#not exactly but it's part of the 911 universe in my heart

[asexual-fandom-queen]

My Canadian 9-1-1 Spin-Off Dreams

Okay so this post has reminded me that I have a whole Canadian 9-1-1 spin-off plotted and ready to go, so I'm gonna scream about it here in case anyone cares

It's called 9-1-1 True North obviously (the lyrics in the Canadian national anthem refer to Canada as the "true north, strong and free" and since they went the nickname route with Lonestar, I think True North tracks)

It's set in Vancouver, primarily because if Hollywood is gonna film fucking half their shows there, the least they could do is set something in the actual city! Also, as far as Canadian winters go, it's on the milder side, so they can do one or two snow episodes a season without needing to make it their entire personality. They have the ocean for water emergencies, they're on a faultline for earthquake drama (even if they don't actually feel most of the earthquakes they get like California does), and BC unfortunately also has a terrible wildfire season.

And that's just on the natural disaster front! Vancouver as a city has a lot of interesting social issues to bring in that human element 9-1-1 likes so much. Vancouver's Downtown East Side is often referred to as "Canada's poorest postal code." The city has an incredibly deep socioeconomic divide that exacerbates an ongoing housing and cost of living crisis. It is one of the most ethnically diverse cities in Canada, an estimated 55% of its residents are non-white, and Indigenous folks have called the Vancouver area home for over 10,000 years, specifically members of the Squamish, Musqueam, and Tsleil-Waututh Nations.

Since I've sold you on location, let me line up some vague character profiles to get invested in (bearing in mind, it's gonna feel a bit like the intro to Lonestar where it's just a Diversity Carousel, but I promise, they're actually fleshed out and 3-dimensional in the show, this is just the pitch)

DETS Social Worker Girl. She's a late 20-something with a brand new MSW working at a not-for-profit in the Downtown East Side. Her whole thing is harm reduction and de-escalation and finding ways to help without involving the police. She's got a heart of gold, but also grew up upper-middle-class and has a bit of a White Savior thing going on the show absolutely gets to call her on, and a big part of her arc is learning to be of service without centering herself as the hero.

The Crystal Highway Of Metro Vancouver. If you've watched the Canadian medical drama Skymed (which if you're a 9-1-1 fan who hasn't, get on that immediately) you're familiar with Crys's whole archetype. An Indigenous character who isn't just Indigenous but who the narrative also deeply respects by allowing their Indigenous identity to be a core aspect of who they are. I see his character struggling a bit with that "foot in two worlds" feeling. He brushes elbows with DETS Social Worker on various calls, and their budding romance gets to be the Buck/Abby slash TK/Carlos romantic backbone, at least of the first season.

Every Buck Needs An Eddie (And Vice Versa). Because what's an ensemble cast procedural without a Work Bestie dynamic? Buck and Eddie. Chim and Hen. Paul and Marjan. You get it. He's first-generation Indian Canadian, he's a bit of a goof, a sweet sunshine child. Also, since Vancouver is very much Canada's Portland, I don't think it's off the table for him, 9-1-1's Crystal Highway, and DETS Social Worker to end up getting poly with it in later seasons. (Also, I think in the hands of a respectful writing team who ensure their characters are fully fleshed out and not just tokenized representation to tick boxes, a running gag of "not that kind of Indian" between the Work Besties could land)

Disabled Dispatcher Rights. Which I'm a bit surprised neither the OG 9-1-1 or Lonestar has done. 9-1-1 as a franchise does a lot to ensure diversity in its cast, but I think it's time network TV really steps it up with better disability rep. Like Bobby in Trackers proves (and like Felicity Smoak could have proved if the writers hadn't magically fixed her spinal injury) you can be a badass from a desk and contribute just as much to the success of the team, thank you very much.

Firehouse Mom Who Is Tired And Gay. And so butch. So, so butch. Please, ABC I'm begging you. One butch woman on my screen. You can do it. I know you can. We've had Bobby, and we've had Owen, but it's time for a Lady Cap. And while I'm not saying you have to cast Jane Lynch... I just think you should think about it.

In short, the next 9-1-1 should be set in Vancouver, and if I can get just 10 minutes alone in a room with Tim Minear, I think he'll see the vision...

[found-family-tournament]

Found Family Tournament Round 1 Part 23 Group 115

Propaganda and further pictures under the cut

The Sinners: Dante, Yi Sang, Faust, Don Quixote, Ryōshū, Meursault, Hong Lu, Sinclair, Outis, Gregor, Rodion, Heathcliff, Vergilius, Charon, Ishmael

Firehouse 126: Owen Strand, TK Strand, Marjan Marwani, Paul Strickland, Judd Ryder, Mateo Chavez, Tommy Vega, Nancy Gillian, Carlos Reyes & Grace Ryder

Submissions are still open!

The Sinners:

Through every universe and timeline, they are always together no matter what. Also Rodya and Gregor are basically Sinclairs parents at this point. also i just really like limbus company

First of all. Exact even gender divide!!!!!. Second of all they’re soulmates in the funniest way possible (Through every possible mirror world, they are still coworkers). Third of all they’re all named after classic literature which , frankly , Is transgender as helle,. Fourth of all They’re all so autistic It makes my little brainweird heart happy. Also sidenote sorry I can’t add an image I had to VERY WUICKLY open thsi up on my phone but … My sillies …

Hrgrhnrhr just. They are all So Different in terms of background w the only commonality being that they aren't exactly Good People (tm) but!!! Even though they start out being coworkers *at best* they!!!! End up caring for each other So Much even by the 3rd chapter,, and chapter 3.5 Hells Chicken (a sort of "beach episode" to know more about the characters and the world) was So So So good like. They're just a bunch of silly little guys your honor and in my heart of hearts they're also all a flavor of trans and autistic. No neurotypical would go on a rhyming paragraphs long review of a dish that was literally thrown in their face thank you

Firehouse 126:

Sorry, I got no propaganda for them yet :(

[palior]

Awards 2024 : TV Shows

Third and last category: TV Shows that I’ve watched at least one complete season of this year.

