightly, maybe unconsciously.

“You’re talking about the pale man—”

“The pale man, the dad, and the butch girl. Yes.”

Now he was rubbing the Teddy bear against his crotch. He slid off his boxer shorts. Well. Well, now. I sat back. He was very much an amateur. He didn’t know what he was doing and he was desperately trying to save his life. I’d never seen him move his hips like that. It was funny, or no, actually not funny, just disorienting, slightly grotesque. He picked up the beer bottle, and, after a moment of honest hesitation, sucked its mouth and then—I reached under my nightgown—began slowly working it into himself. I had never wanted to see this, but I came immediately, and hard. He brought himself to the end of the show, manually. I held my breath, waiting for him to come on the new sheet. I’d have to wash it again. Who cares? I do. Just a little. Just enough to ruin each day. And then, with a swift and professional gesture, he grabbed the bowl and came into it. That was what the bowl was for. ♦

Published in the print edition of the

September 4, 2017

, issue.

Miranda July

is a filmmaker, an artist, and the author of five books. Her latest movie, “Kajillionaire,” will be released in September.

[peenorpoika96]

How Technology Improves Our Lives

A lot of people do not realize exactly how much technology they use each and every day. We're a world that's literally run from the technology that we've developed over the past 100 years. As the years have gone by, technology that progressed and we've been able to live our lives a good deal easier. Here are a couple of ways that you can have a look at technology and truly see how it can enhance your life.

Lots of folks look for the technology which will make life just a little simpler. This is the sort of technology like cell phones, telephones, computers that we use each and every day. Most of use can't go a day without talking or texting someone on our telephones. Others will need to use the computer on a daily basis so as to get work done or progress in their school field. The modern car today isn't only for driving; today there are vehicles which are known as"mobile devices" instead of cars. All this sort of technology combined helps to make life go by a little faster and easier.

As soon as you've the entertainment technology, you will need to appear towards the medicinal technology. Years ago there was no remedy for some of the simplest sicknesses that we encounter today. Surgeries are done far more quickly with the support of technology and equipment which makes the process quicker. The technology that's developed over the next few decades is designed to save lives and maintain the health rate up. We're finding faster ways to make treatments for new disorders and ways to keep people alive during demanding surgeries. Most individuals don't realize just how much technology within medicine has progressed until they really need help.

The gaming world is something which some are incredibly knowledgeable about. There are all types of gaming consoles that you could buy and play today. Nintendo has come back with some superb technology over the Nintendo Wii. This is an interactive gaming system that seems to truly be in a league on its own own. Of course the PS3 was published and people were all over that technology also. This is a niche that's composed of smaller niches. Each individual uses a different item of gaming technology and won't use anything else. Now, gaming technology has been applied to your mobile phones so you can now make calls, send texts, check emails and play with some of the newest games around.

Over the next two years we're going to see a good deal more advancements within the area of technology. How we get throughout life is much different than it was 10 years back. Be certain you keep your eyes peeled for any new technology within these primary technological facets. You could be amazed by what you will discover in the years to come.

How Can Technology Improve Your Golf Game?

With the golden era of caddies long since given way to technology, but for the prestigious private golf clubs.

Golfers now have resorted to a huge array of measures to acquire yardages, directions and maintaining scores.

When playing you have troubles estimating how much a specific obstacle is, or how far away from the green you will need to get to on your next shot?

Are you that kind of person having an uncanny ability to estimate how much you will need to hit your next shot?

For most people it is a guessing game however, it so much more important when it comes to scoring. It can really make a difference between shooting a excellent score or being left to frustration and wanting to split every club in your bag.

When I was caddying professionally my occupation 30+ years ago was to make sure I walked the golf course before my spouse even showed up.

Professional caddies would chart a course to get their participant before every tournament with each the measurements.

You understood the distances of each club your pro swung at. It was your job to walk the fairways marking down every stone, sand traps, trees, water or any other permanent obstacle you could gauge from the tees or some other shots in the fairways into the greens.

You mark all this down in a small black book. Then everyday early in the morning before each round you chart out every hole's pin placements. Measure out using the old traditional method of one foot before the other just how far from the front, sides, and back of the greens.

In addition you observe where the pin placement is for that day by writing everything down. Observing everything, if the green is on a hill, swale or what sort of breaks into the hole when putting.

Where is the flat portion of the green or safest spot to hit the ball . There was a mixture of both suspect work and understanding your participant's skill level.

Now, that has all changed with technology. Yardage markers can now be characterized by sprinkler heads, sticks from the fairways, painted numbers on cart paths.

Yardage books and laser range finders have become a part of the golfing landscape and have varying levels of use by today's golfers.

For the high tech among us,gadgets are finding their way into a growing number of golf bags. Compact rangefinders with hand held GPS systems and computer geekery contained have found an ever increasing audience.

With ease however, comes price, and none of them are cheap.The items range in price from $199 to $499.

ONE OF the wonderful joys of playing golf in the past 40+ years has been the extraordinary development in technology that makes the sport so much easier today than in the early 1980s.

As we like enormous titanium drivers, graphite shafts, two-piece balls and soft-faced putters, we wonder how we could ever play drivers who have heads the size of small boulders and chunks that wore a massive smile each time they were struck off center.

Advances are not restricted to balls and clubs. When I started playing, club selection has been based on the perceived distance of the golf shot.

Subsequently it became normal for golf courses to place laser read distance markers on each hole. Technology has started doing this work also and the R&A and the USGA said they would allow the use of GPS range finders if a club or tournament committee brought into a local rule permitting its usage.

Not many such regional rules are made. For my club it decided against range finders in official club championships. Though they do allow them in regular play and it is legal, and frequent in practice rounds.

The thinking is that if players have the space information available immediately, it is going to accelerate club choice, pre-shot routine and real hitting.

From what I hear, the evidence points out that this isn't the case. The time a player spends considering distances isn't considered a contributor to the slow pace of play. It's the choices on which club to use, and standard preparation for a shot that are the time wasters.

Regardless of the advanced technology, nothing about golf's basic premise has changed. It is great knowing how far off the hole is but, you still need to hit the shot.

MY limited experience working with these gadgets are that they may be useful on the golf course. They quickly offer accurate and available information, so therefore their use ought to be encouraged.

When I used it on my home course, it was actually of limited value. I guess that is because I have played there so frequently, and I know the specific yardages.

Another new technological gadget which has shown its weight in gold to the hard core enthusiastic golfer, is known as the ProLooper Golf Game Analyzer. This groundbreaking system allows golfers to capture the location of each shot with a standard GPS range finder, and use that information to find the most in-depth statistical evaluation of the game available now.

This feature rich system may enhance shot accuracy and assist golfers save strokes on the golf course. You can run the system on several GPS range-finder apparatus and contains over 10,000 course maps available.

So as to utilize the ProLooper system the golfer only stands over the ball and marks the place whilst assessing the space to their next goal.

The data collection process doesn't slow down the golfers game. 

The golfer can add additional details such as weather conditions, lies, slopes and other factors. The more details that are added, the more powerful the instantaneous reporting capabilities of this system becomes.

Golfers can now have the identical sort of game and shot analysis that professional golfers get away from their caddies.

This is what distinguishes great golfers from the average golfers, and that's knowing your statistics.

Having the ability to use those numbers to better yourself in each aspect of your game. You do get immediate insight to your golf around operation after every 18 holes. All of it leads to improved play and lower scores.