#no rain driving windows down still we from the first deluge of rain

[silks-up-my-sleeve]

I'm trapped in my car because of this massive deluge of rain.... but the universe just gave me the biggest reward for being a Famous Last Words stan

[megamindsecretlair]

WIP Friday

Forgive me, my loves, I was writing like crazy all week! I haven't worked on any fics this week, too busy trying to survive my last week of probation! 🥳 and get this book idea out of my head. Zora and Jasper are just entirely too cute. And I can't wait for you to meet them!

Thanks for the tag: @nerdieforpedro @slippinninque @harmshake and @multiversefanfics

I decided to share a little snippet from With These Words. Be kind 🥹 I'm sensitive bout my shit 🤣 also please don't steal or repost. This is completely original work. Also keep in mind that this is a very rough draft. 'Mkay byeeee

“Oh, shit,” she said, staring at the window. They had been talking and laughing so much, they hadn’t noticed that it was raining. The sky only mentioned a ten percent chance of rain. She hadn’t brought an umbrella.

“Oh, damn,” Jasper said.

“I didn’t bring an umbrella,” she groaned. She and her things were going to get absolutely soaked walking in the rain.

“Me neither. My car is close, I can drive you home.”

Zora waved him off. “It’s okay. I just…didn’t have getting soaked to the bone on my bingo card,” she said and smiled at him. Crap. That was going to be a long ass walk. She bit her lip, wondering how dangerous it would be to run in the rain. Maybe a brisk walk? If she took a shower right when she got home and drank some tea, would she still get sick?

“Zora, we’re taking my car. No arguments,” he said, his voice getting deeper as he issued the command.

Her mouth dropped as she blinked at him and he grinned. He leaned in close. “No arguments. C’mon,” he said.

His eyes dipped down and she bit her lip. His eyes narrowed briefly before he leaned away, standing up and collecting his things. Zora was slower on the uptick, getting up after him.

“You really—”

“Don’t say it. You really think I would let you walk in the rain like this?” He asked.

“Let me?” Zora asked.

“Let you. We’re friends, right? Friends look out for each other. Wouldn’t you do the same for me?” He asked.

“Of course,” she said, no hesitation. It felt like he was always doing something nice for her. Something sweet. Always making her feel better or reminding her with a simple gesture that not every human being was an asshole. How did she compete with that? How did she begin to pay him back?

“Then let me do this for you, too,” he said. Done with packing their things, he gestured for her to walk ahead of him.

Her stomach still twisted in knots as they rode the elevator to the first floor. This still felt wrong. Like she was taking advantage of his kindness. It was easy for her to do for others what she couldn’t accept in return.

She liked helping others, liked being kind, but she was not a nice person. Her face often betrayed her true thoughts, and she had little patience for others. She felt like he was going completely out of his way to help and she didn’t want that.

They crossed the library to the entrance, the sliding glass doors were the only barrier to the deluge of rain coming down, pounding the pavement hard enough to bounce.

Jasper took off his jacket. “Take my jacket so you don’t get too soaked,” he said. “And please don’t argue, I’ll just win.”

Zora sucked her teeth. “Only if we share. I don’t want you to get sick on my account,” she said.

Jasper narrowed his eyes, an adorable scowl on his pretty face. He looked outside, at the rain, and then looked back at her. “Fine. But only because I turn into a giant baby when I’m sick and I don’t want you to feel guilty,” he said and grinned.

“Guilty is my middle name,” she said with a laugh.

“Zora Guilty Underwood,” he said, rolling the words around his tongue. “Different, but I’m with it.”

“You are so damn corny!” She said.

Jasper chuckled and then threw his jacket over the both of them. He was much taller, the jacket only barely covering her. If the rain had wind behind it, she would get soaked either way.

Jasper pulled her closer to his body. “Wrap your arm around my waist. We’ll go quick and I don’t wanna lose your shrimpy ass,” he said.

Zora elbowed him in the stomach and Jasper flinched with a laugh. She stepped closer anyway, wrapping her arm around his waist. This was the most contact they’ve had by far and it conjured all sorts of thoughts.

God, he smelled amazing. Felt amazing. Working out next to him was nothing in comparison to wrapping her arm around him. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, licking his lips briefly as they got closer.

From this close, she could see his long eyelashes fan across his cheeks whenever he blinked. Why were guys blessed with pretty eyelashes? Why was Jasper so pretty in general? She wanted to study and stare at him, uninterrupted.

Jasper cleared his throat. “Ready?” He asked.

Zora took a deep breath and tore her gaze away from his. “Ready,” she said and squealed as they left the library.

The rain hadn’t hit them yet because of the overhang of the library. But once they crossed from under it, the rain was unforgiving. It pelted them like crazy and they laughed as they remarked on it.

Whew! I'd love to know what yall think. They make me siccckkkk 😭

No pressure tags: @soft-persephone @murder-wife @umber-cinders @babybratzmaraj @mybonafidefeelings

[honeeysagee]

Come In With The Rain

Sam W. x Bucky B. AU: where Sam is a cafe owner in Delacroix and a new mechanic, Bucky, blows into town.

For the first time that summer, it rained. And not just a gentle drizzle, but a full-on downpour. The sky hung low and gray, and the air was thick and muggy as if you had been standing under a dense canopy for hours. The scent of wet earth and damp trees filled the air, with water still dripping from the branches, making the humidity cling to your skin.

For Sam Wilson, the rain signaled a slow day at the shop, but it hardly deterred him. There were plenty of tasks awaiting his attention in the back. One project, in particular, caught his eye: the small battery-powered car he had promised to fix for his nephews, AJ and Cass. It had been months since he made that promise, and today, with the rain pouring down outside, he finally had the time.

For AJ and Cass, the rain meant a monotonous day at the shop, confined to their uncle’s watchful gaze.

As Sam tinkered with his toolbox, occasionally glancing at the shop’s door in anticipation of the bell's chime, he decided to focus on the car. He would look over at his nephews now and then, catching their admiring gazes before they quickly returned to their homework, pretending to be studious. Sam chuckled softly.

The rain drummed on the roof, creating a steady, soothing rhythm. Sam glanced out the window, watching the heavy drops splatter against the road, turning it into a shimmering, reflective surface. A few cars braved the weather, but most remained parked under the awning across the street, seeking shelter from the deluge. Sam flipped on the coffee machine and lit a fire for the boys to keep them warm.

After dusting off his hands, Sam stretched and groaned, then turned to his nephews. "Grilled cheese and soup?" he asked. Both boys perked up instantly. Sam smiled down at them, his grin widening as he led them to the kitchen, memories of his childhood flooding back.

Sam had been around 15 when his father owned the café. He spent countless afternoons and weekends there, working alongside his dad. He'd wander the kitchen with a grilled cheese sandwich in one hand and a hammer in the other. While his father managed the café, Sam busied himself in the back, fixing anything he could get his hands on. That same passion still drives him today, and he often felt his father's guiding hand on his shoulder whenever he cooked or repaired something.

Now, those days are just lingering in the back of his mind. But, they aren't forgotten. Not by a long shot.

"Mom is cooking fish tonight if you want to come over," AJ stated as he pulled bread from a cabinet. Sarah had mentioned it when she dropped the boys off, but Sam told her no. He figured he would be too tired from work today, but the storm came. He shrugged, "I don't know, buddy. How about I come over tomorrow?" AJ frowned, and Sam added, "Plus, tomorrow is the big game. Saints versus Cowboys. Don't we have a bet going on?" AJ brightened considerably at this prospect, "Don't you mean the bet that you're going to lose."

Sam rolled his eyes affectionately. After minutes, the food was ready, and the boys were back in their original seats. They ate in companionable silence while their uncle fiddled with his tools.

Then, the door of the shop was pushed open. The sound drew Sam's attention away from the engine in front of him, and he looked up to see a soaking wet man walking through the door. His clothes clung to his body, and his hair clung to his forehead, sticking straight up like porcupine quills. He looked miserable. Sam almost laughed.

Almost.

He had seen more than his fair share of grumpy customers - ones that didn’t take nicely to his jokes or helping hands. So, instead of asking how the weather was, he asked, “Welcome to the Wilson’s Café.” Sam stood again, his bones growing tired. “Looks like you need help.”

The stranger looked upwards - his eyes matching the clouds of the storm. Rainwater trickled down his sharp features, clinging to his long, dark hair that hung in wet strands around his face. His leather jacket, soaked through, clung to his broad shoulders, giving him a rugged, almost forlorn appearance. As he stepped into the warmth of the cafe, water dripped from his jeans and boots, pooling slightly on the floor. He ran a gloved hand through his hair, attempting to push it back but only managing to slick it further. Despite his bedraggled state, there was a quiet intensity in his steel-blue eyes that captured Sam's attention from behind the table.

"Um," His voice matched everything about him, "Just needed to come in from the rain."

Sam nodded, "You got it," he replied. He gestured to a nearby stool that was stationed by the fireplace, "Would you like some tea? It's very hot." The man eyed the stool warily. Sam added, "First drink on the house."

"You're lucky. We never get our drinks on the house." Cass threw the statement to the stranger, which made Sam roll his eyes. "How do you like your tea?" he asked pointedly. The stranger glanced up at the menu that hung over Sam's head. His eyes shifted left to right before looking back at Sam. "Earl Grey. Medium sugar. Thanks."

The man was short with Sam, which made him push his eyebrows together in confusion. He was new here definitely, he thought to himself. New to the area, anyway. Sam fixed the tea with ease - an order he frequently made for himself on days like this. Then, he marched the warm cup to the man with a leftover grilled cheese.

"On the house too." Sam mumbled. The man grunted and took the mug wordlessly, holding it close to his chest. "Thanks."

Sam returned to his work as the boys focused less on their food and homework and more on the silent stranger who was staring into the fire. Sam would occasionally make a face at the boys which would cause them to turn away but never for too long. As the silence grew so did his frustration with the engine of the small car.

"So, why do you look like that?" AJ asked.

"AJ!" Sam called out. When AJ merely raised his eyebrows innocently, Sam shook his head and sighed. "It's rude to ask strangers stuff like that."

AJ nodded seriously in agreement. "Sorry, sir."

Sam sighed and shook his head, "Okay, you know the drill. Dishes in the sink, and head upstairs," He helped them place their things into a backpack, "No fighting. No biting, and no,"

"Crying." The boys finished in unison. Sam only nodded and patted them on their heads. After they left the room, Sam fixed himself a cup of coffee and headed to the man. "I apologize my nephews. They kind of just speak their minds whenever they want."

The man nodded silently. His eyes trailed over the tools littering the floor with the car - the hammer, the wrench, the pliers. His head nodded to them, "You fix toys?"

Sam shook his head, "Not usually, but I made that thing for the boys, and it doesn't work." He pointed to the engine. "I tried everything that I can think of, but nothing seems to be able to work. And my nephews are getting restless just spending their evenings on homework," he joked, trying to make light of the situation. The man smiled wryly and Sam wondered what had caused such a sour expression. "What makes it tick?" The man asked.

"The engine's busted. Doesn't turn on."

He hummed, then, he stood from the stool. "May I?" He asked, picking up a tool.

Sam was his opportunity. "I usually don't let people touch my tools unless I get their name." The man raised his eyebrows as he began to unscrew the panel covering the engine compartment, revealing the wiring beneath. "It's James," he began, a sly smile playing upon his lips, "But, everyone calls me Bucky." Sam watched as the man slid his fingers inside the wires - his interest peaked by the minute.

"I'm Sam."

Bucky looked up. "It's nice to meet you, Sam." He said sincerely, his voice echoing throughout the cafe. Once the last of the wires was removed, Bucky settled to the floor. His dark blue eyes met Sam's brown ones. "You can ask me."

He had read Sam's face; and saw that he wanted to know more about this stranger who blew into the cafe and started fixing the engine on a fake car. Sam nodded and leaned against the counter. "It's not often we get newcomers. Are you new in town or just passing through?" He asked, curious but cautious nonetheless. He was known to pry too much too soon. So, he kept his distance and just tried to make small talk.

"Not sure yet."

Sam watched as Bucky worked, his deft fingers maneuvering through the tangled wires with ease. It was clear that Bucky had experience with mechanical work, his movements precise and confident. The rain continued to beat against the windows, a constant rhythm that seemed to match the methodical movements of Bucky’s hands.

"You're good at this," Sam remarked, unable to hide his curiosity. Bucky glanced up, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Spent a lot of time fixing things," he said simply, returning his attention to the engine. Sam studied the man closely; his gaze trailing along Bucky’s body, examining every curve, every freckle. Even though it wasn’t obvious from where he was seated, Sam could tell that Bucky was built like a brick house. Strong, sturdy arms, strong thighs, strong calves… Sam’s eyes lingered longer on Bucky’s waist. A little more defined abs than Sam was used to seeing.

Bucky noticed Sam watching him and cleared his throat awkwardly, pulling Sam from his thoughts. He coughed and sat forward on the stool he was perched upon, placing his hands on the countertop in front of him, "Your wiring was wrong. Common mistake."

"Thanks," Sam stated. "Think it will drive now?"

Bucky shrugged, "Maybe, if you get a new battery too. Dead ones don't make the car go."

Sam raised his eyebrows and grabbed his coffee mug. The coffee ran cold by now. Time seemed to speed by when he watched Bucky work. "Pas besoin d'être un connard." Sam whispered to himself softly. His gaze flickered over Bucky once again, who was chuckling into his cup.

"No need to be an asshole."

"French?" He asked, raising one brow. "Je ne voulais pas te contrarier. Pardonne-moi."

"I didn't want to upset you. Please forgive me."

Sam snorted quietly, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. "You're forgiven." He lifted the mug and placed it on the counter with more force than necessary. "So, what brought you to Delacroix, Bucky?" His name tasted like honey in his mouth.

"I couldn't spend another night in the truck, so I decided to stretch my legs, and then, the storm caught me." His words were soft, barely audible as a slight shiver racked his entire being. "Not to mention, I saw the help wanted sign outside the shop," He cleared his throat, "I'm terrible at coffee, but I'm good with my hands."

Sam glanced down at them, which was covered by dark leather gloves. Sam nodded slowly. "Yeah," His tone was soft, "I noticed. I mean. it would be nice to have some help. I have a lot of projects back there that need to be finished," He leaned on the corner, "But, I still need to give you the interview. Can't just have anyone in my shop."

Bucky nodded, but Sam could see his mind was elsewhere with that statement. Sam was known for prying more than he should, offending people where he shouldn't, and he enjoyed it for the most part. He liked to watch people tick and wanted to know how to make them do so, but his mind had already decided that Bucky would not be one of those people - if he could help it. He started easy.

"Where are you from?" A simple question that made Bucky's face twitch. "Originally from Brooklyn. Moved around a lot." His eyes flickered towards him as if he were searching Sam's. "La maison est partout si vous la cherchez. My mother's saying."

"Home is everywhere if you are looking for it."

"Well, have you found it?" Sam whispered like a secret between them was about to be shared. Bucky matched his energy, "Not yet, but I'm not looking for it." Sam hummed as he thought.

"How soon can you start?" The sentence floated between the both of them, as they exchanged glances for several seconds before Sam pulled his bottom lip in between his teeth. Bucky smiled, showing his perfect teeth, and Sam swallowed - taking note that the man before him had no flaws.

"Tomorrow would be great."

"Good," Sam muttered. "We need a new face around here," His eyes flitted up to meet the man, a small smirk tugging at his lips. Then, he glanced over at the shop's window, realizing the rain had stopped. He quickly wiped his hands on his jeans, then stood from the counter. "I have to get the boys over to my sister's place. I can show you around," Sam offered, "If you're up for it."

Bucky smiled softly. "That sounds like fun." The grin on his lips grew wider, "Lead the way." Sam walked to the wall opposite of them and let his knuckles rap the wood in four hard taps. Suddenly, a door from upstairs came bursting open with the patterns of small footsteps following. His nephews were down the stairs, huffing and puffing.

"Who's ready to see Ma?" He grinned, his nephews answering in unison with enthusiastic yeses.

With a laugh, he stepped aside. "This is Bucky. He’ll be helping me with repairs for now. So, you have to treat him nice, alright?" The two children nodded solemnly as Bucky stood awkwardly next to their bubbling energy. It almost reminded him of his sister back home. His heart ached for a moment before he was pulled back into the moment by Sam speaking to him, "Are you ready to meet Delacroix?"

Bucky nodded. "Of course." He followed him as Sam opened the front door. The streets glistened under the soft glow of the streetlamps, their reflection in the puddles creating a mirror image of the world above.

The air was cool and fresh, with a crispness that only a day-long rain could bring. Bucky pulled his jacket tighter around him, feeling the gentle embrace of the damp, clean air. He looked around, taking in the quaint charm of the town. The buildings were a mix of old and new, their brick and wood facades adorned with ivy and flower boxes that overflowed with vibrant blooms, glistening with raindrops.

Bucky felt a sense of ease washing over him. Sam turned to Bucky with a smile. "Thanks for walking with us. It's nice to have some company."

Bucky nodded, appreciating the kindness. "Thanks for the tea and grilled cheese. It was just what I needed." Sam chuckled. "Anytime. And about that job—we'll talk more tomorrow. Get settled in tonight."

Bucky nodded again, feeling a sense of anticipation for the days ahead. "Sounds good."

The evening was calm, the air fresh after the rain. Sam looked at Bucky, seeing a potential friend and ally. "You know, this place could use someone like you. Maybe you'll find what you're looking for here."

Bucky met his gaze, a small smile forming on his lips. "I hope so, Sam. I really do." They shared smiles. Sam could almost feel something else lingering underneath the surface of the smile that rested on Bucky's features, but it wasn't exactly clear. He looked back towards, noticing the lights flickering slightly against the raindrops. Somewhere in the air, Sam swore he could feel it that day, there was hope of something beautiful blooming.

[babygirlgalitzine]

i’d love you to love me (ao3)

it starts out with a pact. neither of them will date, until they can both find people to date. except, they don't expect to be honouring that years later, and when jay starts to fall in love with lola, he realises that it's time for ben to date someone too. in the most chaotic way possible.

or, a vague 10 things i hate about you au.

-

It’s a miserable day. The sky is an unrelentingly dark grey shade, cascading for miles and miles with no end in sight. The rain has been pouring down all day, and the wind mixes with it, causing the rain to hit against windows, creating a rattling sound all over. It’s that horrible misty spray that means Ben can’t even see that far in front of him, though he knows his way around Walford that well now that he really doesn’t have to look to see where he’s going. Jay’s walking out in front of him, a breaking leather ball at his feet, scraping along the wet pavement with an awful sounding scratch.