Hellish Chorus Award - Hazbin Hotel - S1

Once More With Feelings - Part 2

Best Comedy Award - Abbott Elementary - S3

Now if only school had been just as fun as this IRL.

Nanananananinaaa Award - X-Men'97 - S1

Remember it!

Best Post-Apocalypse Award - Station Eleven - S1

There is no before.

Confounding Superposition Award - Fallout - S1

This show has me in a bind. On one hand, taken in isolation, it's great! The story is cool, characters are nice, the setting and props are awesome. But taken as the last installment in the Fallout universe, it's just so dissapointing how they have no interest in actually furthering the story along its natural progression and instead chose to go back to the state the world was at 100+ years before…

Bleeding Heart Award - Interview with the vampire - S2

Claudia will always be doomed by the narrative, won't she?

Buddie to Be Award - 911 - S1 to S5 so far

Finally took the plunge this year after Buck manly attraction finally went from subtext to text. It's been a while since I got hooked on a fun procedural.

Best Period Drama Award - Bridgerton - S3

A carriage ride has never looked so appealing.

Best Animated Show Award - Delicious in Dungeon - S1

Would you like some more heartbreaks in your delicious monster soup?

Definitively Irish Award - Derry Girls - S1 to S3

I'm the wee lesbian!

Warm Blanket Award - Heartstopper - S3

Another year, another great season. More serious and pulling on your heartstrings but this show remains a comfort watch.

My Heart Award - Only Murders in the Building - S4E02 "Gates of Heaven" - Sazz goodbye scene

That incinerator also burned my heart.

Princess of my Heart Award - Disa - The Lord of the Rings: Rings of Power - S2

The dwarven princess of my heart that can shatter stones with her voice and make the mountain moves to save her people.

Down Down Down the Road Award - Agatha All Along - S1

I wasn't expecting anyless than another great show from the same team that did Wandavision, and boy did they deliver.

Best Performance Award 1 - Shogun - Anna Sawai - S01E09 "Crimson Sky"

The poise, the subtlety, the strength, the vulnerability, etc… What praise is there not to give to Anna Sawai for her interpretation of the MVP Lady Mariko-sama?

Best Performance Award 2 - Agatha All Along - Pattty Lupone - S01E07 "Death's Hand in Mine"

Still not over "I loved being a witch", in one of the most memorable episode of the year.

Farewell my Immortal Friends Award - What We Do In The Shadows - S6

This season was again hilarious and yet, the last episode felt a bit weird? It was an ending without being a conclusion which I get can be frustrating. In any case, see you all some other time, the best vampire family of Staten Island!

Best Animated Goodbye Award - Arcane - S2

2 wonderful seasons in the League of Legends universe? Who would have thought.

Best TV Show Award - Shogun - S1

I'm still not sure what exactly glued me the most while watching this show, but between the awesome story line, the superb performances and the wonderful setting and design, I'm not really surprised. That and poetry that still makes me cry ("A flower is only a flower because it falls. Thankfully the wind." </3). Go watch it!

[wanderingwomanwondering]

Buddie, Madney, & The Universe

I can’t stop thinking about all the damn universe references in 911. They’re fun and awesome and consistent and eroding my brain.

Chris has so much universe/galaxy/deep space imagery in his costuming and in his room. Like so much. And that’s just costuming and background set elements. That actual dialogue and story bits and even more brain destroying. Anyway, we know how important Chris is to both Buck and Eddie. In addition to Buddie’s shared calling/vocation as firefighters, Chris is a huge part of the glue that’s bringing them together...and he’s linked to the universe directly and indirectly in several ways. Chris has so much gravity in a Buddie context it makes me crazy.   *chewing glass*

We had the universe screaming and Eddie refusing to listen in Jinx…then Eddie began his ill-fated r/s with Ana (one of Chris’ former teachers!). Buck was told that he should wait for the universe to come to him in Breaking Point in terms of romance and he was told that he already has meaningful relationships…and then Chris showed up at Buck’s loft after a fight with Eddie over Ana. Chris/the universe was warning Buck and Eddie off of their respective LI’s at the time and marking both relationships as problematic in some way.

Chris via the heart imagery of this season feels like as aspect of the red thread of fate linking Buck and Eddie which is fun and glorious. Anyway.

In Outside Looking In “Cosmo” (the universe) did NOT endorse the current explosive breakneck course that the Speed call victims were on. And in that same ep, Chris came to Eddie wearing galaxy pajama pants (I’ll say more on this in another post) and told him exactly what Buck had told him earlier in the ep: Eddie misses “the job” and that job is actually totally Eddie’s calling/vocation if you ask me. It’s a huge part of who he is. Just like it is for Buck. 

Buck and Eddie’s shared vocation/life path made Eli’s whole speech to Chim in Boston about finding Maddie and how the universe actually works that much more insane because Eli emphasized the need to follow your calling/vocation and let the universe work instead of standing still. Our fate/destiny is met when we are in motion but it has to be movement that’s aligned with who we truly are. Beautiful. Lo and behold!!! Madney reconnect in Boston when they are BOTH in motion and doing what they love, which is helping people. Chim was serving as a volunteer paramedic and Maddie was following her gut instincts about a friend in need and using her dispatcher/nursing skills to boot. 

[Side Note: When Chim and Maddie resolved to stop pretending with each other, it called back to Buck’s conversation with Eddie in the kitchen where Buck told Eddie that he doesn’t have to pretend with him. But Eddie did choose to pretend with him. However Eddie did not pretend with Chris when Chris echoed what Buck had said earlier about missing being a firefighter. By the power of the galaxy pajama pants, Eddie will eventually realize/understand/accept that he can be real with Buck (cue 513/514). That he can lean on him. That Buck can handle it. That Buck really truly does have his back in ALL things. Having Universe!Chris say the same thing to Eddie that Buck said earlier was another red thread of fate moment.]