“It’s freezing!” Ben shouts over the rain, and he watches in awe somewhat, as raindrops fall onto his eyelashes, tiny little droplets clinging on for dear life. It’s true, it is freezing. The torrential rain bounces up off of the pavement and clings to his socks, climbing up onto his grey school trousers and staining them darker and darker as time goes by. There’s not a single part of him that isn’t shivering and wet, but he and Jay have a routine now, one that happens regardless of the weather.

The school’s over bell will ring out just after three, a shrieking tinny noise, one that’s surely going to be imprinted on everyone’s brain for years to come. Ben will stand next to the doors at the side of school, and then Jay will follow moments later, catching up with him. It goes unspoken, because this routine has been going on for so long without ever changing, that they’ll walk home together, strolling into a corner shop and getting as many sweets as possible, before going to their local park and staying there until they have to go home for whatever reason.

“Oh come on!” Jay turns his entire body and starts to walk backwards, the wind blowing his hood down within seconds and he scrambles to put it back up, though it’s in vain. “Are you telling me you want to go back home already? Because I know for certain you have science homework to do, and so does your mum.”

Ben looks to the ground, watching the raindrops splashing into the puddles and breaking into even tinier pieces before falling back down again. It’s almost relaxing to watch it, or it would be, if his hands weren’t currently frozen completely numb. “My mum’s got science work to do, has she?” He asks cheekily, but he knows Jay’s right. Jay’s always right. He knows that the second he walks through his door, he’s going to have to spend the rest of the evening doing his work for tomorrow, and he couldn’t think of anything worse than that, so staying at the park in the pouring rain wins yet again.

He manages to look up in time to see Jay roll his eyes, and he kicks his ball back towards Ben as they walk in the direction of the park. “You need a new ball, mate.” Ben comments, picking it up and throwing it back at Jay. He regrets picking it up, because the ball’s been collecting that much water as Jay kicked at it all the way home that it’s sopping wet and heavy.

“I know.” Jay replies, and they turn into the park. Ben’s got nowhere to sit, his usual place on the swing is collecting a puddle of muddy water underneath so the idea of sitting there doesn’t even cross his mind. Instead, he sits on the small brick wall, resting on the very edges of his coat to try and minimise how sopping wet his trousers are going to be when he eventually stands up. He realises that it probably won’t do anything sufficiently, and he’s going to be cold and wet regardless. There’s a silence that grows between them for a moment or two, but that’s normal. Jay kicks the ball against the wall that Ben’s sitting on and they both watch as chips of the bricks start to crumble away and swirl away in a stream of a puddle that runs downhill. “What happened in science today?” Jay asks, breaking the comfortable silence.

Ben huffs out a laugh, more sarcastic than anything else, because he’s been waiting all day for Jay to ask him, or at least, since the class directly before lunch. “Nothing.” He says, and then he looks down the road and sees cars driving slowly, headlights on full beam.

Jay nods slowly. “Right. So you’ve spent all day in a mood, for nothing? Makes a whole lot of sense that does, Ben.” He pauses. “I’m your brother. You’re supposed to tell me everything.”

Brother. It’s such a simple word. Of course, biologically, they aren’t brothers, but in every other sense of the word they are. They’ve been inseparable from the day they first met.

“I overheard Connor and Sarah talking.” Ben says, and he already he knows he sounds stupid for even being remotely bothered about this. “Saying that nobody would ever want to be with you, because I’m here scaring them off.”

“And you’re bothered about that?” Jay lets out a soft chuckle, resting his foot on the top of the ball. “Mate, I couldn’t care less about getting with anyone right now. Tell you what though, I wouldn’t be interested in anyone unless they wanted to be around you too. We’re a package deal, you and me.”

Ben looks up and rolls his eyes. “That supposed to be making me feel better, is it?” He laughs.

“If you were anyone else I’d be hurt by that.” Jay comments and kicks the ball a final time against the wall, so hard that Ben feels the wall shake slightly underneath him, and even more of the brick crumbles to the ground.

The rain doesn’t seem to be letting up anytime soon, and they’re both starting to get far too cold and hungry and wet. The grey sky does seem to be getting darker though, and that’s probably a sign for it both getting later, and the weather getting worse.

“How about we make a pact?” Jay asks, though it’s clear that he doesn’t think of the implication of his words before he speaks, if the shock on his own face is anything to go by. The wind blows down his hood once again as it whistles and swirls around them, causing ripples in the puddles.

“What pact?” Ben asks, getting to his feet and swinging his bag across his body.

Jay shrugs as he tries to think. “How about, we don’t date anyone, until we’ve both found people to date.”

It’s completely and utterly ridiculous, and they’re both well aware of that fact. But they’re also both just a few weeks away from turning sixteen years old and if they’re being completely honest, neither of them have anything better to do with their time.

There’s a silence between them for a moment as Ben tries to take in Jay’s words and then slowly but surely, he nods. “Yeah.” Ben whispers out, and he can barely hear his own voice above the deluge of rain, with heavy and harsh droplets falling around them. “Go on then.”

So that’s it. Ben agrees to the pact, and from that day on, it becomes Ben and Jay’s rule.

Neither of them would date anyone, until they both found someone to date.

It’s just that, the pact was never supposed to last as long as it has.

It’s over two years later, and Ben and Jay are still in Walford. They’re probably always going to be stuck in Walford really - they know far too many people who have tried to get out into the world, only to come back not long after. They’re both still just as inseparable, and again, that’s something that is probably never going to change. The pact is still there, it’s still something that they talk about occasionally, laughing at how ridiculous it is, and yet, it still stands, though not through a lack of trying.

Nobody has really shown Ben much interest over the last two years, besides the occasional man at a party or a club, but nothing long standing. Perhaps it’s because he still lives in Walford, around so many of the people he’s known his entire life. In such a small place, everyone knows everyone and knows everything about everyone. It’s not exactly the best place in the world to be finding a partner, even less to find a gay man.

Or it could be because of the fact that Ben's got this wall surrounding him, built up so high, guarding him and protecting him from any hurt that could possibly come his way. Probably both, really. But still, nobody has ever met Ben and shown an interest in wanting to break down his wall. Ever. The story was the same for Jay as well. Nobody ever showed an interest in him, but because everyone already knew about the pact. That was, until Lola came into his life.

They’re sitting in the Queen Vic, at a circular table right in the far corner of the room. They can see almost everyone else in the building, all at their own tables or standing against the bar, chatting away and laughing. There’s even people playing darts, walking to and from the board, doing the maths in their head. In their own little space, they’re sitting at a wobbly table of three: Ben, Jay and Lola.

It’s not unusual for the three of them to be sitting together, though it probably looks unconventional from the outside looking in, especially given the fact that Jay’s got one hand outstretched, holding onto the back of Lola’s chair protectively. Ben’s definitely more than aware that he looks like a spare part, a third wheel. He knows it too. But Lola was the one to invite him along for a few drinks, though they all know she’s got an ulterior motive. She knows about the pact now. It didn’t take long for her to find out, really. From the moment her and Jay started to get close, he told her about it, and although she laughed at first because really, it is a ridiculous pact to have, she’s now taking it upon herself to make sure the pact ends, once and for all.

Lola’s got her phone in her hand, scrolling through it with a smile on her face. She keeps looking up at Jay and nodding her head silently, looking at him expectantly and then, when he shakes his head, she continues scrolling.

“Really good conversation guys, thanks for this.” Ben jokingly states, rolling his eyes to the back of his head.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to The Albert after this?” Lola asks, sipping on her vodka and orange.

Ben glares at Jay, knowing that Jay’s told Lola about how he’s refusing to go in there after last time. “More than sure.” He says, draining the last of his beer. “Another?” He tries to stand up, but Lola’s too quick for him, dropping her phone onto the table harshly and reaching out and grabbing his hand.

“It was one idiot, Ben.” She says warmly. “Don’t let that ruin your experience.”

He smiles tightly, but he doesn’t want to hear it. He mutters something about going to the toilet, because he doesn’t want to hear about how his first time in a gay bar was ruined by some idiot starting a fight outside, throwing about homophobic slurs and punching anyone he could get his hands onto, including Ben. He takes his time in the bathroom, throwing some water on his face in an attempt to calm himself down, and when he feels better, he rejoins Jay and Lola.

“Sorry.” He says sincerely, sitting back down at the table.

Jay shrugs his shoulders. “It’s fine mate. But Lo’s right, you know? You’re young and you’re single. You should be doing what everyone our age does and go out. Don’t let one prick stop you from wanting to do that. You deserve to be able to go to whatever bar you want to go to.”

“I know.” Ben says, smiling. “Just give me time, yeah? And then we can all go out together.”

Lola perks up at that, because she’s been begging and pleading to go to a gay bar for months now, ever since The Albert first opened it’s doors. “I could easily set you up with someone you know?” Lola says absentmindedly. “You just give me your word, and I’ll find someone.”

Ben huffs out a laugh at that, and his eyes flicker up to Jay, just in time to catch him rolling his eyes at Ben’s reaction. “Know every gay man in the area, do ya?” He chuckles, but at least it’s a genuinely happy laugh. He likes Lola, he really does. Jay really went and found someone that fit perfectly within their dynamic, and he loves him for that, because nothing would be more awkward than Ben not liking Jay’s girlfriend, or her not liking Ben. But Ben can see that Jay really likes Lola - really likes her - and they’re so good for each other. It’s obvious to see.

“That’d be impossible.” She berates, rolling her eyes. “But I definitely know a few!”

She’s looking at Ben with those puppy dog eyes and Jay’s chuckling under his breath because he knows that Ben’s going to break any second now. “Oh my God!” She practically squeals. “We could go on double dates too!”

Ben’s eyes go wide at that, and Jay just about covers up the splutter of his pint behind a cough, but Ben sees right through him.

Lola looks at Jay, practically begging him for his help to get Ben onside. “Look Ben mate, I love you, yeah? We’re not asking you to marry the next person who walks through the door, but at least try. Just go on a few dates, find out what you like. You never know.”

Ben knows he’s being stupid. He knows that now’s the time he should probably try and go on a few dates here and there, and make an attempt at letting his wall come down and try to be happy. He knows that. It’s still scary though. Terrifying, in fact. He looks between Jay and Lola, and gives in, sighing. “Fine.” He exhales, and he barely has a chance to breathe before Lola’s practically leaping over the table to hug him half to death, squealing right in his ear.

When Lola finally peels herself off of Ben, and he rubs his face in hands, Lola speaks giddily. “I’ve got the perfect person, his name is Callum.”

This is happening.

[kythed]

just my cuppa

yamaguchi tadashi x reader

synopsis: a soaking wet, stressed out (y/n) stumbles into cafe-owner!yamaguchi’s coffee shop. 

word count: 1,944

--

The coffee shop is comfortably warm and smells of cinnamon and ginger, a sharp contrast to the heavy autumn rain pelting the pavement outside. Yamaguchi watches water torrent down the windows outside as he meticulously wipes each table, thankful he’s clean and dry rather than braving the storm outside. It’s 9:25pm on a Friday night, approaching closing time. Usually he’d wait until the last minute to start closing up, but there haven’t been any customers since around 8. He hasn’t even seen any passersby since then, just the occasional car splashing through flooded streets, headlights muffled by the deluge.  

So, understandably, he’s surprised to see you stumble in through the door, soaking wet and clutching a sorry looking umbrella. The bell hung on the doorframe jingles cheerfully, and Yamaguchi stares as you exhale heavily and apologetically wring your hands. 

“Uh… hi?” you offer hesitantly, looking rather abashed. “I’m sorry… I was trying to make my way home, but my umbrella snapped and I noticed your cafe was open…” 

Yamaguchi stares at the wet clothes clinging to your frame and the way your shoulders are trembling. “Oh my God. Please, come sit down, let me make you a hot drink or something. It’s gotta be freezing out there; you aren’t even wearing a coat. Come, come.”

“Oh, no, I really shouldn’t track puddles on the floor--”

Yamaguchi ushers you onto a seat at the counter despite your protests and takes your umbrella, setting it to the side. He flies into action, snatching various colored packets and jars of sweet smelling spices. As he sets a kettle of water to boil, you sneeze violently and his eyes widen. “I think I have a towel in the back, I’m gonna go grab it so you can dry off a little.” 

You open your mouth to object but he’s already sprinted into the storage room. In less than a minute he reemerges, cradling a folded towel and a sweater. “Go dry off in the bathroom and change into this sweater. I’m afraid I don’t have any spare pants, but by the time you’ve finished I’ll have that drink ready. Oh, and please, don’t worry about paying-- it’s on me.”

He flashes you a quick smile and you stare, struggling to form words… then you burst into tears. 

Yamaguchi rushes to your side, hesitantly hovering his hands over your shoulders, not sure if he should hug you, comfort you, or what. When he came into work this morning, he did not expect to have a drenched, emotional wreck of a girl stagger into his cafe late at night and start sobbing and dripping on his counter... He settles on patting your shoulder in as motherly a manner as he can muster. “Oh, um, it’s okay, there, there.”

“I’m-- hic-- I’m so sorry,” you sniffle, wiping your eyes with the edge of the towel. “It’s just, I’ve been having such a hard-- hic-- week, and this is the first nice thing someone’s done for me in a while.” 

“Oh.” Yamaguchi’s heart just melts and he impulsively wraps you up in a warm hug, despite not even knowing your name. This is so improper, he thinks, a little too late. Curse my empathy for crying women. You bury your face in his chest and cry a little more, the exhaustion of the day expelling itself in the form of sobs that rack your body in waves. He rubs your back lightly, something he used to do when his younger sister would cry as a child. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Everything is going to be fine, just dry yourself off and sip a little tea, yeah? Does that sound alright?”

You nod, untangling yourself from his embrace and smiling tearfully. “I’ll go change now. I’m sorry, again, for… everything. I’m pretty sure I got snot on your collar.”

“Stop apologizing,” Yamaguchi scolds, giving you a light push towards the restroom. “It’s not a problem at all.” 

You nod, face hot and eyes puffy, and head into the bathroom, dampening a paper napkin with warm water to dab your face with. You gaze at the girl in the mirror with swollen, tear stained cheeks. How embarrassing to be caught at such a bad time by this kind, attractive stranger… thinking about his gracious smile again sends you into another fit of tears that you quickly brush away.

After you’ve stripped your shirt and dried off as best you can, you slip the sweater over your head. It’s far too large, but the inside is soft fleece and smells of men’s cologne. You inhale deeply, comforted by the spicy, woody scent, and head back into the cafe, where Yamaguchi’s finished up the drink. He slides the steaming mug in front of you, along with a saucer of tiny cookies. 

“It’s Earl Grey,” he says, taking one of the cookies for himself. “You looked like a tea drinker to me. It’s got a bit of milk and sugar, too, so I hope that’s alright.” 

“That’s perfect; thank you so much,” you say, lifting the mug to your lips for a sip. It’s hot and sweet and seems to wash away the acrid taste of the day’s tribulations. “I’m (L/N), by the way. If I’m going to impose on your hospitality a little longer, you might as well know my name.”

“I’m Yamaguchi,” he says, pushing the cookies closer to you. “And I already told you, you’re not imposing. It’s not like I have anything else to do anyways! I was getting bored without anyone coming in-- I haven’t had a customer for hours.” 

“Yeah, it’s no wonder,” you say, eyes wide and nodding vigorously. “It’s practically a hurricane out there. I thought I could make it from work to that bus stop on the corner without getting too wet. I was wrong, obviously.” 

“Oh, where do you work? It’s gotta be pretty close for you to even entertain the idea of stepping out in a storm like this,” says Yamaguchi with a laugh. He takes a hairband from his wrist and begins to absentmindedly tie his long, dark locks into a loose knot, out of which a few strands fall to charmingly frame his face. 

You smile, finally deciding to nibble on one of the cookies. It’s chewy, has a distinctly spiced apple flavor, and immediately boosts your mood. “It’s close enough. I work at the little florist’s shop on Mayweather Ave. You know, near the supermarket.”  

Yamaguchi perks up. “Arrangements by Aiko? The one that always has a few big bundles of bouquets out in front?” 

“Yeah, that’s the one. You’ve been there before?” you ask, swirling the remnants of your tea around the bottom of the cup. 

“No, no, but I drive by every day on the way here. You guys always have the nicest looking flowers.” Yamaguchi refills your drink from the still-steaming kettle without being asked as you murmur a quiet thanks. “How come you’ve never been ‘round here, then? It’s hardly a two minute walk if you hurry. I’m pretty sure I would’ve remembered if you ever came in for a coffee.” 

You laugh softly. “There’s a Starbucks up the street from us.”

“Pssh,” Yamaguchi scoffs, crinkling his nose. He’s had a personal vendetta against Starbucks for years. Stupid chain, thinking they’re all that just ‘cause they have a trademark and a logo. “That Starbucks has gotta be at least ten minutes from the flower shop. Plus, I happen to know my vanilla bean frapp is a hundred times better than theirs. They don’t even use real vanilla! Can you believe that? This cafe is obviously superior.” 

“Oh, my,” you gasp, dramatically holding a hand to your chest. “I’m not really a frappuccino person, but that is quite the scandal indeed. Maybe I should stop giving them my valuable business and start coming here instead.”

Yamaguchi nods solemnly, eyebrows raised. “Yeah, I think so. Plus, I heard that they don’t give out a discount for pretty girls like we do, something you’d surely benefit from.” 

He smiles shyly, a little surprised at his own boldness, as a splotchy blush rises to your cheeks. You briefly bury your face in your hands, embarrassed, before popping back up with a huge smile. Unable to compose yourself, your next sentence is punctuated by giggles. “Is that so? Well, I guess that seals the deal then.” 

“Mhm,” Yamaguchi agrees happily, immensely pleased with himself. 

You and Yamaguchi pass the next half an hour enjoyably, pleasantly chatting about your jobs, friends, family, and world news until the clock strikes ten and you give a start, remembering you have work early in the morning. “Ah, I should really get going. But again, thank you so, so much for everything and I’m so--”

“Don’t you dare say it,” he interrupts, leaning over the counter to grab a to-go cup and a plastic baggie of cookies. “It’s been my pleasure, seriously. Do me a favor and take these. Then I’ll dial up a cab and we’ll have you home in no time.” 

“At least let me pay for the cab,” you say, exasperated, as he tucks the baggie into your sweater pocket and shoves the cup in your hand. You slowly extract yourself from the cradle of the tall counter chair, muscles stiff. 

“Not a chance,” he says with a sweet smile. “I thought you’d know me better than that by now.”

When the car arrives, Yamaguchi walks you out to the door. A biting cold nips at your noses, but the rain has subsided, at least for the time being. All that remains are the puddles and the slow drip, drip, drip of water rolling off the rooftops. You sigh, breath curling into the crisp air. You bury your hands in the pockets of the sweater Yamaguchi lent you earlier. “I’ll return this to you.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, opening the car door for you. “It looks better on you than it does on me, anyways. You should definitely pop in for another drink soon, though.” 

You climb in, careful not to crush the pouch of cookies. “Absolutely I will. Maybe I’ll even try that vanilla bean frapp you were bragging about.”

“You really should,” he says, beginning to close the car door but suddenly freezing in his tracks. “Oh, wait right here for a second.”

He sprints back into the cafe and rushes out again in a lightning fast thirty seconds, clutching a paper napkin. After folding it into a little square, he hands it to you proudly. “Here. I wrote down the code for the discount. Come back with that, and you’ll get two dollars off your next purchase!” 

“Thanks, Yamaguchi,” you laugh, gingerly taking the napkin and sliding it into your pocket, right next to the cookies. Then you close the door, roll down the window, and wave cheerily as the car pulls away from the curb. “I’ll see you later!”

“See you!” Yamaguchi waves until your cab turns a corner, leaving just the faint scent of exhaust. He pumps a fist in the air before spinning on his heel, heading back into the embrace of the warm cafe with a bounce in his step. 

It’s not until you arrive home twenty minutes later, shower, and sit at your kitchen table with a pack of instant ramen on the stove that you remember the little napkin. Unfolding it, you discover that it's not quite a discount code like Yamaguchi claimed. Instead, it’s a phone number accompanied by a poorly drawn teacup with steam rising from its rim. 

You’re a hot-tea! - Yamaguchi Tadashi (part time comedian)

P.S. I lied. Sorry. Not a discount code. But maybe we can arrange some way to get you those two dollars off if you go on a date with me? Let me know.

Shaking your head with a grin, you pull out your phone and punch in the number.

[humans4vampires]

1938 Debut

So, my Secret Santa for @teamlesbianbella​ turned into something way more than I anticipated! Your very frequent asks have now been answered. For your reading pleasure, I give you another short from Rosalie. And before I get the pitchforks and torches at my inbox requesting more, you should know, I am totally working on more as we speak. 

I love you all and so appreciate your love for me. Enjoy the read and please do tell me what you think! Any requests of what else you’d like to see in this series would be wonderful guidance.

If you’re reading this series of mine for the very first time - or just want quick access to the first short - you can click this link right here: 1977 Homecoming

1938 Debut

“You’re a vision, darling,” Carlisle beamed, a hand extended toward me as I moved to greet him at the base of the stairs. Our hands met and he twirled me gently to admire my dress. I was glad French fashion was on the decline; the hemlines and necklines were quite a bit more conservative than that of the 20’s, and I’d only experienced that decade as a child. I had never had the chance to flatter my figure with such a silhouette. I turned to face the gilded mirror on the wall.

“It’s perfect, Carlisle,” I smiled. “Thank you.”

We both stood in front of our reflections, wide smiles gracing our perfect faces. I swayed softly, urging the delicate, aubergine satin to ripple with the movement. I admired each detail; the way the supple satin melted to my curves, how the translucent chiffon ruffled tenderly across the dramatic swoop of the sweetheart neckline and over my exquisite shoulders. My golden hair was pinned up in intricate swirls, leaving my décolletage exposed. I ran a finger over my collarbones in a swift line. I’d never seen anything more beautiful and elegant. Was it vain to think it so?

“Perhaps,” Edward was suddenly beside us in the mirror’s reflection. “Even if it is true.”

His tone, as always, was glib. But his expression seemed sincere. Carlisle turned to him, an ever-hopeful smile budding on his lips. Edward did not turn to meet his gaze. His eyes remained locked on mine. A handsome crooked smile crossed his expression as he opened a flat, velvet box.

“I thought this might suit you,” Edward shrugged lightly. We were still watching each other in the reflection. I gazed down at the exquisite string of pearls he held in his hands.

I met his amber eyes again, Your mother’s pearls?

Edward nodded, hearing my unspoken words. “A gift, if you’ll accept?”

My expression matched my disbelief and Edward laughed. The sound was warm and enticing. His eyes were gentle when he spoke.

“Something this beautiful deserves to be worn,” he said simply. “They were not created to stay shut up in a box.”

Though I would never voice it, Edward was incredibly thoughtful. Somehow, I felt it was beyond his gifts; as if he would have done this had he not been able to read my mind. Despite our often tumultuous relationship, I was grateful for my brother. Though, I’d never voice it.

He laughed again as he read back each of my thoughts. Edward handed the box to Carlisle and removed the pearls, holding them up with a questioning expression. I nodded once and turned my attention back to my own reflection. I refocused my thoughts on myself as he moved to clasp the pearls around my neck. I was distracted when our eyes met, amber to amber, in the mirror again.

“Thank you,” I said softly. I was amazed at the intensity of emotion that was evident in my voice.

Edward nodded, smiling again his beautiful, crooked smile in acknowledgement. A distant crack of thunder rolled miles away, the flash of the lightning passing through the panes of the window at the same moment, pulling our attention to the sound of the storm.

“It’s getting closer,” Carlisle noted. “Do you think it will make landfall?”

Edward shrugged, “Improbable. I’ve heard it’s curving toward the sea.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Carlisle agreed. “A storm hasn’t landed in Massachusetts in nearly the last century.”

“Though, we should consider that it has already made a strange and unexpected new course up the parallel of the Eastern Atlantic Coast,” I added.

Another crash of thunder seemed to affirm my comment. We were each calculating the distance of the storm when Esme made her entrance. Still deep in thought, Carlisle turned to greet her, as if on instinct. Their eyes met and broke Carlisle’s concentration. Esme glided down the stairs, her deep blue dress dancing around her as she moved to Carlisle’s side. I was sure Edward could feel it too; it was as if the atoms in the air were charged with a new electricity, as if some sort of strange magnetism collided between Carlisle and Esme as they reunited. They kissed tenderly. My eyes flitted to Edward and away in an instant.

I tried to stop my incessant thoughts of love, but it was difficult when the pinnacle of devotion was flaunted in front of me. Not that it bothered me. No, rather it teased me, giving me hope that there was still that kind of affection waiting for me. But it scared me, too. What if I never found it? What if I missed it somehow? What if I was destined to find it some millennia from now? If I had just this one hope for happiness in this never-ending, never-changing eternity, how was I to live not knowing if it was just a futile prayer?

I felt a rush of embarrassment as I thought of the fleeting wish that often crossed my mind: If only Carlisle had been right, how satisfying it would have been to have come into this new life to find my truest love. He thought me destined for Edward. Carlisle thought only of our intended happiness; two beautiful souls plucked from their bright futures like stars streaming across the night sky, only to burn too fast, too hot, meeting their untimely deaths. It would have made for a perfect love story… if only he’d been right.

Edward pretended he hadn’t heard my thoughts. I sighed, taking his arm that he had extended out to me.

“Shall we go then?” Edward raised his brows. I cleared my throat, joining Edward in his taunt to our parents. We made a show of averting our eyes.

They separated themselves then, Esme fixing her lipstick before she slid on her gloves. “Yes, thank you, Edward.” She said, sheepishly.

We left the house with inhuman speed as we rushed through the rain to the carriage house. Of course, carriages were long-gone and ours was the home of our –well, my– treasured 1937 Cadillac Fleetwood Series 75. Edward held the door for me as I slid across the leather seat of the back row. Esme joined me before Carlisle and Edward moved to sit in the front seat. As always, I was disappointed that I would not be driving. I hoped desperately that the future decades would give women more social liberties. How was it that it was uncouth for a woman to drive in the company of men? I knew more about cars and mechanics than any man.

Edward looked at me through the reflection in the rear-view. “You can drive us home.”

I smiled widely in acknowledgment.

Edward started the car and the pleasing rumble changed his expression. A smug smile bent my expression.

“I’m impressed,” he said, assessing the improvements I had made to the engine. “Tell me what you did.”

We carried on the conversation as he drove us deeper into the city. The streets were nearly flooded with the deluge of rain, yet Edward expertly drove at top-speed until we had reached The Copley Plaza. It was strange; I felt a pang of anxiousness as we pulled into the line of cars waiting for the valet. I tugged at the finger tips of my gloves, fidgeting with my growing discomfort as we came closer to the grand, red awnings of the hotel.

Esme placed a hand over both of mine and turned to face me. “Sweetheart,” she murmured. “Don’t be nervous. You have exceptional self-control.”

Carlisle turned in his seat, facing me, too. “We’ll be with you every moment,” he assured me. “But if you’re not ready, I understand. Edward can take you home—”

I shook my head quickly to reject him, “Of course not.” I stopped my nervous motions and squared my shoulders. “I’m more than ready.”

I saw my reflection in my father’s eyes. Suddenly, I saw the earnestness that was always there in his amber eyes echoed in my own. The same compassion for mortality was present in me. I was certain I would make it through my first human event without any catastrophes – or casualties. In many ways, this night felt like my debut into society.

I’d not been out for a formal event since my engagement party. My human memories of the experience were fading, which was a welcomed reprieve. It would be nice to replace those thoughts with what was to come. I was eager to get out and interact with people again. Though I’d had many chaperoned trips out of the house for practice, I’d not yet been so openly exposed to so many humans at once. This was the trial my family was eager for me to overcome. I put a determined look on my face to match my internal resolve. Carlisle turned back in his seat as the valet opened our doors.

The rush of air from the outside brought with it the strong scent of fresh, pulsating blood. The young valet extended his hand to me, too focused on the umbrella in his other hand to really see me. I was grateful for the barrier of our gloves between his skin and mine as he helped me from the car. I didn’t have the mental capacity to worry about such things; I was intoxicated by his scent. Humans smelled even more delicious in the rain. There was something about the way their blood blitzed in their bodies to keep them warm. I took a deep breath, soaking in his scent, his heat, as he pulled me closer. He looked down at me then, and his breathing halted. He stumbled back on his feet a bit and struggled to keep the umbrella above both our heads.

In an instant, I imagined pulling him even closer, gliding my hands over his crisp, white collar and guiding my lips toward his neck. He wouldn’t fight, I was sure of it. It was something he was wishing for, in fact. It would be simple and quick. Without even the chance to scream, his blood would be pooling in my mouth, his life in my hands. In the same moment, I pushed the thought away in disgust.

The boy watched me as I pondered his death, though the expression on his face was not frightened. He was… enamored. His heart fluttered frantically as he unconsciously moved closer to me. Ah, what a simple fool he was.

“There are more cars, Elliott!” Someone yelled, pulling the boy’s attention away. “Don’t stand there flirting!”

The boy, Elliott, turned from me to hide his blush. I could taste the heat of it on my tongue. Elliott led me to the safety of the awning, bringing me in clear view of the other men waiting there. I basked in their envious glances at Edward as he moved to take my arm. They watched me with awestruck eyes. Carlisle and Esme took the lead ahead of us into the bright and glittering lobby.

The room was opulent, rich with marble and stately chandeliers and by all accounts, imposing. But all eyes were on me; it was as if the world had stopped as we walked on. Every woman was full of envy, every man overwhelmed by my beauty. I assessed their glances, doubting that I had the power to draw everyone’s attention on my own. Because of course, my family was beautiful, too. But as if by some divine right, I knew their eyes were on me. I knew in that instant that my vanity would keep these humans alive. I far favored their adoration over their blood. After all, they couldn’t look at me this way when they were dead.

Edward sighed loudly.

I pouted, my high being clouded by his judgment.

“Stay out of my head,” I said too quickly for human ears.

“I wish I could,” he retorted.

Carlisle sighed then. “Behave,” he scolded.

“There our children are,” Esme chided. “I wondered how long it would last.”

Edward and I chuckled as we continued across the lobby.

“Carlisle,” a man called. “Carlisle, come meet Dr. Williams!”

We followed Carlisle as he approached a small group of older, balding men and their richly dressed wives.

“George, you must meet Carlisle,” the man said. “Dr. Cullen is extraordinary for such a young surgeon.”

“John,” Carlisle smiled, shaking his hand. “I hope you’re not boasting.”

I tuned out then, letting my eyes wander the room. I met a few pairs of glaring eyes, which pleased me, but I was more focused on the weather. Despite the heavy magnitude of the structure around us, I could easily hear the storm raging outside. The rain pelted the windows so loudly that I was surprised that the humans seemed unaware. Thunder droned on and on, the occasional bolt of lightning bursting its brightness across the marble floor. I turned to the grandfather clock I heard strumming across the room and counted the thrums; one, two, three o’clock.

“My wife Esme,” Carlisle’s voice caught my attention again. “And her brother,” he added.

“Edward Masen,” Edward introduced himself. “A pleasure.”

“And is this your lovely bride?” John questioned, still shaking Edward’s hand, his eyes on me.

“Rosalie Cullen, sir,” I said gently, extending my hand, removing the glove. “Edward kindly agreed to be my escort for the evening.”

John took my hand, kissing it lightly as Carlisle continued the charade. “My niece, from New York.”

John reacted to my cold touch, but passed the thought quickly. He nodded politely, his heart stuttering. “A pleasure,” he blushed.

“Edward, make your way into the ballroom,” Carlisle said, reaching into the pocket of his suit jacket. “We won’t be far behind.”

Edward nodded, accepting the paper invitation from Carlisle’s hands. He handed it to me as he turned to the group and greeted them. “Gentlemen,” Edward said, pulling me away.

Finally, I thought.

Edward hummed in agreement. I looked down at the invitation in my hand as Edward walked with me. The paper was thick, expensive. The Great Depression was only a myth to those in this room. The invitation read:

The pleasure of your company is requested at the

3rd Annual Gala

to benefit

St. Peter’s Hospital

Wednesday, the twenty-first of September

Nineteen hundred and thirty-eight

at half past three o’clock

The Oval Room

The Copley Plaza

138 St. James Avenue

Boston, Massachusetts

Edward and I made our way through the large ballroom, passing a waiter on our way in. We each took a glass of champagne to stand on the perimeter of the room near the large, arched windows. We stood idly, making effort to take sips from our crystal flutes, sway, brush a stray hair away; we were playing human. Though it was so obvious we were anything but. I found myself raptured by my reflection again in the rain-soaked window beside me. In that same moment, the crushing blow of water on glass turned both my head and Edward’s.

It seemed to catch us both off-guard, the sound of rushing water on pavement. It was clear that we had been wrong about the storm; the hurricane from the south was quickly flooding the city. Our perfect ears heard every swirl of water as it charged toward us; it was less than a mile out. Windows were bursting, cars were shifting like ships out at sea, the sound of metal and glass playing like wind chimes. I could hear the screaming now.

But the humans here were completely unaware.

Danger was rushing toward them as they sipped their champagne and chattered mindlessly, naïve to the outside world. The metaphor was beautiful, and cruel.

Edward and I locked eyes. What do we do?

“Carlisle?” Edward said, his harsh tone almost a growl.

He and Esme were frozen in the doorway across the room, caught in the sounds of the chaos outside as Edward and I were. We all struggled to keep ourselves composed. Only a few seconds had passed.

Carlisle turned to Esme, but he spoke to us all. “Can we save them?”

Edward was curt, “How can we without exposing ourselves?”

“We can’t watch them all drown,” Esme whispered, breathlessly.

“If we barricaded the windows –“ Carlisle said.

Edward grabbed my arm, pulling me closer to him, “There’s no way. We can’t stay here.”

“Edward,” Esme’s tone was pleading. “Can’t we do anything?”

We moved toward Carlisle and Esme at a hurried, mortal pace, Edward tugging my arm in haste. When we reached Carlisle and Esme, we all froze.

There was this strange silence; I thought I had lost my hearing for a moment. The roar outside stopped for less than one second and the audio of the world seemed to pause.

And then the great, arched windows of the Oval Room quivered, bowed, and fractured.

____

To read more of my Rosalie series, click this link right here: 1977 Homecoming

To read some other things I’ve written for my Twilight babes, check out these links:

Cold Heart

Inebriated

My inbox is open for requests and love notes - which I always love.

[petri808]

@thenaluarchive winter wonderland snow activities prompt. How about some sledding in Hawaii 🤗🏂🌨

For college student Lucy Heartfilia, if there was one thing she missed about home, it was the snowy winters. Being in Hawaii for the last 3 years, she enjoyed the beach days, of sun and fun, and all the new friends she’s made, but the autumn and winter months was such a different experience here. For starters, the leaves don’t change color in the Fall! Before she’d come to the University of Hawaii at Hilo, Lucy never realized how much she would miss such a trivial thing.

And that January was colder than the last one according to her roommate Levy McGarden. Honestly, Lucy couldn’t really tell the difference because to her cold was like 20 degrees Fahrenheit not 70. That first year was amusing to her as she walked around in a tank top and the locals in hoodies complaining about the chill in the air. But she had to agree with Levy as they sat in their rented house. That night was a bit chillier than most. Hawaiian winter storms were really just deluges of rain, and based on how much it was pouring outside, that’s exactly what hit that evening.

“Bet there’ll be snow on the mountain by morning,” Levy chirped from her blanket burrito. “Maybe enough to play in too.”

Lucy excitedly popped up from her textbook. “You guys get snow here?!”

“Yeah,” Levy chuckled. “I heard there’s even a skiing club on the island. When there’s a lot of snow people ski and snowboard up there.”

“Darn,” Lucy deflated in her seat, “if I’d have known, I would brought my board.”

“Tell ya what, if it turns out there’s snow I’ll get Gray to take us up in his truck.”

“But I don’t have my board.”

“Don’t worry,” Levy winked. “We’ll show you the island style.”

The storm lasted for two more days, so no one could really see what was going on above the clouds. But according to the observatory’s on top of Mauna Kea, snow was in fact building on the mountaintop. The question became how much? It was finally on the third day, that the sun came back and clouds disappeared, when Lucy got her first glimpse of snow in Hawaii. She could see the mountain clear as day from the third floor of the UCB building on campus.

“Natsu! Natsu!” Lucy ran up to him as he was existing his last class of the day. “Did you see?!” She squealed and pointed towards the mountain. “It’s covered!!” Natsu Dragneel was best friends with the girls other friend Gray Fullbuster. Lucy had met both men in classes at the university her Freshman year and since they were local to the area, they often took the girls to see places around the island.