The importance of movement in the right direction was huge in Boston. Once the universe started to align, they very intentionally showed the not-at-all-clumsy Maddie bumping into pretty much every person she passed. It seemed like road blocks to me at first but she kept following her gut instead of her initial avoidant/running away path. She consciously chose to help her friend, to follow her helping instincts and even though the road was bumpy, it led her back to Chim and Jee-Yun. With the strong parallels between Eddie and Maddie, it feels like Eddie is up for a lot of bumps (duh) on the road back to his vocation/calling, back to what Chris actually needs (i.e., Eddie allowing himself to be whole and fully present as his true sometimes messy self) and back to Buck who is his true partner in all things. But as long as Eddie sees it through, no matter the bumps along the way, he will be better off and so will the people who love him.

This whole friggin season is about breaking through and moving through rather than “moving forward” or “moving on”. Moving through is about being fully engaged, dealing with the hard stuff, talking about problems and issues, healing and recovery. Moving forward and moving on can be deep and meaningful but too often those concepts are used bypass the hard stuff rather than leaning into it, especially for Eddie. That has to change and I’m glad we get to see that change unfold, no matter how incredibly hard it will be.

[tangledstarlight]

Written for Day Two of Jukebox Appreciation Week: Alternative Universe –– @jukebox-week​

here is my, somewhat anticipated, firefighter!luke au. this got. so long guys. i’m so sorry. it became a 5+1 and i lost control. this all started because i wanted to see luke do a pole slide and i didnt even fit it in smh. also check out this amazing art by mamirugbee if you get the chance too!! anyway, much love!! enjoy!! 

also on ao3!

lil disclaimer: i’ve never been to la and i’m not a firefighter, i tried to do as much research as i could but firefighter forums aren’t helpful as you’d expect for somethings, who knew! so take everything with big dose of suspension of belief please! 

trigger warnings! mentions of blood & injuries (nothing graphic), lots of swearing, fire.

RATED T –– there’s no graphic scenes but there’s a lot of kissing and fading to black, so rating might change if anyone needs me to 😬

Word count: 21,184

ONE

When he was a kid Luke had had a lot of dream jobs.

There was a week when he’d wanted to be a landscape gardener after watching too many renovation shows during a week off school sick. When he was eleven he’d seriously considered being a doctor for approximately two days after watching too many reruns of ER with his mom, but it was quickly pointed out to him that he would need to go school for years. And he’d given serious consideration into being a professional bungee jumper, which he still maintains is a real career path and he’d have been excellent at it.

But then he’d discovered music when he was thirteen when his parents had given him a guitar for his birthday, and that had been it.

That was his dream.

To stand on a stage and play for an audience and create a connection with the world. And he’s pretty sure he could have done it. It would have been the dream he reached.

But then the garage they rented to rehearse caught fire while he was asleep on the ratty old sofa they’d found on the street. And maybe the fire itself wouldn’t have been enough to make him change his dreams, but everything that happened afterwards?

Well, there’s nothing like almost dying to reorder your life, right?

(It’s the story he tells everyone if they ask, it’s the one he almost believes too.)

The owners of the house had left a candle burning or forgot to unplug a toaster or something mundane and silly like that. Something that people always warn about but never think will happen to them. He doesn’t know. He can’t remember.

All he knows is he’d been sleeping on the sofa and the garage had gotten warm and he’d woken up to a room full of smoke. There had been a moment of panic, as he sat frozen, chest having and eyes stinging, before he’d jumped up, grabbed his guitar, his notebook, his phone and ran outside.

Luke remembers watching the flames grow higher and higher in the garage, smoke following after him from the door he’d just run from. He remembers watching them seem to jump from the roof of the house to the garage. He remembers seeing Mrs Anderson running up to him, the oldest daughter trailing behind with wide eyes, and asking for his phone. He remembers fishing it from his pocket and dialing 911. He remembers the moment he heard the line click, a voice asking him a question as his eyes locked on the house and he saw two hands hitting at the upstairs window.

After that he doesn’t really remember much of anything, he tells everyone.

Except that he does.

He can still remember the heat on his skin, how he’d been grateful for once that he’d fallen asleep in his coat. He remembers his lungs aching as he sucked in smoke and coughed it back out. He remembers a split second decision. Guitar and notebook falling to the ground and running into the house as Mrs Anderson screamed something behind him.

He remembers, as he tried to cover his mouth, his nose, with the sleeve of his coat, thinking that this would be an awful way to die. He remembers not wanting to. He remembers, as he kicks down the jammed door of the youngest kids bedroom, how he really wanted to hug his mom again. He remembers someone screaming and his name being called and throwing a blanket over his head, a weight in his arms he doesn’t remember picking up. He remembers flames and heat and wet tears on his neck and gasping for breaths and then he really doesn’t remember anything at all.

Until he wakes up in a hospital bed and his mom is in the chair next to him and it hurts a little to breathe and there’s bandages on his arms but he’s alive and Luke’s pretty sure that’s the important part to remember.

It’s the part he remembers when the doctors say he can’t play his guitar for a couple of weeks while the skin on his hands and arms heals, that he should avoid straining his voice for a while. It’s the part he remembers when they pick through the rubble and burnt out remains of the garage he’d called home for the last few weeks. It’s the part he remembers when Alex and Reggie tell him it’s okay that they take a break from ‘breaking into the music scene’ while he heals and they find a new place to rehearse and replace their equipment.

It’s the part he remembers when the Anderson’s show up at his parents house with flowers and a basket of snacks and thank him.

He’s alive and they’re alive and part of that is down to him.

And it’s that bit that keeps tripping him up. No one has ever called him a hero before, but that kid does. The youngest Anderson that he’s shared maybe five words with before running into a burning building to carry out. He’d called him a hero and hugged him and Luke had spent the next hour trying to figure out what that meant to him.

Music was his dream. He was pretty sure it was his heart and his soul and everything in between. But it hurts to talk for the first few days after and it hurts to sing for a few weeks after that and, without really noticing it, he ends up back at school. And then he’s graduating and Alex is going to UCLA and Reggie decides he wants to be a teacher and the band is at a stand still.

And Luke— doesn’t mind as much as he thought he would. Doesn’t mind putting this dream on hold while he maybe explores something new. Something he’d never even thought about before.

(And if telling people about the fire kept them from asking why he no longer sang, well, that was a bonus. He nearly died, that was a good enough reason to reorder anyone's life. Right? They didn’t need to know about his performance issues.)