He laughed with a smile. “Yeah, I saw it.”

“Levy said maybe Gray can take us in his truck?”

“I’ll ask him, probably could go tomorrow morning as long as the road is open.”

“They close the road?”

“Just until they can make sure it’s safe to drive it.”

“Yay!! I can’t wait!”

At 7 am the following morning, Lucy and Levy piled into Gray’s Toyota Tacoma truck along with Natsu and headed up the mountain. The drive would take about an hour to get to the visitor center, where they’ll be required to acclimate for an additional hour before moving onto the summit. When they arrived, Lucy was absolutely in aww, the snow had come all the way down to the center, blanketing the building in white fluff.

They got out of the truck and Lucy played the typical tourist, fawning over the gorgeous view. With a cloudless, light blue sky above them, they could see a great distance down the mountain and it was amazing! The parking lot was already half full of other park goers ready to take advantage of the snowy opportunity.

“Come on,” Natsu prompted Lucy into the center. “They’ve even got souvenirs if you’d like a memento.”

Lucy smiled, a light blush coating her wind swept cheeks. He knew her too well already. “Thanks.”

The hour passed by quickly at the center, with the friends eating a breakfast they’d packed along with purchases like hot chocolate at the center. And yes, Lucy purchased a couple of souvenirs, including a picture frame to commemorate the day. She really wished she had her snowboard, but just being able to hang out with her friends was enough for her. Maybe they could even have a snowball fight!

As they piled back into the truck for the last leg of the journey, Lucy noticed something in the bed of the truck. She laughed. “Boogie boards?! Are you serious?”

“I told you we do it Island style here,” Levy laughed too. “Sometimes we just bring inner tubes. Trust me, it’s just like sledding and fun.”

The last time Lucy had gone sledding she was 7 years old, but of course those sleds were built for snow and the children’s type had something to hang onto. These did not. Well, guess she’ll just have to trust they know what they’re doing. As for the drive, this portion of the road was both a little scary and amazing. It had been cleared but still icy, so everyone crawled along the skinny road, giving Lucy a chance to stare out the window and take pictures.

“Oh, wow theres some trippy rock formations,” she mumbled.

“Huh?” Natsu turned to see what Lucy was talking about. “Oh, yeah, that’s like layers of old lava rock or something.”

“The colors are beautiful.” Some had an oily sheen, brownish-reds and golds in horizontal waves along the rock faces. Yup, Lucy was definitely glad they brought her here.

Gray drove until he found a decent spot to park that was close to the heaviest snow areas, yet away from the majority of crowds. Families with children stayed closer to the scattered observatories or where the snow would not be as difficult for children to maneuver in. Lucy even noted some trucks were simply shoveling snow into their beds. She was told many took the snow back down the mountain for those who couldn’t make it up.

“Stay away from any pink or yellow spots in the snow,” Gray warned.

“Pink?” Lucy asked in confusion. Yellow she figured out but why pink?”

The man shrugged, “sometimes it looks pink up here.”

“Weird,” She laughed but carried on, helping to grab a boogie board. The guys had brought enough for each of them.

They climb up a decent sized hill, trudging through the snow. It wasn’t too deep, and actually it was a bit icier than Lucy was expecting but not too bad yet. She couldn’t lie that she’d hoped for powdery snow, but this was better than nothing. After a quick group selfie, Natsu started explaining how to use the boogie board.

“We hold onto the leash to steer and use our feet as brakes. Since it’s just a short hill, you probably won’t pick up too much speed where you won’t be able to stop yourself.”

“Okay, I think I got it...” Lucy gripped onto the edge of the board as she looked down the hill. Snowboarding never made her nervous, but this did. She wasn’t used to having such a short area to move in, and definitely didn’t wanna think about running out of snow to slide on.

“If you’re nervous, I could go with you till you feel more comfortable,” Natsu suggested.

That brought a new flutter and wave of heat back to her cheeks. The board could fit two people sitting on it, if she was practically on his lap!

“It was just an offer, you don’t have to—.”

“N-No, thank you. That might be a good idea, for at least the first time so you can show me what to do.”

Both Lucy and Natsu hadn’t noticed the silence coming from their friends who stood on the side whispering and snickering through the unfolding scene. Levy had even pulled out her phone ready to record the event. They watched the pair settle the board onto the snow, Natsu digging it in to keep it still a moment as he got on first, then directed Lucy to sit between his legs with her feet on the board for now. He then had her grab the leash where he was holding it, and placed his other arm around her waist for security.

“I got ya,” he whispered near her ear.

She swallowed thickly, his heat was radiating against her body and suddenly the cool air of the mountain had disappeared. “O-Okay.”

“All you gotta do is watch how I use my feet to break at the end and have fun. Ready?”

“R-Ready.”

Natsu used his feet to scoot them initially, then let gravity do the rest. The pair slide down the hill, picking up a decent rate of speed, not too fast, just right. Lucy screamed in elation, this was so much fun! It was only a short distance and Natsu easily dug his feet into the snow to bring them to a stop. Her heart was beating rapidly from the exhilarating ride and she was still giggling after they’d come to a full stop.

“Did you like that?” Natsu chuckled and got off, holding his hand out to help Lucy to her feet.

Lucy looked up and blushed, then took his hand. “Yes, a lot more than I’d expected to.”

Once she stood up the pair pause, breathing slowing, as they gazed into each other’s eyes. Natsu’s hold on Lucy’s hand tightens. Her heart fluttered, spellbound at the handsome smiling face, and rosy cheeks from wind burn. Natsu’s smile always captured her like a siren pulling her in. He brushed a stay lock of hair from her face, causing her to gasp lightly.

“Finally!”

“Just kiss her already!”

With the spell broken, the pair look up the hill to see their friends laughing, and Levy holding up her phone, pointing to it. Lucy giggled, they were totally busted, but a long time in the making. Who would have thought that a snow capped mountain in the middle of a tropical island would break the unrequited stalemate.

Natsu turned Lucy’s face back to him, tipped up her chin, and lowers to within an inch of her lips, “may I?”

“Yes, please...”

Bonus picture of a couple of kids on the mountain with boogie boards I found online. But yes, lol we have snow in Hawaii 🙃

[seasonsofeverlark]

Pumpkin Duck

Author: @mega-aulover​

Prompt: How about Katniss taking Peeta to the forest during the fall for the first time to see all of the fall colors. [submitted by anonymous]

Rating: K

Author’s note: Special thanks to @jroseley​ for beta-ing. :)

____________ 

“You smell like a snickerdoodle Sweetheart?”

Katniss slammed the door of Haymitch’s man cave and sat down. She narrowed her eyes at her mentor. She was beginning to hate anything fall flavored related, including cinnamon.  Most of all she grew a distinct dislike of pumpkin.

“Peeta’s still baking up a storm.”

“He claims he’s experimenting with recipes for the bakery,” she huffed. “But the thing is he’s making stuff that isn’t sold at the bakery.”

Haymitch handed her a beer. “So what has the boy done that has you spittin nails?”

She twisted the bottle cap angrily. “This morning he said he was going to create a pumpkin flavored  macaroni and cheese. Macaroni and cheese shouldn’t be pumpkin flavored. For that matter pumpkins don’t have a flavor like tomatoes, apples, or broccoli.”

Haymitch lifted an eyebrow. “Broccoli?”

“Yes broccoli,” Katniss said, putting the bottle down.

“Sweetheart, have you seen my house, I have orange coming out of my ears. I found Effie changing out my tidy-whities for oranges ones with squirrels sitting on piles of leaves. It’s not even fall yet.” 

Katniss hung her head. “Why don’t we make a run for it?”

Haymitch chuckled, “Effie’s got a tracker in me she’ll find me.”

Katniss laughed. Effie always seemed to show up wherever Haymitch hid.

“Fall’s like a week away Haymitch but he’s been driving me bananas.” Peeta yesterday dragged out his wok to make fried rice with pumpkins. She shuttered.  “How do you do it?”

“We find them appealing, they put up with our crap.” 

Katniss grimaced.

“No you don’t have the right to make that face. You and I both know Effie puts up with my geese and the boy puts up with muddy footprints all over the floor. Besides we are nuts about them.”

Her shoulders drooped, she did love Peeta. “He is cute when he wakes up in the morning  with his wavy hair all askew.”  

Haymitch grinned, he handed her half of his ham and cheese sandwich.

Having the normal food calmed her down.  “He says he wants to be ready for fall.”

“Why don’t you do something for him?”

“Like what?”

“You like the woods right?”

Katniss frowned she wasn’t following. “Yeah.”

“His favorite time of year is the fall, and next week the fall starts.” 

“Oh take him to the woods so he can see the real deal.” She had taken Peeta to the lake during the summer but never when the leaves were changing. Finishing up the sandwich she bounded out of the door. “Thanks Haymitch.”

“Don’t mention it,” Haymitch muttered. 

Katniss walked by Effie who today was dressed in a bright orange jumpsuit with a hat that looked like a pile of leaves. She shook her head but managed a smile at her former escort. “Hi Effie.”

“Oh, hello Katniss, is Haymitch still cooped up in there?”

“Sure is, the game’s nearly finished,” Katniss paused and then turned to her former Escort. Haymitch needed a break and she needed help. “Effie how quickly do you think I can get camping equipment?”

“Why?” Effie turned around. “What do you have in mind?”

“Well Haymitch gave me a great idea. I know how much Peeta loves the fall, so I thought I would take him camping up in the mountains. The leaves change colors in the mountains quicker because it’s cooler.”

“OH,” Effie gasped. Her lashes with miniature fall leaves batted quickly as her eyes became brighter. “What a darling idea? What exactly do you need?”

“Well,” Katniss said, linking her arm with Effie. “First off I need camping clothing, and I need a large enough tent.”

“Ooohhh, I know some people who can help.”

Katniss grinned. “I also need this to be a surprise. You know I cannot lie to Peeta.” Now if she could only survive the couple of days of pumpkin wreaking havoc in her life.

“That is the utter truth.” Effie said. 

The next day when Peeta returned to the bakery Katniss and Effie got to work. Katniss  had to make sure the path was still there. Around here the leaves were still green, but high up in the mountains the air was colder and the leaves changed color quicker.

Her father had taken her there once. She was a small child but she’d been past the trail a dozen times when she hunted in the woods with Gale but she’d never explored. After the war when Peeta came back she took a walk. She discovered the trail and everyday she cleared it little by little until she made it to the peak of the mountain. It took three days and Peeta was scared out of his mind when she came back. He kissed her hard, yelled at her, and kissed her again. Her toes curled in her old boots at the memory of that passionate kiss.

“Look Effie,” Katniss shouted excited to find the trail. When she found the trail she was overjoyed. 

“Oh dear this will not do,” Effie tsked. “We need someone to make a clear path, Peeta will not be able to get through there easily. I know who to call.” 

Katniss wasn’t sure about the gleam in Effie’s eyes. But true enough within a day Effie had Thom and a crew working around the clock to clear a path up to the mountain that would be even enough for Peeta to make his way up the mountain. 

A few days later she was in the mudroom looking bewildered at all of the packages Effe had brought over. There were boxes dozens of them of every size and shape. Katniss wasn’t sure how she was going to keep this from Peeta. He knew she was frugal and she just didn’t buy anything. 

“Katniss,” Peeta said, popping his head in her mudroom.

Katniss looked up, surprised that Peeta had come home early.

“What is all of this?”

“Nothing,” Katniss said, hiding the orange plaid shirt behind her back. Horrified she watched Peeta pick up a box.  

“Looks like Effie is trying to hide purchases from Haymitch.”

Katniss glanced down at the nearest box and indeed Effie’s name was on the shipping label of the boxes. “Erm…yeah,” Katniss nodded, she fought to keep her embarrassment from showing up on her face. “What are you doing home so early?”

“Well I wanted to make some ravioli, for dinner.”

Katniss eyes lit up at the thought of the fluffy pasta filled with oozing cheese or ground meat.”

“Yeah I got an idea for pumpkin flavored raviolis. I got the ingredients at the grocers,” he began walking away. “..they had these beautiful pumpkins.”

Her smile turned into a frown. “Great more freaking pumpkins,” she muttered under her breath.

The day before the great adventure Katniss sat outside with Haymitch.

“Effie is…” Katniss said to Haymitch a few days before.

“Determined?”

“Like a general in the rebellion,” Katniss said leaning up against the porch watching Peeta and Effie talk about the upcoming fall festival.

“You all set for tomorrow?”

“Didn’t you hear what I said about Effie?”

“I’m not talking about the trek, I’m talking about the…”

Katniss looked away…she looked at her beer. She drank it savoring the brew. “Yeah.”

“You, ready for this?” Haymitch leveled a look at her.

Katniss glanced toward Peeta, “I love him, even with his pumpkin obsession.”

“Good, that’s all that matters.”  

The next morning all went awry. A huge storm pulled into the  mountains and a deluge flooded the roads. They were stuck inside. Katniss sat by the window looking at the rain fall. 

“Katniss what's wrong?”

Katniss turned around biting her bottom lip. She wanted to cry but instead she squared her shoulders. “Today is the first day of fall but.”

“Yeah I know it’s the autumnal equinox.”

Jutting her chin out with determination she said, “We’re making fall.” 

“What?”

Determined, she went to his art supplies and said, “We’re making the fall indoors.”

“Kat?” 

“Get your paint box Peeta,” Katniss said, marching upstairs to an empty room. They were going to have to do this backwards. 

Peeta had his paints. “Okay are you going to tell me what this is about?”

“We’re going to make a mural Peeta. Big beautiful trees, one for each season.”

“Okay,” he looked around.

The words tumbled out of her lips,  “I had this entire weekend planned we were going to go up into the mountains.  We were going to eat fresh game and wonder at the colors of the fall. Then I was going to give you this.” Katniss took a small envelope and pressed it into his hands. 

Peeta frowned. He opened the envelope and took out the card. She watched his lips move as he read what she’d written. Katniss delighted in watching the way Peeta’s eyes lit up bigger than the bonfire she planned cooking their meals on. “You wanna try?”

Katniss nodded. 

“Real or not real, you wanna try to have a baby with me?”

“Real,” she whispered.

“Real,” Peeta uttered. Tears fell down his face.

“Yes,” Katniss pointed toward the room. “Wouldn’t this room make an amazing nursery?”

Peeta grasped her by the middle and swung her around. Katniss laughed. He put her down and then said, as he gathered his painting gear.  “I’m going to make us something special,  butternut squash soup, oh and some pumpkin bread…to go with pumpkin spiced duck.” 

Katniss scowled; she loved Peeta but she still hated the pumpkin. 

[pro-bee]

Clean

I have been in a major writing rut for months, so I decided to write something completely different to get me out of my funk! This is for @coffeedepablo and @indestinatus and @delicatefalice and anyone else who’s ever nagged me to just write again. Also, this was inspired by the scene in “Hiatus” where, in the middle of the chaos of Gibbs being blown up, Ziva is transfixed by the rain outside, and today was a rainy day which was finally a perfect excuse to just wrote.

Also, I wrote this today, and haven’t done as much proofreading as I would like, but I decided I had to just post it and forget it!

Rating: G Characters: Ziva David, Tony DiNozzo Pairing: Established Tiva, duh. Type: One-shot fluff. (That’s all I’m good for these days.) Word Count: 1,100 Summary: A rainy day makes way from some quiet contemplation.

Also available on AO3.

The air is heavy, weighed down by the humidity of the passing storm. The rain falls gently in the small yard, creating a sheen over the sidewalk this evening that threatens to become a reflecting pond if it doesn’t let it up soon.

She is curled up in the weathered Adirondack chair on the small deck, her body still, and her gaze set afar, like a lioness surveying her domain. She cradles a mug of tea in both hands, the steam rising to join the mist that surrounds her.

“I was wondering where you’d gone to.”

She is awoken from her reverie by the humor in Tony’s voice behind her, and she turns around to acknowledge his presence. At some point after dinner, he’d scurried off to catch up on some neglected work, and it wasn’t until an hour later that he’d noticed that Ziva had disappeared from her usual reading perch in her favorite armchair in the living room.

“It’s raining cats and dogs out here.”

“Ah, that would make our daughter extremely happy, would it not?”

“Can’t argue with that. Guess we’ll have to settle for the tadpoles for now.”

She offers him the hint of a smile in return, but her her attention is fixed upon the horizon. (The horizon, here, is the hedge separating their yard from the neighbor’s. Not quite the Saharan vista of his imagination.)

Curious, he grabs a chair and joins her under the awning, without saying a word. He follows her lead, basking in the hypnotic melody of drops hitting the roof, the drizzle pulling a curtain around them. Here they are, protected in their cocoon, the rest of the world melting away from them. Truth be told, he’s a little on edge, unused to this lack of conversation in their new home, but he also senses the importance of this moment of solitude. He’s become an expert at biding his time over the years, so he lies in wait for her to make the first move.

(Or not. If she wants to sit here for the rest of their days, immovable like a sphinx surveying the desert, he’ll plant roots right along with her.)

She pulls her legging-clad knees in even closer, taking in a deep breath and sighing, letting go of a lifetime of worries in a single exhalation. He’d give a penny for her thoughts, but he’ll make do with whatever she’s willing to part with tonight. Unsurprisingly, she seems to read his mind.

“I used to love watching the rain when I was a kid.”

She pauses for a second, like she were waiting for a prompt, as would have so often been the case in the old days, but none comes forward. He’s still wary of pushing too hard, too soon, so he’s learned to let her take the lead when it comes to deciphering the code to Ziva David’s meditations.

“It hardly ever rained at home. Not like this, anyway. In the winter, we would have these thunderstorms that seemed to come out of nowhere, and end just as quickly. My sister used to complain about them, because they got in the way of her imaginary stage design outside,” she recalls with a chuckle, “but my mother used to tell her that we needed the water for things to grow. The stormy skies would give way to the shining sun.”

He waits to see if any storm clouds brew behind her eyes.

“How’d she handle that?”

“Usually by tearing up the house and inevitably ending up in what we would now call a ‘time out.’”

It’s his turn to laugh, trying to picture the siblings squabbling a lifetime ago, before they had to confront the demons in their home head-on. (The apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree, it seems.)

“But not you?”

She shakes her head. “The storms always fascinated me. How you could feel the air change, all of a sudden, and then the sky would just open up. And there was nothing you could do to stop it. Life was always so busy, so regimented, so volatile, but one thing that no one could control was Mother Nature. You could predict and plan all you wanted, but when the storms came, all you could do was take cover and wait it out.”

He has a feeling she isn’t just talking about the weather.