The point was, Luke had once dreamt of playing music to the world and leaving a mark, something to be remembered by.

And then he’d nearly died and music had to wait and he...found a new sort of dream. It wasn’t exactly making a connection with everyone but for the couple of minutes he was carrying someone out of a burning building? It was a connection that would leave a mark, at least for a little while. And it really didn’t hurt that people seemed to love a man in a firefighter uniform.

But just because his dream of playing music didn’t come true didn’t mean he didn’t still love it. Which was why standing outside the burning record store was really hurting his heart.

“Do we know if there’s anyone inside?” He calls over to his captain who’s already directing people around, but Luke’s eyes are on the windows of the second floor and the smoke he can already see against the glass.

“Not that we—” the words have barely left Harrison’s mouth when they both see a face through the smoke and hands banging on the glass. Whoever it is looks like they try opening the window but nothing happens and their knocking on the glass gets more frantic.

“Roof, window or stairs?” He asks, already flipping his visor down and checking the straps across his waist holding everything important.

“Stairs, they’ve cleared the side entrance. Try to come out the same way you go in this time, Patterson. And take Danforth,” she waves one hand in the air but Luke is already heading towards the side of the building, his mind already ten steps ahead.

Get to the door. Check his oxygen. Check Danforth isn’t about to fuck things up. Count to five in his head and walk inside a burning building..

“Going in now,” he says into his radio, as he nods his head at Danforth and pushes on ahead.

Lukes has been into a lot of fires since that first one when he was seventeen and running on nothing but adrenaline and impulse. But there’s still always a moment after he first steps inside a burning building that feels the same as the first time. A rush of heat, heart pounding, thoughts running wild about how this would be an awful way to die.

Then he sucks in a breath, lets the weight of all his equipment resettle on his body, in his mind, and he gets on with his job.

And sure okay, he still runs mostly on the adrenaline coursing through his veins, but he’s pretty proud to say he thinks things through a little more now.

Mostly.

They make it up the stairs and through the flat's front door with little issue, which is, of course, when the issues decide to show up. He can see why the girl in the window was looking frantic, and swears at the fact no one downstairs had noticed the huge fucking hole in the ceiling.

It stretches from just in front of the door to what he assumes used to be a living room, but half the sofa is hanging down and there’s flames already licking their way up a kitchen bar stool. His eyes scan the room on the other side of the hole, trying to spot the best place to cross and the stranded resident.

“Hello? Fire and rescue, we’re here to get you out!” He doesn’t hear anything for a moment, and then a hand shoots up from behind a table followed slowly by a head of curls.

“Over here,” at least he thinks that’s what she says. It gets cut off by a cough and her head ducking back down.

“I’m coming to you,” he calls, but she either doesn’t hear or can’t ankowldge it, but that’s fine. Luke just needs to know where she is. He backs up a step, looks back at the hole in the floor and backs up another, and then he runs, jumps, lands with a thud that echoes up his legs.

There’s a cracking sound behind him, and Luke turns in time to see part of the floor where he’d just been standing start to give away as flames leap up and smoke clouds the area, while Danforth hops backwards to avoid taking a fall. He can see wide eyes through the screen of his visor and Luke reaches up to tap the button on the talkie, inclining his head towards the door as he speaks.

“Better tell Harrison I’m coming out the window.” He shoots the other man a grin before turning back to his job at hand. Find the stuck girl, go out a window, hopefully make it home before Reggie eats all of Alex’s leftover lasagna. Oh he hopes there’s still some garlic bread left over too. Or maybe he can convince Alex to whip some up for them, that man knows how to make a good garlic bread. Little cheese on top. Some of the fancy salad he steals from work. Maybe Willie will be over and he’ll have bought dessert.

Luke’s planned out his ideal menu for the evening, and breakfast the next day, by the time he makes his way carefully across the crumbling floor and is kneeling down across from a girl whose face is mostly obscured by wild curls and a damp towel. Someone paid attention during a fire talk, he thinks.

“Hey, are you hurt?”

It’s only four years worth of training and feeling the heat of flames slowly getting closer that stop Luke from completely blanking on his job as wide brown eyes meet his through his visor. There’s a streak of soot on one of her cheeks and he catches sight of unshed tears pooling in her eyes. She’s looking up at him with a mix of fear and worry and what he really hopes is gratitude and a large part of his mind knows this isn’t the right time, but holy crap, Luke’s pretty sure she might be the prettiest girl he has ever seen.

“No,” she coughs out, shaking her head and Luke blinks. Pulling his thoughts back to the issue at hand. The fire, the falling floor, the window, the— was she wearing monster slippers? He bites back a smile even as his eyebrows tick up, just a little.

“Let's get you out of here, yeah?” He ducks his head to catch her eyes and make sure she’s heard him. “You ever jumped out a window before?”

The girl's eyes widen a fraction as they dart towards the window she hadn’t been able to open and when they dart back to him there’s a determined glint mixed with the fear.

“Wait here, I’m gonna make sure we’ve got a soft place to land,” he pushes himself back up and over to the window, gives it an experimental tug and frowns. Someone has painted the window shut, which is bad for fire safety, but great for him being able to show off a little and smash a window. Luke unhooks the axe from his belt just as his radio crackles to life.

“Which window are you coming out of Patterson?” Harrison’s voice comes through and Luke can picture the way she’d probably sighed in resignation when Danforth had turned up outside with his news. He was always being told off about coming out through a window when it wasn’t a part of the plan. Turning slightly so he’s standing side on, Luke raises his arm and swings the axe at the glass. Someone shouts from below and he hears the girl let out a gasp over the sound of shattering glass.

“This one,” he says, holding down the button on his radio and reattaching his axe in one movement before leaning out the window to see them pulling the large inflatable cushion to below the window he’s standing at. He wishes the bigger ladder truck hadn’t been redirected across town, it was much more badass to help a pretty girl down a ladder then it was to push them out a window and say ‘jump’. He waits until someone shoots him a thumbs up and turns back into the apartment.

“Alright, let's get out of here shall we?” Luke says, holding out a hand to help her up, there’s a second of hesitation before she drops the towel she’s holding and reaches up to grab it. He notices the bag she’s clutching to her chest and idly wonders what she’s deemed important enough to save from a fire. He’s been doing this job long enough now to know that everyone has different priorities. Some are more questionable than others.

“Wait,” she pulls her hand out of his grasp as they reach the window and she leans out, “You’re serious about jumping out? I thought you had like ladders or something! I can’t— I—”

“Woah hey, hey,” he puts a hand on her back as she tries to back up into the room and Luke is conscious of the fire still raging, eating away at the floor, and he knows there’s no time, but sometimes people just need a little reassurance, “It’s okay. What’s your name?”

She looks up at him and there’s tears streaking through the soot on her skin as she breathes in shallowly, “Julie.”

“Alright Julie. Normally we do have a ladder, and I know it looks scary but this is perfectly safe. I promise. It’s like jumping onto a giant cushion. Kinda fun if you forget about the fire.”

She still looks unsure, head shaking slowly as her grip on the bag tightens and Luke ducks his head, and even though he knows he shouldn’t, he flips up his visor so she can see him better.

“I know we’ve just met and you have no reason to trust me, but I’m going to ask you to trust me anyway. It’ll just be a shortfall and a bounce. Over before you even remember to be scared,” he can feel his lips tugging into what he hopes is a reassuring smile. Julie’s eyes track over his face quickly before she shuts them tightly and nods once.

“Okay. Okay. I’m jumping out a window. Sure. This is fine,” she mutters and Luke grins, flipping his visor back down and slowly helps Julie up onto the window sill before she can change her mind.

“I’m gonna keep hold of this alright?” he gently extracts the bag from her fingers and secures it over his shoulder before helping Julie sit on the sill and jumps up to join her, legs dangling in the open air. “Short fall and a bounce. You got this,” he squeezes her hand that’s gripping the window frame as she flinches at the sound of something falling behind them. “Ready?”

She whispers something that he doesn’t quite catch but nods her head, squeezes his hand back and jumps. There’s a rush of air, Julie sucking in a breath somewhere next to him, and then he’s hitting something, body being absorbed by something cold and bouncing once, twice, and then settling.

Despite the fact he’d just told Julie that there was nothing scary about jumping out of the window, Luke always felt a spike of fear in the first second he’s airborne. There’s a moment, just a single moment, where he worries that this time he won’t hit the ground again. That he’ll float away. It’s illogical and crazy, and Luke knows that. But he still worries. The same way he always worries that this burning building will be the one he doesn’t walk back out of.

For a moment, Luke just lies there. He lost Julie’s hand somewhere in the fall but he can hear her breathing somewhere nearby and slowly the sounds of his crew start coming back to him and he blows out a breath and gets back to work.

//

One of the bonuses to being the person to jump out of a burning building is that Luke doesn’t have to help deflate and put away the cushion. The downside is that he has to spend twenty minutes with one of the paramedics as they check him over.

No matter how many times he tells them he’s fine. You lie about bruising a rib one time and no one lets you forget it.

“Are we done here?” He asks as the paramedic finally doesn’t swat his hand away as he takes his oxygen mask off and Luke tries really hard to not let his leg bounce too obviously.

“Any sign of issues—” they start but Luke is already pushing up from the back of the ambulance, shooting the paramedic a two fingered salute and picking up the bag he’d dropped by the back tire when he’d been told to sit. It’s only a short journey to the gurney on the other side of the vehicle and the girl lying on it with her eyes tight shut and holding a phone to her ear, though he thinks it’s more for comfort then actually talking given she’s still got an oxygen mask over her mouth.

He approaches slowly, trying for a gentle smile as her eyes snap open and lock directly with his. He holds her bag up, and fully intends to just leave it by her side and get back to work — no matter how much he so desperately wants to talk to her again, even though he’s not sure why, but he’ll think about that later — but she pulls the mask away from her face and smiles back at him.

“Flynn just hold on,” she rasps and there’s a slight wince on her face as she realises how saw her throat is, Luke slowly approaches the side of the gurney and gives her what he hopes is a sympathetic smile. He remembers how shitty a smoke hurt throat can be.

“I gotta get back to my crew but I just wanted to check in,” he says, resting an elbow on the metal railing and pretending the way his eyes rack over her face and body is simply to check for injuries — though he’s glad to see the monster slippers survived the fire and the fall —, before he licks his lips once, and holds her bag up for her see, “and to make sure you got this back.”

Julie takes her bag with a relieved sigh that Luke might think more about if their fingers didn’t brush slightly in the transfer and leave him wishing he hadn’t been wearing gloves when he’d held her hand as they jumped out of a burning building.

Which right. Burning building. Almost dying. Being scared. Priorities Luke!

He clears his throat and smiles again, a little softer as his eyes linger on her face. Someone has wiped away the worst of the soot from her cheeks and forehead, but there’s still streaks of it across her skin. And she’s looking at him with the same sort of grateful look that he’s seen countless times before, and he swears there’s something else. But she had nearly died, and he’d helped save her. His job here was done. A connection with someone that would last long after she forgot his face or his name.

“I should uh—” he points over his shoulder with his free hand, taps along the side of the gurney once, twice before breathing out, “I’m glad you’re okay.”

He only manages to take a step back and turn around before Julie is coughing out, “Wait!”

Luke doesn’t hesitate to spin around and back to her, eyes quick to scan her face to see what might be wrong, “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

“No I just—” she coughs again, and Luke reaches across to slide the oxygen mask back on her face, keeping a careful eye on how many breaths she takes before she slides it off again, about to say something when she beats him to it, “Sorry. I just. I wanted to thank you. For y’know. Saving me. And…” she trails off, biting her lip and for a moment Luke thinks she’s about to start coughing again but with the way she starts avoiding his eyes she realises she’s just putting it off.

“And…?” he prompts, ducking his head slightly to catch her eyes.