“I would sit by our living room window if we were at home in Tel Aviv, or on our porch if we were in Haifa with my grandparents, and watch it pour down. It drowned out all the other noise, for a little while at least.” The wistfulness in her voice belies the darker memories bubbling beneath the surface.

He watches her in turn, understanding how rare these moments of utter tranquility must have been in her young life. Hell, still were, until recently. Some days, it seems like she’s still struggling to grasp them, even now.

“It’s funny. There is so much fear tied to storms. About their unpredictability, and the floods and destruction left in their wake. They are the only thing that cannot be bent to one’s will. But I never felt that fear. To me, they were… soothing. Like the rain would fall and wipe the slate clean. No matter what was happening, you could start over fresh when it was over. It was like finally being able to breathe.”

Once upon a time, this kind of talk would make him nervous, wonder if she weren’t about to decide her own slate needed to be wiped, all by herself. Yet here they are, together, and he realizes that maybe, that isn’t what this is about at all. That maybe after every storm is a chance for a sunny start, too.

“Sounds like maybe your mom was right.”

“I guess so.”

They sit in silence for a spell, mesmerized by the clatter of the downpour and the motionlessness of the moment. Where once they would have both felt awkward at the silence between them, now they sit in reverence of it, the beauty of what doesn’t need to be said anymore

After a while, though, he comes to realize that this is her quiet confessional, between herself and whatever power is driving her forward, and he feels as though she needs this time alone to commune with her higher power. He gets up, a little less limber than he’d care to admit, and places a gentle kiss on the top of her head, before heading back into the house. Once inside, he watches from the kitchen window as bit by bit the tension seeps from her body, washed away by the deluge and the promise of tomorrow.

Time stands still, and for what feels like hours, all she hears is the patter of the rain, gently surrounding her, the rushing sound eclipsing all of her worries as she welcomes its release. She takes a sip of her tea, and smiles to herself as her old friend envelops her in its comforting embrace.

She thinks that, maybe this time, she is finally clean.

---

My apologies to Taylor Swift for paraphrasing her song “Clean” in that last line.

[beeblebrox-be-damned]

Silohuette (Part 2: Implantation)

Dark!Bucky Barnes x Reader

TW: Kidnapping

Mornings were a drag, especially when it was cloudy. You didn’t mind when you weren’t working, but when you were it made your job hell. People were always sour and soaked. Not only did that mean any conversation was clipped and angry, but they tipped much less. Sometimes, not at all.

The woman in the back now was older, almost matronly, but wore a grim scowl. Her hat dripped, a felt number that had soaked up the rain all too readily.

“Where to, ma’am?” you asked politely, switching the wipers up to a higher gear as the rain pounded harder on the windshield.

“Park Avenue,” she grunted, wringing out her hat… right into the floorboard of your taxi. You sighed quietly.

“Ma’am, if you wouldn’t mind, could you please refrain from doing that in here?” You kept your voice as light as possible, carefully pulling back into traffic. She glanced up at you and frowned.

“Well I never!” she huffed, placing the sodden lump of felt on the seat beside her. She said nothing more. You hoped that you didn’t just retract from your tip. Of course, having a water puddle of a floormat wouldn’t help that matter for the other patrons later on.

The city’s traffic was at a crawl due to the weather. There weren’t as many cars as there would’ve been three years ago, but it was still overly crowded. The drive from your current location to where you were headed would be a long one. One a clear day, it’d take twenty minutes, but with the current deluge it would be more like thirty-five.

You grimaced as you drove. The pay for this trip would be higher, but you’d be better off with several shorter trips. The compounded tips would bring in a better profit margin. You gave an inward groan as honks assaulted your ears. Typical New York.

Thirty-three point five minutes later, Park Avenue came into view. You raised your eyebrow as Stark Tower rose on the skyline. Maybe, you thought, you’d be able to pick up more generous business there. “What building, ma’am?”

The elderly woman huffed once more. “Just on the side of the street. I want to get out of this damned taxi.”

You held back a growl of frustration, opting to tell her the fee instead of responding. She roughly shoved a couple bills at you.

“Keep the change,” she snapped, opening the door and storming out of the vehicle with a mutter about “the rudeness of young folk today”. You rolled your eyes. Ah yes, an entire twenty-three cent tip, and you were the rude one.

Sighing, you continued forward, scanning slowly. Someone waved you down, and you pulled off to the side. You looked up through the windshield, impressed even in the bad weather by Stark Tower. It was huge, the pinnacle of modern innovation.

The passenger door open and a man with a hoodie ducked inside quickly. “Good Lord, it’s really pouring out there,” he grunted. He pulled back the hood and your recognized him instantly. It seemed he recognized you too. “Hey,” hey exclaimed, “it’s you!”

“Yup, it’s me. Where to?” You kept your words short, not exactly keen on having a conversation, no matter how attractive and charismatic the stranger was. You’d spoken to him several more times after the night he’d asked for change, but in never went beyond small-talk.

“Downtown. Actually, just out of town.” He sat back in the seat comfortably, seeming unbothered by the wet spot the lady’s hat had left. “Is that alright?”

You nodded. “It’ll cost a bit extra, though.” He shrugged.

“No problem there.” Most people were bothered by it despite the logic behind the fee. You were glad he didn’t try to argue. Maybe he didn’t have to worry about those few extra dollars.

“So,” you asked as you pulled out, curiosity getting the best of you, “Stark Tower, huh?” You slammed your hand on the car horn as some hot-shot driver cut in front of you, slinging water everywhere.

The man looked concerned for a moment as you grumbled in frustration, but then relaxed as you moved on. “Yes. I don’t go in most days, actually, but I had some business to take care of. Turn right up here.”

You realized you’d never asked the address. “So where exactly are we headed?” You hung the right and continued down the block.

“A friend’s house. I don’t actually know the name but I know how to get there.”

You raised your eyebrow. Strange, but as long as he paid the fare. You continued on as the rain beat down, following his directions. Soon you’d gone fairly far out of town, to a sparse neighborhood of wealthy looking homes, much nicer than anything you’d even ever been in.

“Just up here. That little alley, please. He only uses the back door.” You turned off the street and down a relatively clean alleyway.

“That’ll be $15 please. Ten for the drive and five for the out-of-town fee.” You parked the cab, turning around to look at your patron.

He smiled as he dug into his pocket. “So, you gonna be at the pub tonight?” He asked.

You nodded, looking up to clean a smudge of mud off the dash. “More than likely. I spend most of my free-time there.”

In an instant, his hand was wrapped around your mouth. The window to separate the front and back seats shattered as he swung his left fist at it. Glass flew everywhere. You never had a chance to scream as he pressed a rag over your mouth and nose. You struggled to breath, but as soon as you inhaled you began to feel woozy.

“Not tonight, sweetheart, sorry. Not anymore,” he murmured apologetically in your ear as you slipped into unconsciousness.

Bucky hadn’t intended to act so quickly. That night he first talked to you, he laid awake, a plan forming in his head. The next day he spent finding out more about you, like your name and your family history. He had been saddened to find out all your relatives were dead or dusted, but it also made his plan a lot easier to pull off. There’d be almost nobody looking for you.

He’d been appalled to find out you drove a cab for a living. There was a lot of danger in that, despite the precautions drivers took. It seemed that your life was rife with dangers, from work to home and everywhere in between. The thought of anything happening to you made his heart seize. It made it all the more easier to realize that this was the right thing to do.

He trailed you for several days, each night trying to strike up a conversation with you in the bar so he wouldn’t be so unfamiliar. You were friendly, but kept it short and simple. He understood not wanting to talk much, though. When he’d first joined Steve and the Avengers, he hardly talked for months. Now, however, he could honestly call each one of them a friend.

With the technology available at the Tower, it was easy to effectively erase you from records. he was quite a bit better with computers than everyone thought, even better than Steve despite Steve’s extra years of experience. Soon, you were practically wiped out of the system. Only some basic information was left, as he’d need it someday later on.

Today he’d needed to talk to Steve, which was part of the reason he was at the Tower. After paying a woman near your usual route to take the cab to Park Avenue, he’d rushed back to the Tower to make some last minute arrangements. He’d told Steve that the night before he had been walking and ran across a mugging. Bucky lied and claimed he’d killed the mugger, but didn’t want to get in trouble for killing outside of a mission when the police inevitably found out what had happened. After all, with Bucky being formerly of HYDRA, there was a lot of suspicion still cast on him.

He’d asked Steve to help him get the mugger’s apartment cleared out so that perhaps people would just think they’d just moved. Steve had readily agreed, eager to help his friend. A group of hired men would gut the apartment later that day and bring all the items to Bucky’s so he could dispose of them.

Bucky felt bad for lying to Steve, but it had been necessary. Eventually he’d tell him what he’d really done, but only after you were happy and willingly with him. Then, Steve would be able to understand how much better off you were, even if they way you’d gotten there was a bit unethical.

Your belongings, as planned, would be sent to Bucky’s house. He’d sort through them to find things you’d likely want to keep, such as personal mementos, but the rest he’d toss. He’d store what he kept until later when he’d determined you ready to have them back.

After that was done, he went out and stood in the rain. He’d known roughly what time you should get there, but he wanted to be out there early, just in case. His heart had nearly leapt out of his chest when he saw you pull up and drop off the old woman. It wasn’t the one he’d paid, and yet she had been going exactly where he needed you to be. He grinned. It was as though the universe itself knew that this was for the best.

He’d feigned surprise when he got into the cab and saw you. The house he directed you to wasn’t his friend’s house as he’d claimed. He didn’t want to admit it was his or even say the address aloud in case there were cameras set up in the cab as a precaution. It was unlikely anyone would find the cab after he disposed of it into the river, but you could never be too careful.

He thought he’d choke up at the last second when you pulled into the alley behind his home, but to his surprise, taking you was the easiest thing he’d ever done. There was no guilt, no fear. He knew this was where you needed to be.

As soon as you were unconscious, he allowed the rag to drop from your face. He smiled and ran his thumb over your cheek. You were so beautiful. He got out of the cab and rounded the car quickly, opening the driver’s door and picking you up carefully. You weighed no more than a feather in his arms, your head lolling to lean against his shoulder. He opened the door and entered the house with you quickly. This time of day, none of the neighbors should have been home, but he couldn’t be too careful.

He wanted to spend time with you, to be there when you woke up in your new bedroom, but he had to get rid of the vehicle. He laid you down gently, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Bits of glass were strewn over your clothes, but he’d take care of that later. He slipped off your shoes and took them with him.

You wouldn’t be needing them anymore.

[touchmycoat]

5, 6 (i already know this is some insane amount), 9, 10, 16, 23, 26 (house)

BAAABE :*

5. What is the perfect environment for you to write in?

my office cubicle apparently kdsjfnksd

no but genuinely anywhere i can zone out. i make faces & mutter to myself when i write tho so, anywhere where that wouldn’t draw weird glances lmfao

6. If you’re really concentrating, how many words can you write in a day?

bahahaha i think Farmer’s Almanac holds the record rn—10k, give or take.

9. Do you prefer to write AUs, canon divergence, or canon-compliant fic?

#selfintrospection, my pattern per fandom seems to be starting with canon divergence! I’m a side characters ho, y’all know this, so I always like to recenter the narrative & get a surer foothold in my own interpretations of character first. but after that.... no preference! I love (and have written) all three to great enjoyment heheheh just depends on where i wanna see ‘em fuck

10. Do you enjoy writing dialogue, exposition, or plot the most?

NFJDNFJDNFJD HOW CAN I CHOOSE

Exposition is sexy, and i get to be the most experimental & excessive & self-indulgent here w/ style choices.

Dialogue is sexy, ‘cause voices and humor and dirty talk and heartbreak and communication!!! I’m a movie ho so i’m all about that plot-driving script game ;;;;

Plot is sexy ‘cause that’s where you get to fuck around with all the canon themes, subvert & avert & redistribute them!!!!!!!! I’m a slut for that!!!!!!!!!

can’t choose won’t choose :’D

16. What is your most underrated fic?

LMFAO you know i’m gonna say Sword of the Yi Maiden ;) she’s basically like, our child ;;

23. If you had to remix one of your own fics, which would it be and how would you remix it?

well once i sort out the single dad!Song Lan universe, i’d loooooove to switch gears & swerve into single dad!Xiao Xingchen B) just for kicks. But where Song Lan is like, a high school lit teacher and A-Qing is our favorite local delinquent child. XXC gets called in for a parent-teacher conference, and he’s actually kind of dreading it at first because AQ honestly never had too many complaints about the English teacher, so if this Song Laoshi was suddenly going to betray his daughter’s trust and tattle on her XXC would def take AQ’s side.

But! Turns out SL’s calling him in to be like “hey, AQ never does homework but is fine with participating in class if i kind of trick her into arguing about it, so i figured she just really doesn’t like being told what to do. That’s fine! But that also means I don’t think she’ll respond well to me sitting her down to talk about her higher education options, so I figured I’d run it past the parent first to see if you have any thoughts about how we’re going to proceed.”

it’d be SO fucking funny... AQ stops skipping class or stops zoning out the moment she catches onto her dad’s little ~thing for Song Laoshi. She starts challenging him in class instead on every little thing (”yeah but don’t you think it’s inherently racist to require us to read conrad at all, if there are so many books out there written by actual African postcolonial authors”) but he’s just happy she’s engaging so they bond

they’re both super proud and near tears at graduation, and AQ is too but to hide her own embarrassingly feelings she’s like “don’t pretend y’all aren’t just crying ‘cause you can finally date each other now that it won’t be fucking WEIRD for me”

26. Which part of House was the hardest to write?

hmmmmm I think I had the most number of false starts w ch. 3!! i never save shit rip but at one point i straight up had like.... 13 pages all blacked out? Oh i remember, the scene where AQ first tests SL. I had that set in like, the breakfast stall, in a busy street, a quiet street, etc. etc. I was putting each of their conversations in different contexts too, just seeing how they would play out based on the surroundings??? i even thought about dropping AQ’s POV completely at one point but I’m very glad i didn’t. The current version is actually the very first opening for the chapter i ever wrote so, el oh el, i try not to think all that effort went to waste. It’s more like, I had some ideas, but i had to prove none of them would work before i could proceed with this one, y’know?

BUT TELL YOU WHAT I DID SAVE THO. The first draft of the Ch. 2 opening? After I wrote this i was like “yikes this is way too conventional a set-up for a flashback let’s just do it,” and wrote the current version on ao3 lmao. I kept the chapped knuckles thing~

Under the Cut:

((Behind the Scenes of Fic Writing Asks!))

Song Lan stood at the entrance of his room in the inn, fist clenched hard around Fuxue’s hilt as the rain came in. Night had been the herald, and now, the lantern at the top of the stairs to Song Lan’s left was flickering wildly, buffeted about by the stormy wind.

The inn’s owner, an older woman in her 50s, spoke a string of worried utterances as she hurried up the stairs to close the window. As her hands approached the latch though, Song Lan sensed bloodthirst. Fuxue went flying.

The woman screamed, but the harm was over; a mutated critter of a hungry ghost slumped against the window frame, pinned there by Fuxue’s cool blade. Instead of closing the window for her, Song Lan pressed two paper talismans on either side. He pulled out Fuxue and watched the hungry ghost dissipate.

“Daozhang, daozhang, gratitude,” the woman wept. “A few here and there is nothing, you know? But once they begin to stay, and bigger things start to come, and we have young ones in the house, oh, it terrifies me, what state this city has been falling into…”

Fuxue returned to its sheathe, and Song Lan still had his fly-whisk tucked in his arm. He gave the inn owner a polite bow.

“I will attempt an extermination tonight.”

“Daozhang is so reliable,” the woman said, tears instantly transforming into simpering gratitude. Her distress had been in part a show, meant to move Song Lan into action. Song Lan did not mind; this was his third night at the inn, after all, and the second time the inn owner’s requested a favor from him. It stood to reason that she would think he needs more affective convincing, even if she’s wrong.

“I may trouble you for tea upon my return,” he murmured. When the woman reached out to pat his elbow in a matronly gesture, Song Lan stepped back, disguising the gesture as a readjustment of his robes as he replaced the stack of talismans back in his sleeve.

“Of course,” she replied, hand waving in the air before lowering back down to her side. A spot of tension eased at the base of Song Lan’s neck. “The stove never stops burning in our kitchen, particularly when we have guests. Just give our door a knock if the evening chef isn’t around. We’ll take care of you.”

Song Lan was grateful. He’d need the hot drink when he returned from the rain—soaking in the deluge always left his skin feeling beaten and bloated. And the sensation, if untreated, never failed to transform itself into two long iron nails hammered deep into his skull and brain. The pain was best avoided if at all possible.

(Xiao XingChen knew this about him. Nothing’s ever eased the migraines faster than XingChen’s smile as he wordlessly pushed a cup of hot water or tea across the table. Nothing’s ever distracted Song Lan from the pain more effectively than wondering exactly what would happen, if XingChen’s fingers lingered and his own could touch, just lightly, those perpetually chapped knuckles.)

(Take better care of yourself, Song Lan had once chastised when blood came seeping up between cracked skin.

I forget to, XingChen had confessed, sheepish lines crinkling around his eyes.

Had Song Lan been anybody else, he would’ve said out loud what he wished he could’ve said out loud: I’ll do it then.

Had Song Lan been anybody else, he would’ve thumbed a layer of protective grease over Xiao XingChen’s dry hands himself, save them both the need for cheesy lines and impotent promises. Words often got him into trouble, he knew this; he much preferred the vows made in every shared action that was mutually fostered into consistency. But what did it say about him, that his hands flinched from touch and Xiao XingChen walked at a careful radius around him, that he couldn’t make a vow on any level that counted?)

The extermination was no reprieve from the discomfort, the dissatisfaction, the disassembly of it all. The sky was falling apart and so was his skin. Moderation was less a stranger to Song Lan than longing, but tonight, the berating of his body was not moderated at all.

A year of searching, over, just like that.

An opportunity to apologize, gone, just like that.

A promise.

A dream.

So do you like him then? You want to really build a family with him?

Gone. Just like that.

[haddonfieldproject]

<<PREVIOUS⏺<<CONTENTS>>

1.2.3 HALLOWEEN NIGHT/NOVEMBER 1st 2:10 AM

Haddonfield, Illinois

As the Tate family continued eastward through Missouri in the rain, Officer J.T. Swain pulled his police cruiser into the parking lot of the Warren County Sherrif's Office. Swain jerked the hood of his rain slicker up, took a long and shaking breath, and braced himself for the deluge from above as he gripped his door handle. He quickly exited, shutting the door with his hip, and sprinted toward the doors, kicking up large splashes as he sloshed through the puddles in the parking lot---a parking lot that had been empty a few hours before when Samantha Nguyen had entered it.