“And I realised I didn’t get your name. Which sounds silly now I’ve said it out loud,” she mutters the last part, head hitting the flimsy pillow with a soft thud that makes him grin. Because she wanted to know his name! And it’s not the first time a person he’s saved has wanted to know his name, but it’s the first time a super pretty girl has asked and he’s wanted to tell her.

“It’s Luke,” he says with a grin, taps against the gurney one last time, “Maybe I’ll see you around sometime Julie.”

TWO

Luke had taken up running when he was 19, between jobs and starting to worry all his potential had been burnt up in the same garage fire that had destroyed his favourite couch and stolen his voice at 17.

It had been his dad's suggestion. A way to get him out of the house and doing something that wasn’t moping or waiting for his friends to be finished with classes, he’s sure. But, even after he’d signed up to be a firefighter and had a whole new fitness schedule, running was still his favourite thing to do. He and his dad might have had their issues but he’d been right about needing a way to clear his head when he could no longer write.

And while he no longer really needed to run to clear his head about what he wanted to do with his life, he did need to breathe in fresh air and forget about the damage a fire can cause.

Some days he had more images to forget about then others.

Some days he just wanted to run.

And some days, he needed to get out of the house before Alex force fed him some weird experimental fish dish. Apparently they were testing out a new menu at the restaurant which just meant Alex was testing the food out on him and Reggie and occasionally Willie when the skater couldn’t come up with an excuse quick enough.

So maybe he was running in the park and avoiding one of his roommates. It was still a valid reason. He’d seen grapes being mashed up with paprika and had not been interested in trying it. Reggie and Hotdog could take one for the team.

The route he runs takes him past a duck pond and a bunch of teenagers throwing a frisbee and other people walking their dogs and —

“Fire! Dad! It’s on fire!” A voice from his left screams and Luke’s instincts kick in as he changes the direction he’s running without faltering a step.

It’s one of those stand alone bbq things that parks have dotted around and Alex hates. Something about not being able to properly grill the meat. Luke had given up listening the third time he’d started talking about them, much more concerned about how no one ever checked them over or made sure they were safe to use.

He can see the problem straight away, something has fallen between the grates and caught on the coals, and where it should just be glowing embers and small flames there’s smoke billowing and flames jumping out at the teenage boy frozen in place.

“Hey can I borrow these?” Luke asks as he comes to a stop next to him, carefully extracting the tongs from his grasp before he can respond. It’s not exactly standard protocol or even the safest plan but Luke clicks the tongs together once before darting them into the flames and pulling out whatever was causing the fire and dropping it on the square of concrete that the bbq is planted on. He stops on it a few times until there’s no longer any flames jumping up at him and all that’s left is smoke and what looks like a half burnt cloth.

“Carlos! Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

Luke turns around just as an older gentleman rushes over, eyes darting from the fire Luke has put out, to the still cooking burgers, to the teenager who’s grinning.

“I’m fine,” he reassures his dad and Luke takes the opportunity to shake some ash off the tongs before offering them back to him, “Dude that was so cool! You just stomped out a literal fire!”

Shrugging, Luke rubs at the back of his neck as he shoots the dad a quick smile, “Just doing my job, it was no big deal. Honestly.”

“Your job?” The man asks, head tilted curiously as he accepts the tongs.

“Yeah I’m a fi—”

“Luke?” A voice he hadn’t expected to hear again cuts him off as a girl with a mass of loose curls in a pretty pale yellow sundress skids to a halt in front of them, eyes looking quickly between him and the other two with increasing concern as she seems to notice the burnt ground. “What happened?”

“Julie! I— Hi,” Luke starts and suddenly wishes he was wearing something more flattering than shorts and an old band t-shirt he’d cut the sleeves off of on a whim. He at least wishes he’d had time to shower before she starts to think he just always stinks like smoke and sweat.

“This young man just saved your brother from a flaming napkin,” the man says and there’s a teasing note in his voice as he looks at his son before raising an eyebrow, “You two know each other?”

“Yes. I— well sort of?” Julie says and there’s a slight furrow between her brows, “Luke’s the firefighter who got me out of the apartment.”

“You’re the one who got my Julie out of the fire? And you just saved Carlos too?,” he says, taking a step closer to him and Luke only has time to nod before he’s speaking again, “You must let me thank you! Do you like burgers? You should stay, eat with us.”

“Oh that’s— that’s really kind of you sir but you don’t have to do that. I was literally just doing my job. Both times,” Luke’s quick to say with a shake of his head, but there’s a gleam in the man's eyes that makes Luke pretty sure he’s about to be eating a burger. Which is better than the option waiting for him at home.

“I won’t hear anything of it. You saved my children, the least I can do is offer you some food. And you can call me Ray,” the man — Ray — waits until Luke gives a smile that feels only a little forced before turning back to the bbq and Luke catches him muttering something, “We really should have attended that fire safety course Victoria mentioned.”

Coughing to hide a laugh Luke looks back in time to catch the tail end of a look that Julie shoots at her brother and the way he rolls his eyes before he grins and walks over to his dad. And then it’s just him and Julie. Who apparently told her family about him. Luke bites his bottom lip to try and not smile because of course she’d told her family, she’d nearly died and hadn’t. It was a big deal. It was something you told people. It doesn’t make him special.

Julie’s looking up at him, her head tilted slightly like she’s considering something and he desperately wants to know what’s going on inside her head. But then his eyes glance down and he can’t stop the grin that spreads across his face at the sight of the doodle covered sneakers she’s wearing and how different they are to the monster slippers he’d seen her in last time.

“No slippers today?” the words slip out of his mouth before he can stop them, brows rising as he looks pointedly at the sneakers on her feet and back up at her.

“Didn’t want to make anyone jealous,” she laughs, but Luke can see a slight flush in her cheeks as she brushes some hair behind her ear and he’s suddenly struck by the urge to do it for her. He’s saved from making an embarrassing move by her next words, “I see you’re not in a uniform today either.”

And, if Luke didn’t know any better he’d say she was upset about that fact if the way her eyes tracked down his body and back up to his face, and if the deepening colour in her cheeks was anything to go by. But why would she be upset about him not wearing his uniform? That thing was heavy and warm. He did not get the fascination.