It was now full.

His fellow officer, and friend, Greg Mullenix, met him at the front entrance, and held the door open for him as he stepped inside. “Where the hell have you been man?”

Swain threw his hood back, “I had to escort the Tramer's from the police station to the park.”

Mullenix winced as he opened the glass door on the inside annex.

“It was horrible,” Swain continued, “that boy's mom kept crying and crying, and I had to hold an umbrella over her while they ID'd their son.”

Mullenix put a hand on his friend's back. “I'm sorry man.

“What did I miss?” Swain asked as they headed through the lobby, passed the plastic chairs, and to the right of the front counter with it's frosted glass window...still shut. They could hear Officer Williams and another voice, a female voice, talking away from behind the glass. The phone still rang incessantly.

“It's a shit show.” Mullenix replied, pulling his wallet out of his pocket and tapping it to the little white square beside the large metal door that read: AUTHORIZED PERSONELL ONLY. His little plastic keycard inside reacted to the pad and a light at the top of the square went from red to green. He jerked the door open.

A cacophany of voices hit them immediately. The first door on the left gave way to a large conference room. The overlapping conversations were emanating from there. Six or seven Officers sat about the large mahogany table and about the same number stood in various places around the room. As Officer Mullenix and Officer Swain entered the doorway, they were bumped from behind by two other men. Deputy Sheriff Ben Meeker had exited his office from across the hall and pushed through the crowd. He was holding a manilla file folder in his hand. Another man, with a receding hairline and smart black and white business attire, followed him.

“Feds?” J.T. Mouthed to Mullenix as they moved to get out of the way of the two men.

Greg shrugged.

“Alright everyone!” Meeker rose his voice to a level that could be heard over the other conversation. “Everyone shut up!”

The conversations ceased.

“So as you know, Sheriff Brackett is of course in the hospital with his daughter so all operations has been handed over to me.”

He looked around the room, took a deep breath and then said, “Look---I know tonight has been,” he stopped for a moment, looking down at the desk, trying to fight the urge to get emotional. “Well,” he continued, “let's just say it, tonight's been really shitty. I know and you know we're stretched to the breaking point right now as it is, but US Marshals have something else we need to pay attention to, so this is Deputy McGrath out of the Springfield outfit, I need you to give him your full attention.”

The room was dead quiet, save for a solitary cough from the back corner of the room. Meeker switched places with the man who had come in with him. He cleared his throat and when he spoke, a sharp New England accent came through,

“Hello,” he said, pausing for a moment, thinking about what to say. “Deputy Meeker here has been telling me about the clusterfuck of a night you guys have had,” he looked around the room at the tired faces of the officers, “and I want you to know that the last thing I want to do is add to the little shitstorm you guys got going on in this little town tonight, but I'm afraid I'm gonna have to.”

Meeker handed the file folder to the officer next to him, a fat, snow white young looking kid with pink cheeks and frosty blonde curls all over his head. The kid's name was Kip Kinnerly, but all the other guys called him “Doughboy.”

“Kip, look at this and then pass it.”

“Yes sir.” Doughboy replied curtly as he took the folder.

Meeker raised his voice. “I want everyone to take a good look at this!”

The man in the suit cleared his throat again. “As he told you, I am Deputy Mark McGrath from US Marshals, and as most of you have no doubt already heard, we have been hunting two extremely dangerous persons and we believe they may have just arrived in your back yard, that is, in the general area of Warren County.”

“Are you fucking serious?” An Officer who stood in the corner of the room spat. “Are you talking about those two shits from Mississippi?”

“Let's watch the language Spaulding.” Meeker snapped.

“It's alright Sherrif Meeker,” McGrath smiled. “Two little shits are exactly what they are. Their names are Lloyd and Lee Chumway of Biloxi Mississippi. And we are requesting---hell we are begging—for your assistance so we can nab these sonsabitches and at least give y'all a silver lining to this terrible night.”

“Oh fuck.” Officer Malcom Donald breathed as he looked into the file folder. “I thought I'd seen enough of this kind of shit tonight.”

The photograph of the Chumway brothers had reached Mullenix and Swain. They had already seen their faces on the television the days before. Hell, all of America had.

“Someone snap pics of that with their cellphone and text it out to everyone. I want everyone to have those two faces burned in their brains.” Meeker said.

“I got you boss.” Swain replied. He passed the picture back to Mullenix and began to dig in his pocket for his cellphone. “Here, hold this.”

“Who is this chick?” Spaulding asked, taking another pic from Doughboy and handing it to Officer Emrah Lagenbruner next to him who had just squeezed himself into the circle that was forming around the conference room. .

“Whoa,” The young African American officer said upon seeing the picture, “Gonna be a closed casket for sure.”

McGrath pointed to the photograph in his hand.

“Her name was Marina Madden, Lee Chumway's brother...he's the younger of the two. On Thursday afternoon, around 13:30 Central Time, these two upstanding citizens apparently brutally raped this woman, and then pummeled her with a bedside lamp.”

Mullenix took the picture from Lagenbrunner. The aforementioned Marina Madden was sprawled out on burgundy carpet, near the foot of a bed-frame, her lifeless eyes gazing upward at a ceiling that was out of view of the camera. Blood was congealed on the side of her head, a broken bedside lamp lay beside her, a dark spot in the carpet spread out from beside her head. The darkened puddle was flecked with bits of brain matter.

Mullenix passed the picture to Swain.

“Who's this?” Spaulding asked, holding up another picture before passing it to Lagenbruner. “Whoa, hello sexy!” Lagenbruner quipped again upon seeing the picture and passing it to Mullenix. It was a circa 1977 Olan Mills portrait of a woman, wearing a bright floral print dress, cat-eye tinted glasses and a large brown bee-hive hairdo in front of a tacky painted background with a sunset, trees, and ducks. Two young boys in white suits and red ties sat on her knee.

McGrath answered, “That is the mother of these two fine citizens. Melba Jean Chumway. Aparently they grew bored of Miss Madden and decided to drive over to their mommy's house. They beat her to death with a hammer.”

Lagenbruner whistled as he saw the next photo. “Good night,” he breathed as he passed it to his left.

Mullenix's stomach tightened as he saw it. Even though she was face down on a linoleum floor, you could tell it was the same woman. Her dress was different, but an equally as offensive floral print. Her bee-hive was gray now, and a different, more modern pair of glasses lay broken beside her. The side of her head was split open, and old darkened blood was pooled on the tile beside her. Large shoe tracks were printed in blood all around her as well. A blood soaked hammer lay just beyond her elbow.

For not the first time tonight, Mullenix was feeling nauseated. As the wave of sickness washed over him and through him, he closed his eyes, gulped and opened them again to receive another photo. The time, a pretty but a little chunky woman in a Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirt and camouflage pants was sitting atop a tractor. A field of snowy white cotton gleamed in the background. An older gentleman stood beside the tractor with a cigarette handing out of his mouth and a battered confederate battle-flag hat laying crooked on his head. He wore a simple blue shirt with the words TRUMP in bold white letters, along with the tag-line in red below it: Make America Great Again.

“I'm guessing this one is their engagement photo?” Swain tried to quip as he took the picture from Mullenix. It came out hollow as his voice cracked.

McGrath guestered to him. “They then left for Lloyd's apartment where Lloyd's unfortunate girlfriend Kelly Willis-Ross was living. They nearly decapitated her with a kitchen knife.”

Another grizzly crime photo was passed over. Poor Miss Willis-Ross lay in a bathtub, soaked red. Her head lay disjointed on her shoulders, her chin impossibly almost touching her right breast. Swain felt another surge in his stomach. He tried to focus on something in the picture so that he would appear to be looking at the slide, but not really looking at the carnage itself. His eyes fixed on a blue bottle which sat on the side of the tub next to the unfortunate carcass of Lloyd's now ex-girlfriend. HERBAL ESSENCES CONDITIONER. BLUE RASPBERRY.

“Jesus Christ,” Mullenix breathed.

Swain shot him a glance. His friend and partner's face was caught in a grimace.

“I know,” Swain whispered, “good luck sleeping tonight.”

“I don't think I'm ever going to sleep again,” Mullenix mumbled.

McGrath continued, as more horrific scenes of gore was paraded down the line.

“They then drove to their place of employment: a Papagayos Mexican Restaurant. These two star employees were on the clock for only 53 minutes before they murdered their boss and everyone in the store with kitchen knives. They have been on the run every since.”

“How do we know they're coming here?” Meeker asked, taking a seat on the edge of the conference table.

McGrath answered, “On Thursday night around 20:00, 911 operators at a Southern Star Gas Station near Oxford Mississippi were alerted to a robbery and homicide, and closed circuit cameras in the store captured the Chumway brothers. Two of the men they beat to death inside the store were concealed carry operators who were overwhelmed before they were able to withdraw their weapons. The Chumways stole the weapons and are now considered armed and dangerous....well...more dangerous.”

A few more cops trickled into the conference room from outside, looking pale and cold, shaking off the rain. McGrath paused as they took their place around the room, then continued, “Early Friday morning, around 02:30 we got a bead on to what direction they were heading in when 911 dispatch got word of a robbery at a Dixie Donuts outside Memphis Tennessee. Again surveillance at the location confirmed that the Chumway brothers were perpetrators of the crime. They were tracked to a strip club in the area and then to a motel, but apparently just missed the grasp of Memphis police. Their pursuit was also put off by trick or treating traffic, something I heard you guys had trouble with as well as you were tracking your own psychopath through the town.”

A few of the cops nodded and murmuring in agreement. Agent McGrath paused , rubbing his chin, his eyes clouded over, as if he were lost in his thoughts. After a moment he said, “We have every reason to assume they continued north, and would be entering this vicinity very soon if they continued at their assumed rate of speed. Unfortunately we have no idea what they could be driving now, they keep switching vehicles, but we just need you boys to keep an eye out.”

There was another cough and a few moments of heavy silence. Then Doughboy snapped to attention, his blue eyes wet, and barked: “Sir yes sir.”

The others officers followed suit, but all were less exuberant and most were merely mumbling. Deputy-Sheriff Meeker sat up from the edge of the table and approached Agent McGrath, and placing a hand on the shorter man's shoulder. McGrath gave a half smile, shooting a glance to Meeker and then back to the assembled officers. “Well okay then, we know what to look for, and we'll do our best to nab these sonsabitches.” Meeker extended his hand and McGrath took it.

Officer Mullenix yawned. Officer Ted Mitchum came in to the room with a large WANTED poster of the Chumway brothers. He lifted a stapler and stapled it to the wall next to the whiteboard at the far end of the conference room. Mullenix fixated on their face.

They look so normal, he thought, like just two simple men....two...really normal simple men.

NEXT>>

[fragmentedfemme]

Breaking Free

The rain was pouring outside, the deluge was drumming its icy cold fingers against the skylight above.  I lay in bed watching the trickles down the slant of the window into the gutter below,  my mind full of thoughts, each one chasing the other round and round in circles.  I tilted my head to the side to glance at the alarm clock at Kevin’s side of the bed.  3.05am.  Five more minutes then it was time.  Just like I practised over the last month.  

I looked again.   It was time.  I carefully pulled back the sheets as so not to wake the man lying next to me.   His arm was draped over me, heavy across my stomach.  Gently I lifted his arm and moved it off of me, with careful and precise movements I sat up and slid out of bed.  I crept around the bed doing my best not to wake Kevin,  it was unlikely he would wake though. He had drunk enough for a football team last night, but I could never be quite sure if he would wake up to go pee or sleep like the dead.  I was taking a huge chance.  But it had to be tonight, now that I was strong enough to follow through.

I heard the bed creak and I froze in place, holding my breath and glanced over my shoulder and watched as he turned around onto his back and started to snore.  I let my breath go in a relieved sigh and continued my silent trek out of the bedroom.  Once in the hallway I relaxed slightly, I walked faster towards the stairs, heading down to the utility room,  once of the few places that he ever ventured into.    As I reached the bottom of the stairs,  I caught sight of my reflection in the floor length mirror that was hung on the wall opposite the stairs and I winced.  My red hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail,  my features were pale in the early morning gloom, but  bruises were clear even in the darkness.  A fading black eye and matching trail of bruises running along my jawline, more recent marks adorned my upper arms and a necklace of red blotches circled my throat.  Taking a second I looked at my pathetic reflection,  tears stinging my eyes.  Enough was enough, I had to go.

Hurrying  through to the utility room,  I knelt down in front of the cabinet closest to the washer and moved the obligatory soap powders, softeners and stain removers that I had artfully placed in front of a large khaki canvas bag I had hidden in there weeks ago.  I was careful as I pulled it out, making sure that I didn’t knock anything over or make too loud a noise that would wake up Kevin.  As the bag came clear of the cabinet, I pulled open the zipper and re-checked the contents as I had done every day this week,  worried that he would find it and remove the essentials that I had placed in there to make my escape more difficult or impossible.  I moved everything around, the cash that I had saved up since the beatings began, a few thousand dollars.  My passport, birth certificate, drivers license.  Spare clothes, a burner phone that I had purchased the last time I had been allowed out without him. A map, bus timetables.  Everything was there as I pushed everything back into place,  a small black and grey photo appeared, peeking out from the safety of my journal.  My eyes flooded with tears, my hand instantly moving to cradle my flat stomach.  With my free hand I reached in and snaked the photo out of my journal, pulling it free to expose it in full.  My first and last sonogram.  My hand drew circles over my stomach that had until 3 months ago housed our baby,  my baby.  That was until I made Kevin dinner and forgot to use the correct napkins.  

It had been building all day,  a look here,  a disgusted grunt there.  I had not folded the towel in the bathroom correctly,  one of the tins on the pantry shelves was slightly out of alignment to the rest of them.  I looked too long at myself in the mirror.   It didn’t take much.  A few punches to the face, till I dropped to my knees.  I was too slow to protect my stomach,  never thinking for a moment that he would do anything to endanger the baby,  but a couple of well placed kicks to the stomach was all that was needed.  He left me there,  lying on the floor, losing blood.  Losing our baby while he went to the local bar for a few beers and no doubt to flirt or worse with the barmaid there,  who had no clue what kind of man he really was.  When he came home and saw me,  trying so hard to clean up the blood,  he was so apologetic, promising as he always did that he was sorry and that it would never happen again.  He knew this time he didn’t have a choice.  He would have to take me to the emergency room, I had lost a lot of blood.  So he took me in and they confirmed what I already knew,  he murdered our child and if I didn’t get out one day he would murder me too.

So here I sat,  glancing at what should have been my future but was now a part of my past.  I slid the photo back into my journal and zipped the bag closed.  Pulling open the door to the washer I dug out the clothes that I had put in there this morning. Underwear, socks, Black skinny jeans, a camisole and a beige chunky knit sweater.  I dressed as quickly as I could, sliding my feet into my sneakers left at the side of the door.  Picking up the bag, I traversed the way through the house to the back door.  The yard had a gate at the bottom which opened up into the woods.  The gate had a lock on it but I had sneaked the key from the cabinet this afternoon and had left a torch down next to the gate, hidden by some bushes.  I took my large thick fleece from the hook and slipped it on,  followed by a wooly hat to help cover my hair.  Shouldering the bag I stood a moment, listening intently to the sounds of the house.  Hearing nothing alarming I turned the key in the lock of the door and opened it slowly.  Nothing but silence of the early morning greeted me.  I stepped out into the chill and closed the door behind me.  I took a few steps and looked back at the house, taking a moment to check each of the windows for him.  Nothing, each window was black and empty.

I half ran down the yard to the gate,  reached into the bushes to extract the torch and then reached into my jacket pocket to retrieve the key I had secured in there earlier.  My hand slipped around its coldness and I clasped it tight and moved to unlock the gate.  The lock clicked free and the gate opened with ease giving off no noise.  One last look at the house and all was still dark, I stepped out of the yard and into the darkness of the woods and closed the gate behind me.   I had traced the route over and over whenever Kevin had gone to the bar or out fishing and knew how to get down to the main road that led into town, to the safety of the bus depot.  The safety of the bus that was leaving for Washington at 5.15am from there I would get a bus or train up into Canada and eventually move on over to Alaska.  I had a cousin who lived in Anchorage, I should hopefully be able to stay with her for a few days, till I cleared my head and decided what I wanted to do,  stay or move on..  I glanced down at the watch on my wrist 4:20 am.  Damn I was behind schedule.  I switched on the torch and followed its beam as I ran down the wooded trail as quick as I dared in the darkness,  I had to be careful, I couldn't afford to fall and break my ankle.  

Eventually the light of the main road came and I breathed easier. I was almost there.  I looked again at my watch.  4:50am.  Ok,  that was better.  It would take me 10 minutes to get to town then I had 15 minutes to get my tickets,  run to the restroom, grab a coffee and get seated on the bus before it left.  

The twinkle of lights at the bus station brought a smile to my lips.  Finally my safe haven was in sight.   Stepping up to the ticket booth I purchased my ticket with a smile and stowed it safely into my pocket before heading to use the restroom.  As I washed up, I heard the boarding call for my bus and noting that departure was in 5 minutes.  Stepping out of the restroom I eyed the coffee stand,  there were no customers in line so it took mere moments for me to get my order,  a black coffee, bottle of water and a blueberry muffin.  I gathered up my refreshments and made the short walk to the bus.  The driver was standing next to the door with a clipboard and was checking peoples tickets and marking them off of his list.  I stood in line and patiently waited for my turn.  When it came to my turn the driver greeted me and we made small talk as he checked my ticket number against what was on the clipboard. It seemed to take forever,  and even though I knew I had a ticket, I still worried that he wouldn’t let me on the bus for some reason.  With a nod he ticked off my ticket and asked me to climb aboard and take my seat as we were about to leave.

Walking down the narrow aisle of the bus,  I took a seat a few from the front.  Stowing my bag in the overhead compartment, I slid into the seat below me with my coffee and muffin and watched as the driver shut the luggage bay under the seating areas and locked it.  He blew his whistle for the final call, waited a few moments and seeing that no one was rushing toward the bus, he took the stairs and sat down.  The doors shut and the bus started up,  the engine causing the bus to vibrate. I took a sip of my coffee and the bus pulled out of the depot and on to the road that I had just walked down.  The bus, I knew would drive past the woods that I had just escaped and I knew that if I looked up through the woods, I would see the silhouette of the house where I had lived with Kevin for the last 2 years.   The bus took the road at a steady pace as as it took the curve,  the woods came into sight.  Feeling brave, I watched as the woods came closer and closer, my eyes watching the point I would see the house.  And there it was.  No longer dark, the lights blazed out of the windows.  He was awake.  He knew. 