“They let us wear other clothes sometimes. The uniform can get a little hot,” he grumbles only for his lips to pull up into a slight smirk as he watches the way she bites her lip and avoids his eyes, “Why, disappointed?”

“What? No! I—,” she sucks in a breath and blows it out and Luke watches as she tosses curls over her shoulders and straighten her spine before looking him straight in the eye, and there’s a fierce sense of determination mingling with something like excitement, “I was just thinking how I never got to thank you properly. For helping me out of the building. And how I’d like to do it in a way that doesn’t involve my dad burning burgers in the park.”

Luke blinks and just stares at her because it sounds a little like she’s just asked him out but he doesn’t want to be one of those guys who just assume they’re being asked on a date because of a little life saving. She could just mean a totally harmless thank you coffee and he’s just overthinking it and oh fuck she’s still talking and he’s just gaping at her.

“And I mean it doesn’t have to be a date if you don’t want it to be! I could just buy you a– a doughnut or something. Wait, that’s police isn’t it? Shit what do you buy firefighters? Do you have a stereotypical food? That’s not the point. I—” she sucks in a breath like she’s about to ramble on some more when Luke’s mind finally catches up and he grins at her, reaching out to catch one of her hands that had started waving through the air mid spiel.

“Julie. I would really fucking love to go to dinner with you.”

Her eyes light up as she looks from where he’s still holding her hand, their fingers somehow becoming interlocked and Luke doesn’t know if he did it or if she did but she doesn’t seem to mind and neither does he. It kinda feels right.

“So dinner. So I can thank you, and we can… get to know each other,” she sounds a little shy as she says it and Luke squeezes her hand.

“It’s a date.”

//

He gets to the restaurant ten minutes early and Luke’s pretty sure it’s the first time he’s been early for something since they had the chance at playing at an under 21s club when he was 16. He hadn’t even been early for his first day at the station.

But for a date with Julie Molina? On time wasn’t even an option.

There was just something about her that made him want to show up early, to wear his fanciest shirt, to comb his hair. She made him feel alive in a way he hadn’t in a long time — which he’s pretty sure says something about a guy who runs into fires for a living and maybe he’ll think more on that later — and so far he’d only really met her twice.

And one of those times probably shouldn't count, given all the fire.

But his point still stood. There was something special about Julie that meant she deserved him dressing up and bearing Alex’s teasing and having to gently push Hotdog away before she left hairs all over his pants.

For half a second, as he stands in the doorway of the restaurant, eyes glancing around before landing solidly on Julie in a booth against the wall, Luke wonders if she thinks he’s special enough to not be on time for too. And then he blinks, and she’s waving a hand at him and he remembers he’s pretty ordinary in the scheme of things and Julie is probably just a very punctual person.

“Hi,” he breathes as he slides into the booth on the opposite side of the table from her, noticing her bag and jacket filling the empty space between them and then the way her fingers are fidgeting with one of the cloth napkins on the table, “Sorry I’m late. You look really nice.”

Because she’s wearing a dark blue dress with little stars stitched into it in silver thread that glints under the lights of the restaurant, and her curls look bouncier, if that was even possible, with some pulled back at her temple with clips. And she looks more than nice, but Luke’s already said nice now so he can’t take it back, can he? Oh no, he’s spiralling.

“Oh. I’m just…early,” she trails off, giving a small shrug and shooting him a smile that he doesn’t hesitate to return and he doesn’t know if it’s him smiling or just the fact he’s shown up or — what, but Julie’s fingers still on the napkin as she seems to settle more in herself, and she blows out a breath before smiling at him, “You look nice too. You’ve got...sleeves today.”

Luke can’t help it, he blushes, a laugh working it’s way past his lips as he rubs at the back of his neck, trying to play it off cool only to promptly give up when he catches sight of the way Julie is trying to bite back a smile at his reaction; because making her smile is quickly becoming one of his favourite things. And hopefully, if tonight goes well, he can spend a long time making her smile, and more.

“You’ve seen me with sleeves more than without,” he points out and this time it’s Julie’s turn to blush a little, ducking her eyes.

“Well your arms certainly make an impression,” she mutters with a roll of her eyes at him. But it’s hampered by the blush still on her cheeks and Luke grins, nudging her ankle with his foot under the table.

“Have you been here before? I looked up the menu but couldn’t decide what looked good,” Luke says, letting the topic of his arms drop for now. Though if all goes well he’ll make sure to bring it up at another time.

“My tia says they do a really nice tagliatelle,” she replies, picking up her own menu and letting her eyes glance at it before back up at him with a smile.

“This is the tia who makes the really good um,” Luke bites his lip as he tries to recall the conversation from yesterday, snapping his fingers when the word comes back to him, “Tostones! That your dad was talking about?”

The smile that graces her face lights up her eyes, like she hadn’t thought he’d been paying attention to what was said yesterday, or that he wouldn’t remember even if he had been.

“Yeah, that one,” Julie looks back at her menu and Luke follows suit, eyes skimming past all the options but not really taking any of them in. His mind is still stuck on the way she’d smiled at him and how pretty her eyes were when she did.

Their waiter comes and Luke takes her tia’s suggestion and goes with the pasta dish, pretending not to notice the way Julie smiles at him when he does.

“So,” she starts when the guy has gone and they’re alone in their booth again, her hands folded over each other on the table as she looks at him, “Firefighting huh? That must be...I don’t want to say fun but...interesting?” She wrinkles her nose a little, like it’s still not the word she wants to use, and he gets it.

“Interesting is a pretty good word for it. And it can be fun,” he nods, biting his bottom lip as he thinks about it, “When we get to rescue cats or someone's trapped on their roof or something. But it’s intense too. Some days are harder than others to go home from.”

“Is it something you always wanted to do?” There’s honest curiosity in her voice and Luke almost feels bad for laughing after the way it makes her blink in shock.

“No,” he shakes his head, still laughing a little, “I uh I was gonna be a rockstar. Not like kids say they’re going to be,” he’s quick to add as her smile returns, “Me and my best friends, Alex and Reggie, we had a band and we were fucking good. Played our own instruments, wrote our own songs. I think we could have been legends,” his voice trails off as he thinks about it. About that abandoned dream and the scars from it he still holds.