I began to tremble,  terrified that any moment he would burst out of the woods and force the bus to stop.  But the woods began to thin and then became a row of houses and the bus began to pick up speed as we rushed toward the town limits.  

As I saw the sign saying “You are now leaving Portland come again soon,  I breathed a sigh of relief.  I had finally done it.  I had broken free!

[ifeveristoday]

Buffy Summers’s Diary (III)

[insert Dawn’s lament here]

My silly little thing has gotten a bit less sillier in this part. Carry on.

1 Lyft carpool with Anya

3 missing pens

1 maybe date

7 outfit options, all terrible

100 years of rain

 When I was little and it rained, my mom would bring me to the living room and watch the rain splash against our bay windows. Sometimes she would get out her box of cassettes and we’d listen to “It Never Rains in Southern California.” Of course, I would point out that the singer was wrong, because what was happening outside then?

She would just laugh, and shake her head. ‘Baby, it’s not that it doesn’t rain, it’s the feeling that LA is always sunny even when it rains.’

I didn’t understand back then.

Watching the sun stream into the street and shine on perfect rectangles of manicured lawns while I peeked through blinds – I understood a little better. LA carries on even when darkness surrounds you, is in you.

 Anyway, it rained today, a deluge even. Kendra arranged for Lyft carpools for the employees and I shared mine with Anya. She lives only twenty minutes away from my apartment, but she drives while I take the bus. I like Anya, but it’s impossible to make small talk with her. She doesn’t understand the concept and launches into whatever she’s thinking with no segues whatsoever. I need a mental crash helmet whenever I talk to her.

She asked me if I used her gift certificate – ‘It expires soon, Buffy. There’s a special sale going on this weekend, I really think you would find some helpful aids there.’

Before I can even respond, she’s off talking about the new vibrator line that’s come in, and the importance of using essential oils in the bedroom.

The backseat of a car never collapses into a black hole when you want it to.

She managed to ask a question about Xander among all the updates from the Magic Box and I guess my expression tipped her off. Her mouth thinned out and she crossed her arms across her chest.

‘What? I can’t ask about Xander?’

I’m just surprised that she wants to. Their romance was pretty volatile at the end.

‘No, you can. He’s fine – sent me a postcard from Cape Town. He seems happy.’

She slumped a little. ‘Oh. That’s nice.’

I’m going to regret this – like in five minutes, I’m sure of it – but I ask her anyway.

‘How are you doing?’

‘I’m fine. I’m the one who broke it off. I’m very happy, I’m busy, my jobs are going great, I found a decent hairstylist in this town – I’m fantastic,’ she babbled.

She straightened up again and looked out the window.

‘I’m happy that he’s happy,’ she said. ‘We’re almost there.’

The driver pulled up to our building five minutes later. He smirked at us as we got out.

 Anya works in a different part of the building than I do and our goodbyes were awkward as I got out of the elevator. ‘Remember the sale, Buffy,’ she said as the doors slid shut.

I’m just not in the mood for that kind of self-care.

 There is an office supply thief on this floor and they are stealing my purple pens. I had four and now I have one. This is ridiculous, we are all adults and surely we can use the office supply cabinet instead of just lifting pens from other people’s desks like thieves in the night.

Why would they even take my pens? Everyone in the office knows I use purple to revise my notes – I know everything is digital but there’s something comforting about the way a pen can glide over the paper. I like the weight of the pen against my palm and it seems more permanent than a blinking cursor on a screen.

  I moved a PR box and found my pens wedged underneath my monitor stand.

Good thing I didn’t write that email to HR complaining about pen theft and being known as the most uptight person on this floor.

I need a cup of coffee but I’m going to make tea instead.

William is lounging in the break room when I come in. He has a rapt audience, the temps and Harmony are there, hanging onto his every word.

I roll my eyes and head for the tea station. Just because a man has good bone structure, an accent, and a leather jacket doesn’t mean he’s the most interesting person in the room.

Okay, maybe in the top five.

 I sit at the lone unoccupied table and hear snatches of the conversation. William is doing research for his next novel. He reached out to several publications and my CEO accepted his request along with the offer of a guest column in the magazine. He’s going to be writing about his travels and whatever else interests him.

It sounds like a dream assignment but I remember my blog is important too. Kendra told me not to read the comments though.

 One by one the admirers flutter out of the break room as editors appear in the doorway, meaningfully clearing their throats. I’m still sipping my tea when William walks over to me and sits down.

 ‘So, Summers. I have a gift for you.’

‘Yeah?’ I say, playing it cool. I am a cool glacial woman of substance.

‘I do,’ he smiles and then reaches into his messenger bag. ‘Freshly autographed.’

He slides Saturday and The Chosen across the table to me. His fingers skim the covers carefully as if he’s touching something precious.

Saturday’s cover shows a picture of a black woman, her gaze defiant and steely. The Chosen has a more generic cover, its title picked out in shades of gold and bronze.

‘Thanks,’ I say as I turn The Chosen over and read the blurb on its dust jacket. ‘Oh. Fantasy’s never really been my thing.’

Except for the period Dawn and I would read Harry Potter to each other under the covers with a flashlight, but he doesn’t need to know that.

He lifts one eyebrow and I notice the thin white scar cutting it into two imperfect halves. ‘Try it, you never know. Or maybe Saturday is more your type.’

‘This the one with your lone female character?’ I lean back and gaze at him over my cup.

He laughs and rubs his chest. ‘Ouch. But fair – I’m going to be writing more female leads in my novels. Nikki won’t be the last.’

‘That’s her name?’ I nod at Saturday’s cover.

‘Yeah. Nikki Danger.’

I choke on my tea. ‘Her name is Nikki Danger? Are you writing the next Bond novel?’

His smile has a hint of teeth. ‘Says the girl named Buffy Summers.’

‘My mom gave me that name, and it’s after a famous singer, you Philistine.’

I heard Will use that once, during debate class in high school. It sounded cool then even though I didn’t know exactly what it meant.

‘I know. And love, I’m in the arts, not exactly a Philistine. Do you want to borrow a dictionary for next time?’

This asshole.

Then I realize what he said. ‘What do you mean next time?’

Full on smile, and is that dimple? ‘How about dinner after work – does tonight sound good?’

He stands up and leaves before I can complete my thought.

I open Saturday. He’s scrawled his phone number on the front page.

  So it’s not a date. It’s a friendly dinner. I’ve done that before. It’ll be like riding a bike.

I have an uncomfortable vision of William riding a motorcycle and I decide that I need some advice.

Willow’s answering machine picks up when I call, so I just tell her I’m looking forward to our weekend brunch.

Andrew screeches when I call him. Literally, I had to hold my phone away from my ears.

‘You’re going on a date with the Spike Pratt?’

‘It’s just dinner,’ I say, fumbling for my apartment keys. ‘I’m going to meet him at some bistro after work.’

‘Are you going home to change?’ Andrew demands.

‘Well, of course.’

‘Then it’s a date,’ Andrew says triumphantly. ‘If you didn’t care, you’d just wear your work clothes.’

‘My hair got wet this morning and it’s sort of frizzy,’ I say. ‘It’s not that big of a deal. And his name is William.’

‘Eh, Spike sounds sexier,’ Andrew says. ‘William sounds like an accountant.’

‘It’s a maybe date,’ I say. ‘I don’t know. I made fun of him this morning, maybe he’s just returning the favor.’

Andrew sighs.

‘Girl, how long has it been since you’ve been on a date?’

‘Not that long,’ I scan my desk to make sure I haven’t left anything important behind. ‘There was Owen and Parker…’ I trail off.

‘Ew, ew and ew,’ Andrew says dismissively. ‘A poet and a day trader? Buffy, Parker was gross, and Owen writes gay erotica on the internet. He hasn’t written a poem since leaving college.’

‘You’ve read some of it,’ I say. ‘And you’ve dated some highly questionable people yourself.’

‘Yes, both the poems and the erotica were terrible. And you can’t hold Warren over my head all the time.’

‘I’m sorry. That wasn’t cool of me. But he really was the worst.’

‘He really was,’ Andrew agrees. ‘Just go on the date. You never know until you try, right? You told me that once.’

‘Okay. Maybe it won’t be completely terrible.’

  It was completely terrible.

All of my clothes weren’t right. I have exactly three types of clothes – athleisure, work clothes, and clothes that are too big for me. I haven’t had the chance to donate them yet or buy clothes that fit properly.

It took me seven tries until I settled on something that wasn’t too much or too little for a casual dinner with a handsome man.

Okay, I admit it. He’s a good looking man.

 I called him on the way to the bistro. He didn’t answer until the third ring. He sounded strange as if he forgot that he asked me out to dinner in the first place.

‘I’m glad you called actually – I was about to call. I’m sorry, Buffy. Something came up and I can’t make it to dinner after all. Can I have a raincheck?’

‘What?’

‘You have every right to be angry at me, but I just can’t get out of this commitment. I’ll call you, love. All right?’

The dial tone rings in my ear.

 I ended up getting takeout from the bistro – it seemed stupid to go all the way there and not get dinner. The ride back to my apartment gave me time to sort out what exactly I was feeling.

It was a tornado of emotions. First, sheer relief. Then, a flush of anger prickling against my skin. Who does he think he is, I muttered to myself. Then seething resentment followed by an aching emptiness. He must have googled me.

 I don’t do that anymore. The last time I checked for myself was right when I got out of the clinic. All the headlines were some variations of ‘Fallen Olympian completes rehab’ or ‘Buffy Summers – where is she now?’

Even the Sunnydale Post had something about me and I only trained there for three summers. ‘Ex-Olympic Gold Medalist in Recovery for Eating Disorder.’

Simple and to the point – though skipping all the reasons why I got there. The byline was a familiar name – Freddie Iverson. He was one of the first people to interview me when I won my medal.

 ‘How does it feel being a champion?’

It feels wonderful. It feels like flying and your feet don’t touch the ground. It feels like nothing can hurt you.

 How does it feel to be washed up at nineteen?

Ten years later and I’m still trying to answer that question.

It starts raining as I clean up the rest of the takeout. I made myself eat every last bite.

 It never rains in California, but girl, don't they warn ya? It pours, man, it pours

 the lyrics are from “It Never Rains in Southern California” by Albert Hammond

and I’m working from the fancanon (in exalted circles) that Buffy is named after Buffy Sainte Marie who would have been very popular during Joyce’s time because you just know Joyce was a hippie.

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[eternal-love-song]

Working Through The Storm

During a drive home Mina and Izuku have to do some emergency hero work.

[Izuku/Mina]  [Established Relationship, aged up characters, pro heroes, car accidents]

The rain was a surprise. Neither of them had checked the weather that morning, so they didn't know to expect the sudden drops of water that splashed onto their car. It fell fast and heavy from the start, a curtain of noise surrounding them as the downpour attempted to drown out the sound of the cars around them. Izuku turned on the windshield wipers and Mina rolled up her window.

"Wow, it's really coming down," she observed as she stared out the window.

"Yeah. Think it will stop before we get home?" he asked. He didn't dare take his eyes off the road even for a moment, though he had the impulse to glance at her while speaking.

"I hope so," she said softly.

The rain didn't stop. It continued to get heavier, to the point that the windshield wipers were barely cutting through the deluge of water. Thunder and lightning was starting to run on their heels and Izuku was driving slower and slower to avoid an accident.

"We might need to stop," he told her. "This is really bad."

Her reply was cut off by the loud blaring of a car horn. A car was swiftly coming toward him and he found himself swerving to avoid it.

"Izuku!" Mina yelled, pushing her hands to the dash board in surprise.

"I'm sorry, hold on!" He said.

The world was a loud blur for a few moments. His foot slammed on the brakes, bu they still felt the impact of he other car and Mina cried out from the surprise of it. It took a moment for them to register that they were no longer moving. Their head was spinning, the crash of thunder sounded to be right above them, and the rain was starting to mingle with the blaring of car horns. Mina moved first, reaching out to place her hand on his. "Izu... Izuku, are you okay?"

It took him a bit longer to get his head straight. She was unbuckling his seat belt and turning his head toward her, looking into his eyes. He blinked away the mild headache that he could feel, forcing himself to focus on her.

"Did you hit your head?" She asked him.

"I'm fine," he said. "Sorry, I..."

She leaned forward to kiss him, cutting off his response. It was short, desperate, he could feel her gratitude for his well being as she clung to him and he responded in turn. When she pulled away, she pressed her forehead to his. "That was scary," she whispered. "I was worried about you, Izu."

"Sorry," he told her. "I was worried, too." He held her for a moment longer before finally moving away. "Come on, we have work to do. We have to make sure everyone else is alright."

She nodded, smiling weakly at him before letting go.

The noise increased immediately when they opened the car door and the rain had them soaked before they even stepped all the way outside the car. The storm had reeked havoc of the area around them. There were a lot of cars stopped on the road ahead, some seemed to have crashed and others just stuck between the accidents.

"We should call someone for help," Mina yelled to be heard over the storm.

Izuku quickly took out his phone. "I'll send a message," he told her. He had a group chat for rescue heroes in case something like this happened. His friends were spread out among different agencies and it was faster to cast a wide net and wait for someone to respond than to try to get anyone specific

When he looked up, Mina was already checking on the car that had crashed into theirs, melting the lock on the door and opening it to check on those inside. They could cover more ground if they split up, but they wouldn't be able to communicate easily if anything went wrong. Considering how bad the storm was, he didn't want to take any chances with things getting worse. He went to Mina's side as she was pulling the man out of his car.

"He's bleeding!" Mina told him as she carefully manuevered the man into her arms.

"I'll find somewhere safe to set him," he said. He took the man from her arms as he looked around. There was more open road than there was cover and he frowned as he tried to look for cover. The best he could do was a gazebo in the distance. Not the best, but he didn't want to leave them on the ground to the mercy of the elements. He activated full cowl and jumped toward the gazebo.

They worked together like that for a while. Checking on the people in cars, Izuku carrying them to the relative safety and shelter of the gazebo. Ochako arrived with Todoroki, which sped up their efforts significantly, and the paramedics were not too far behind them.

"Are the two of you okay?" Todoroki asked once things were settling down. Ochako and Mina were trying to help the clear the road ahead of debris. There were a fee trees that had been felled by lightning and cars that needed to be moved to the side. Mina was melting the tree and Ochako floating the cars and pushing them to the side.

"Yeah, we're okay. Our car wasn't so lucky though," he answered.

"Are you sure?" Todoroki was looking at him critically, cataloging the scrapes and scratches that he'd received before looking him in the eyes again. "You've been out here for a while, right?"

Izuku smiled. It was nice that his friend was worrying about him. Todoroki had become a lot more aware of others over the years and it still made him smile to see the change. "I'm a little cold and I'll probably be sick tomorrow," he admitted. "But I'm okay for now. Same for Mina, I imagine."

Todoroki nodded. "You could go home now if you wanted. Ochako and I have things under control for now."

Izuku looked over to where the girls were working. They made an efficient team, but Izuku felt bad for not being more helpful, even if he'd only stopped to rest for a moment. "Maybe first we should--"

"Midoriya," Todoroki said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Don't overwork yourself. If you don't stop, she won't either, you know."

That was true. Since they'd gotten together, Mina had chased him in the charts. Part of the reason was that they teamed up so often and her popularity was directly tied to his, but the other reason was that she worked really hard. He worked himself tirelessly sometimes and when they were working together, she rufused to stop unless he did. It had lead to them both running themselves ragged and getting scolded by their comrades. Mina was never so reckless when she worked by herself and he had to admit that in that way he was a bit of a bad influence on her.

Izuku sighed. As tired as he felt, Mina would be feeling it worse. Her quirk actively hurt her if she used it too much and he'd caught her trying to bandage her injuries in secret too many times. He bit his lip, deliberating further, his instinct to take care of her warring against his instinct to be the best hero he could be.

"The world isn't going to stop if you go home early," Todoroki said. "All that's left is the clean up. Let someone get a chance to be useful Midoriya."

A tired smiled tugged it's way on Izuku's lips. "Alright," he said. "I'll ask Mina if she wants to take a break."

Todoroki shook his head, but he was smiling. "The two of you are too much."

He ran over to Mina, catching her sneezing a few times before he reached her. She was already sick. The guilt settled over her immediately, but he tried to push it aside. It was her choice to keep working after all, he couldn't protect her from that.

"Mina," he called out once he was close enough. She smiled when she turned to her, her face brightening enough that he almost couldn't see how tired she was underneath her smile. Almost.

"Todoroki said that they could handle things from here. Are you ready to go?" he questioned.

"Please," she answered with a smile. "I feel like a wet rat out here." She turned to look around her, checking that all her necessary work had been done. "Yeah, let's go home. Is the car okay? Should be drive? It's still coming down pretty bad."

"I'll talk to Ochako and have her take care of our car," He said. "We're close enough that I can just run us home."

She leaned up to kiss his cheek. "My hero," she said with a small laugh.

The talk with Ochako was quick. She seemed to be on the same page as Todoroki, pushing him off as quickly as she could and promising that she and Todoroki would take care of everything.

He lifted Mina into his arms to carry her bridal style and she immediately sagged against him. He could feel how tired she was, but she smiled as she wrapped her arms around his neck and nuzzled into him. He felt warmth blooming in his chest and he kissed her forehead before he began leaping toward their home.

[extremelytiredincrediblyconfused]

the melodramatic beginning of my climactic end

There are, quite honestly, about a million other ways I had hoped to gain notoriety... and by a million I mean, like, five. Six, tops. Looking back, avoiding my own inevitable would’ve been easy – a literal push; a click, a tap, the fucking pushing of a fucking button (sorry, potty mouth). All I had to do was keep my mouth shut; keep my shit private just as I always had. I had worked so hard to get where I was – where I hopefully still am – and while some people may have deserved at least some part of what they got, some were just the worst kind of collateral damage. To the latter: you will never know the extent of my regret, nor the level at which I now self-loathe. To the former: I’m still sorry, even if you do suck a little.. I know, I know I’m getting ahead of myself. On that note, I suppose I should start from the melodramatic beginning of my climactic end – my self-imposed downfall, my very clumsy swan dive into public humiliation. Here goes; try not to hate me too much.

Oh, I’ve changed the names of people and places, but the rest is - unfortunately - the truth. 

“Well, it’s over! It’s done!” Judy, very melodramatically, intoned while frantically waving her arms, “Edgewood has officially gone to hell in a handbasket!” I have only just walked into the back door of the bakery and tea house the two of us own together, but I can already tell it’s going to be one of those days – to be fair, most of them are. “Well, don’t stop now, give me all the dirt!” I know I’m baiting her, but it never stops being fun. “They robbed my silverware tree!” she offered by way of explanation – the “silverware tree” as we now call it, is the tree that we are forced by the town of Clydesville to have blocking our front door because we live in Tree City USA. We decided to make it festive by hanging all of our gold-plated silverware that was too pitted for use (we are fancy, after all) and everyone had already come to terms with the simple fact that we might as well just throw that silverware in the trash, because once it was out there it likely wouldn’t stay very long. “Well, don’t let them ever say we don’t give back to our community.” Being flippant probably isn’t the best approach to the situation, but we are nothing if not sassy here. “Thanks for taking their attack on my decoration seriously” she sighed “I guess I should just be thankful they were careful not to trample my english garden while they robbed me blind.” “You’re right, I’m sorry, I should’ve taken this more seriously” I held up my hands in a placating gesture, “more importantly – who had bets on it lasting less than a month?” Before she even had time to feign offense, the victor was ready to claim their spoils. “That would be me!” the victor in question being my friend, and co-worker, Lawrence; or as we all prefer to call him, Law, “E-e-easiest five bucks I eva made!” he took the time to not only grab his prize, but do a somewhat embarrassing dance while doing it, “Ooh, wait, give it to me in singles – I WANNA MAKE IT RAIN.” “Five singles isn’t enough to make it rain, Law.” I retorted knowingly – honestly because we have tried to do it countless times, and failed miserably. We have the slow-motion videos to prove it. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was your personal mission to rain on EVERYBODY’S parade today, Kat. Don’t let me stop you, want me to tell you about my hopes and dreams so you can shoot them all down while you’re at it? Yeesh.” He and I have been friends for so long, this type of back-and-forth is just par for the course. As a matter of fact, if I’m not mistaken, we are actually cousins. It is Wayneswood County, after all, literally everyone is related. “As long as your so-called hopes and dreams don’t involve proposing to yet another girlfriend, I’m pretty sure I’ll be supportive of them” I know it’s a low blow to hit so early in our little game, but I really do have a reason for coming in to the store today. You see, Law is what we call a ‘habitual proposer’ – he’s been engaged to four different women (only married to one) in his ripe, young age of twenty-eight. “aye-aye-aye, kick a man when he’s down, why don’tcha?” he pounded a closed fist over his heart in an attempt to make me feel bad. “I’m not saying I didn’t know it wouldn’t happen, but I just thought people would be nicer. I should know better than to place any expectations on humanity anymore. Oh, well – at least I’ve got more silverware to hang up. No more soup ladles, though, the dredges of society apparently needed to serve some broth.” Judy interjected, still trying desperately to hide her disappointment. “That or prepare a whole lot of crack!” I jovially added, making a show of shrugging my shoulders and forcing a tight smile. “Prepare. Prepare?” oh, here he goes “Uh, excuse me, yes Geeves” Law was getting into it now, affecting a posh accept and holding his pinky in the air “prepare us crack, good sir, make it our finest vintage!” “Soooorrrrryyyyy I don’t know all the hip drug lingo, friendo. I must’ve missed that issue of Street Youth Monthly.” Admittedly, my joke’s weren’t always the cream of the crop. After receiving looks of pity for my attempt at being pithy, we fell into our daily routine of treading water and getting through the daily deluge of afternoon teas, ladies having lunch, hipster parents trying to force their kids into liking fancy things and the general public needing sweets to keep calm and carry on. “Our 2:00 afternoon pushed to Wednesday, and changed their reservation time to 1:30.” Judy explained – at the end of the day we all sit down and compare calendars, make notes on scheduling, and make sure we haven’t over-booked ourselves too terribly much. “Okay, perfect. I got a form submission for a 12:00 highest on the 26th.” I added, looking over my most recent crop of e-mails. “Hmmm” Judy furrowed her brow in concentration, “No, that won’t work, we’ve got a party of 15 at 12:00 for a Bridal Shower Tea, see if they can move to either 11:00 am or 2:00 pm. Those are the only availabilities.” “I’ll go ahead and e-mail them.” I responded, tapping a few keys to bring that promise to life. “We will need someone on June 9th, we have that big pastry order for the store anniversary at Belk.” Judy flipped her calendar, and for the first time I truly realized how close to the end of May we were. “I also have a wedding that Friday, so we will definitely need to schedule a lot of help because I’ll be down for the count just filling those two orders.” I’m the Pastry Chef, so I shoulder most of the actual baking responsibility, but I always make sure that only I do the wedding cakes. I’m very, very particular about the wedding cakes. “Can do. Law, can you make yourself available?” “Already planning on it, boss.”  My friend was nothing if not dependable. “Y’all know I ain’t got shit going on otherwise.” “Thanks, my dude. Did you buy your tickets for the Front Bottoms yet?!” we had only been talking about going to see them for, oh I don’t know, a million years now. I needed him to stop dragging his feet and commit to going with me already. I hate going places by myself, especially Asheville. “ohmagod, do you want me to buy the tickets in front of you? Do you want me to purchase the gahdang tickets right frickin now so you can watch and make sure I do it, MOM?” like I said, the back and forth never stops with us. “actually that would bring me great pleasure.” I said, a smug smile taking over. “FINE.” He yelled, while pulling out his phone with more dramatic flourish than I probably deserved. After a few enunciated taps, he announced he had indeed purchased the ticket (showing me the text for proof) “You’re driving my ass there I hope you know. And buying me a beer – Wicked Weed is right next door and I’m not about to take on a buncha teenage FB fans without some liquid assistance.” “I’ll do you one better – I’ll buy you a PRETZEL to go with your beer.” I’m feeling very magnanimous, obviously. The day ended as does every other – with our tiny crew barely holding it together, and counting down the last five minutes like we were in Time’s Square watching the ball drop. Unfortunately for me, though, keeping up morale until 5:00 wasn’t going to be my biggest problem of the day.

The drive home was especially short for me, considering I lived less than a block away from the shop. Yes, I choose to drive - you haven’t been on these mean streets at 3:00 am. I put my little Honda in park, and tried to get all the groceries in one go, something at which I seemed to be failing miserably. Reaching for my key, usually hanging from the tiny cupcake keychain my boyfriend’s niece got me for Christmas a few years ago, I was shocked to look down and see nothing more than a broken bead chain. Sonofa – “NOOOOOOO not again!!!!” I whined, loudly. Cute it may be, practical it was not – I had lost my house key more times than I could count at this point during our five-year stint in our little Edgewood home. Micah’s car was here, though, so I could at least just bang on the door until he let me in. “MICAH! MICAH I KNOW YOU’RE HERE, LET ME IN YOU PUNK.” -bang bang bang- -bang bang bang- “I SWEAR TO CHRIST IF YOUR’E SLEEPING THROUGH THIS I’M GOING TO MURDER YOU. YOU JUST WAIT UNTIL I GET THIS DOOR OPEN” -bang bang bang- At this point, my hand was starting to hurt desperately, so I decided that –naturally- the best course of action was to begin kicking the door. However, one can only punch and kick a door for so long before one decides one looks like a crazy person and the neighbors start peeking out their windows. I pulled out my phone to begin the task of calling him until he answered, but after the fifth call of incessant ringing, it started going straight to voicemail. Huh. I mean, that’s probably nothing right? “Hey, it’s Micah, I’m either busy or just can’t get to the phone right now – either way, leave me a message and I’ll call you back… or I won’t. Later. Beeeeeeeep” “Micah, what the hell? I’m sitting outside, freezing, alone, getting really shitty looks from our very terrible neighbors, I lost my key – again. Yes, I know. Your car is here, so I don’t know why you’re not, but I guess just let me know whenever you can. I love you.” A knot began twisting in the pit of my stomach – our relationship would never be described as “stable” or “healthy”, a fact that my friend who was currently going to school to be a therapist (whatever that’s called – therapy school? Therapist school? How-does-that-make-you-feel school?) was always very quick to point out. “If someone really loved you, they wouldn’t make you feel this way.” “If he really loved you, he would make you a priority.” “People in healthy relationships don’t end up crying on their friends’ couches this much.” Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. We started dating when I was young – honestly, no frontal lobe development whatsoever – and we got way too serious way too quickly. What would you do if you were 19 and your boyfriend’s mom made you promise to take care of him on her deathbed? Yeah, that’s right, don’t judge me; maybe I should’ve left years earlier, but sometimes the hardest thing is to do is scream for help when your lungs have filled with water. So, I sat there. I sat on that porch for five hours and twenty-seven minutes and you can bet your ass if my watch counted seconds I would know those, too. Finally, the darkness was punctured by a harrowing halogen beacon, said beacon not being attached to any car I immediately recognized, but at this point a literal prostitute could’ve been driving him home and I wouldn’t have cared – the need to urinate was all encompassing and entirely overbearing. A slow roll, the sound of the door opening and quickly closing, a decidedly female voice offering promises of meeting again soon; the soft crunch of glass-flecked grass from when he accidentally broke two of my solar lights but never bothered to clean it up, the rattle of keys being removed from the same front, left pocket in which they always rested. “’bout time.” I slurred – admittedly, at some point during my wait I had decided to crack into the beers I had purchased earlier. And by “crack into” I mean “drink all of”. “jesus!” micah whispered, jumping back and assuming what I can only imagine was meant to be a defensive position, “Kat? What are you doing out here? Christ, you scared the SHIT outta me!” “Oh, no… are you slightly inconvenienced? Oh, oh, no… I would hate for your date to end on a sour note.” “Date? Oh, seriously, Kat? Really? You’re gonna get mad about me for hanging out with an old friend?” Micah’s mood immediately turned, and I knew it could only be headed in one direction. “Don’t bring him up.” I warned “For fuck’s sake” he huffed “so you’re free to throw my female friends in my face whenever you want, but I can’t bring up your so-called… what is it that you call him?” he asked in a mocking tone “best friend forever? Your little bestie? Bestie Bitch?” “Seriously, you don’t know what you’re talking about. Besides, that’s different.” I argued – the same argument we’ve had time and time again. “Oh, I do know what I’m talking about. I don’t give a shit that you guys have been friends since you were in diapers or whatever you want to claim – that guy is in love with you; he would be at the front of your line, and you know it.” He sneered “God, Micah, when are you finally going to admit that you’re unhappy? When will you stop trying so desperately to make ‘us’ work?” I pleaded, practically on my knees – because, damn, I was druuunk. “When will you?” I can’t explain what happened next, because never in my life have I been that person – the one who is strong enough to walk away, the one who can say no. I can only thank the Stella gods for giving me the distinguished courage to stand up – for, arguably, the first time in my life – and have the self-respect to finally walk away. “Now.” I blinked, suddenly realizing what I was saying, gathered what remained of my groceries (that I hadn’t eaten or drank) and stood up, ready to take the first step. Ready to make a move solely for myself, without worrying about someone who had never spent a day worrying about me. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Back up… what?” Micah kept doing this ‘I can’t believe this is happening’ blinking and head shaking combination, probably unsure what to do in a situation where I wasn’t a complete pushover, “say that again? I had to hear you wrong.” “Now.” I said again, much more forcefully, “I’m done. You’re done. We’re done, that simple. I’m leaving – I’ll, uh, come back sometime to get my stuff. I’m taking Penelope and MacGyver.” “You’re serious? Oh, you sweet, simple little bunny… just like that? Just… done? Where do you think you’re gonna go?” he had turned condescending, and I was not there for that. At. All. “I told you to stop calling me that, you ass. I’ll find somewhere to stay – so many people have been begging me to leave you and offering their homes as shelter, it’s not me I’m worried about.” “Well leave your key, I don’t want you sneaking back in here and taking my shit.” Oh, Micah, you always were unnecessarily paranoid. Looking back, it was probably the drugs I didn’t know you were taking. “I lost my key – if you answered your phone, you’d know that.” “Are you sure you can’t stay – we can talk this out?” “There’s nothing to talk about, Micah. We’re done. Now, get the hell out of my way, I’m leaving.” “You can’t drive, you’ve been drinking… you have to stay.” He had a point, and I’m honestly super terrified of breaking the law, but before he had even finished his sentence, I had my phone out and was halfway to dialing the only person I could consistently rely on. “Kat, baby? What’s wrong?” he answered – he always answers. “I’m sorry, Phoenix, I know it’s late… I just” oh, no, the tears. The tears started happening. “I don’t give a shit what time it is – you can call me day or night, you know that – you just never call.” His voice had taken on a tender quality, probably in response to my sobs. “I, uh, I… ah, fuck, can you come get me? Please?” “Absolutely, where are you?” “Ho-“ Micah cast a harsh glare in my direction, “… um, Micah’s house.” I corrected myself – this place hadn’t ever really been my home, anyway. “… is that a new place, or a new name for an old place?” I could hear his hesitancy – I didn’t know how to approach this situation, how could I expect him to? “It’s the same address… just a different situation.” I didn’t really want to get into it, considering Mr. Glarey McGlareson was still shooting eye-daggers at me. “Give me ten minutes.” “Don’t speed.” I attempted to sound stern “Kitkat, I’m coming to pick you up from what I can only assume to be your now ex-boyfriend’s house, I’ll be there in ten minutes or I owe you a bag of chips.” “I’m timing you.” “You’d better.” “Well isn’t that just precious – you’re moving on mighty fast there, Kitkat.” Micah sneered as soon as I hung up on Phoenix. “Seriously? Don’t. Just, don’t. I’m not the one who got dropped off by another woman.” I warned, but it was hollow – honestly, whoever she was, call that bitch up and I’ll thank her myself for being the impetus for this conversation. Micah decided it would be better to not wait with me, and I couldn’t have agreed more. He told me he would call me when he felt comfortable with me getting my stuff – I told him I would be by to get my cats by the end of the following week. He snorted some semblance of an agreement, walked up the two-steps to the small porch, stalked through the front door and ended the entire conversation with a slam. Nine minutes and thirty-seven seconds later, Phoenix’s truck pulled up in front of the 1940s bungalow I wouldn’t sleep another night in. How magnificent. “Jesus, P, how fast did you go?” “What do I need to load? What’s the game plan?” he clapped his hands, rubbing them together like he was either about to do some manual labor or concoct a dastardly plot to take down that do-gooder, Dudley. “I’m sorry, game plan?” I asked, still pretty tipsy, considering. “Yeah – let’s get this done, move you out. Why wait?” “Well, for one, it’s like three in the morning. For two, this wasn’t planned and I haven’t even packed a single shred of anything. I’m not ready, I’ll just come back.” “What’s in your hands?” confusion echoed across his handsome features. I mean, sure we’re only friends, but I can appreciate a good lookin’ guy, you feel me? “What?” I looked down, because honestly I had kind of forgotten, “Oh, groceries.” I shrugged. “That bastard let you go to the grocery store before he broke up with you?” “Hey! Who says he broke up with me?” “Kat, girl, it’s you…” head cocked, twinge of guilt, but ultimately not a wrongful assessment “Yeah, well, ya girl grew a pair tonight. My bitch ass left his bitch ass.” Sassy really isn’t my forte, but I gave it a go. “Oh, now I need to hear the full story.” Behind my head I heard a window crank open, that particular window was in the kitchen which looked directly out over the portion of the front yard in which we were currently standing. Phoenix and I both turned from the intruding noise. “Seriously, guys?” Micah deadpanned from the window – his hair was askew, his eyes red, and a cigarette was hanging from his lips “DON’T SMOKE INSIDE” Phoenix and I yelled in unison, looking at each other and giggling like schoolgirls “Yeah, my house, my rules, now seriously fuck off.” And with that little nugget, he stalked off to probably watch porn right in the living room because apparently the house was now a lawless land. “I really hate that guy” Phoenix noted “I really know you do.” “What were you thinking?” he whined “I have asked myself that every day for the past 5 years.”

The drive to Phoenix’s house took decidedly longer than nine minutes and thirty-seven seconds, probably because we took back roads so we could listen to music longer – something we had always done. There was always singing, usually dancing, and more than a few times there were tears. After minor protest, he helped me carry in my groceries. Unlocking the door, he flicked on the light to reveal the home he had been pouring his heart into renovating for the past two years. The coffee table was new – he built it. “Just put the groceries on the counter and I’ll help you put them up.” He whispered “Thanks – I would say we could just toss them and start over, but these are kind of my only worldly possessions right now, and I’m a little attached.” I whispered back, because duh. “I understand – it’s hard to not get attached to…” plucking a random box out of my bags, “tender whites popcorn.” He said, still whispering. “Hey, P, did you get a roommate?” “Hell, naw, why?” “Why are we whispering?” “Ha!” he laughed, louder now, “in my head we were sneaking into one of our parents’ houses. God, sometimes in my head we’re still teenagers.” He was clearly reminiscing. “I wish things were still that simple.” I released on a sigh “Well, do you wanna sleep or talk?” he was never one to tiptoe around the delicate “Honestly? Sleep. I promise I’ll give you the full story over the coffee you make me in the morning “God” he snorted “you will never change, huh?” “Here’s hoping.” “Wouldn’t want you any other way. The guest room is made up, you know the way, I’m hitting the hay. If you need anything, keep it to your damn self because I’m sleepy. Love you, bestie.” He gave me a quick hug – because even after being friends for most of our lives, neither of us was particularly physically demanding “I love you, too, P. I’ll see you in the morning. Thanks for saving my ass, again.” “Anytime, KK.” We parted ways, him walking to his master bedroom, and me walking to the guest bedroom situated directly across the short hallway. He paused at his door, and looked back at me “Kat?” I paused, and turned as well, “yeah, Phoenix?” “…welcome back.” “Where had I gone?” “Nowhere good.” The pain was obvious on his face “You’re not wrong, bestie. You’re not wrong.” “You’ll get through this.” “I always do.” “I’ll be right here.” “… you always are” I added before finally closing my door. I guess, in a way, I was back. Like waking up after a deep sleep riddled with nightmares, full of monsters and shadows holding you down and filling you with a sense of inferiority. I suppose, in some small measure, this was one of the first monumental moments of clarity in my fog-riddled existence. I only wish I had stayed up my upward trajectory, stayed full of hope and happiness, kept the lightness of losing a boyfriend-sized weight. Ah, well, I wouldn’t have much of a story to tell then, now would I?