Julie tilts her head at him and he blinks to pull himself back to the present as she speaks, “Can I ask what happened? If it’s too painful or anything you don’t need to tell me I’m just...curious. Don’t hear many people who sound so passionate about lost dreams.”

“Ironically, there was a fire at our rehearsal space and uh, no one was seriously hurt or anything. Everyone got out. But um, I was in hospital for a few days for minor burns and smoke inhalation,” Luke frowns and tries to keep to the facts, no need to wander down that memory lane right now, “I couldn’t play for a few weeks afterwards, and then the first time I tried to sing was about a month later and it...hurt. So I haven’t tried since.”

“How long ago was that?”

“I was 17 so uh seven, nearly eight years ago now,” he hadn’t realised it had been so long. Huh.

Julie blinks at him, her mouth opens only to close again a few times before she seems to find the words she’s looking for, “That’s...wow Luke, that’s a long time. But I— I kind of understand. The being hurt and...scared to sing again.”

Ignoring the way she seems to have caught on to his unspoken truth in being scared about singing, Luke focuses on her own apparent issues. And the fact that she’s apparently a singer. He might have pushed down all his own music related dreams but he’s always had a type.

“Can I ask what happened?”

“My mom died when I was 17,” she gives him a sad smile and Luke’s eyes immediately widen, lips tugging down as he starts to get an idea of the story that’s about to follow.

“I am so sorry Julie. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” and it’s instinct to reach across the table and touch the back of her hand that’s strayed back to the napkin, and it seems to be instinct for her to turn her hand over and link their fingers.

“No, no it’s fine,” she sucks in a deep breath, and lets it out again, keeping her eyes on their interlock fingers, “It was um cancer. And we knew it was coming, so we got the chance to say goodbye. But my mom she was— God she was the best person I knew. She was amazing and my best friend and just this amazingly talented musician who used to be in some badass bands. She taught me to play piano, and a little guitar and we used to sit out in the garage that her and my dad turned into a studio and just — write and play and sing together for hours.”

There’s a pause where she looks lost in a memory of a different life, and Luke lets her have it. Lets her play with his fingers and figure out how much of her past she’s willing to divulge on a first date. Alex is always reminding him that not everyone subscribes to his brand of honesty from the get go. And then she sighs, licking her lips before looking up at him with a small smile that he thinks means thanks.

“After she died I uh I couldn’t play or sing for a long time. Music was just— it was our thing and I didn’t know how to do it without her. So I avoided it at all costs and didn’t sing for nearly three years,” she blows out a breath, shaking her a little at him, “And then I was in the car one day, I don’t know where I was going, but the radio was on and one of my mom's songs came on. I didn’t even think about it, I just… started singing along,” she shrugs one shoulder at him before blowing out a breath and laughing.

“God, sorry. I really brought the mood down huh.”

“Best to get the traumatic backstories out of the way now,” he grins, squeezing her fingers quickly, “But hey, you can’t just mention your mum being in a band and having songs on the radio that casually! Gotta tell me more now. If you want to.”

So she does. She tells him all about Rose and the Petal Pushers and how her tia was the original bassist before life got in the way, how they’d played the club scene in the 90’s and landed a gig at the Orpheum, about the few songs they’d had that landed on the charts and the ones that some classic rock stations would still play. She tells him about the vinyl she’d had of their first album that she hadn’t been able to save from the fire and how her dad had been the one to shoot the cover art. She tells him about teaching music part time to kids while she works on making connections and plans for an album and how much she hates looking at apartments.

In turn Luke tells her all about his parents, and Alex and Reggie and how he saved Hotdog the cat from under a hotdog vendor's cart and had been hiding her in their apartment ever since. They spend too long talking about how she knows of Reggie’s music classes and how she’s been to the restaurant where Alex works too many times to count, and how it’s so weird they’ve never met before an apartment fire. He tells her how Alex and Reggie are his family, how they’d been with him through the loss of music and finding firefighting and how he’d already beat Reg at rock, paper scissors five times to be Alex’s best man when either he or Willie popped the question. He tells her how he can’t play his guitar unless he’s drunk and the place that used to be full of lyrics is silent.

At the end of the night, when their waiter finally gets tired of them hogging a table and asks them to leave, Luke knows enough about Julie to know that if they hadn’t met the way they did then they would have met some other way.

So he kisses her slowly, gently, against the side of her car and knows that she feels whatever it is between them too when she asks if he has plans tomorrow.

He doesn’t. And even if he did, he would cancel them for her.

THREE

“Ugh I love my dad but I have got to find somewhere to live before him and Tia drive me mad,” Julie grumbles through the phone and Luke smiles as he pictures her gripping her steering wheel a little tighter as she struggles with her love for her family and her need for space.

“Still no luck with the apartment hunting, huh?” He asks, hoping the sympathy is evident in his voice even as it’s partly muffled by the way he’s trying to pull a t-shirt over his head at the same time.

“Everything’s either too expensive or too far away from work or just has bad vibes,” she sighs and Luke can faintly hear the ticking sound of an indicator in the background.

“How can a place have bad vibes?” he laughs as he pulls the hem of his shirt down with one hand, closing his locker with his elbow of his other, nodding at Harrison as she raises an eyebrow at him as she walks past and Luke already knows he’s going to be teased today. Much like everyday since he and Julie had officially started dating.

But look, it wasn’t his fault he’d somehow met literally the best person on earth and she’d decided he was worth spending half her time with. Even Alex, Reggie and Willie had agreed that Julie was pretty fucking awesome and way out of his leage and had made him promise not to fuck it up. Which personally, Luke had found a little rude because he had no intentions of fucking things up and full intentions of spending the rest of his life with her.

Which yeah, okay, he knows is a little much after only a few months.

It was why he hadn’t asked her to move in with him. A voice that sounded suspiciously like Alex was in the back of his head reminding him that they’d only been dating for two months, or sixty seven days if you wanted to be exact. Not that he’d been counting or anything. Because that would be weird. It was just— Luke didn’t do casual when it came to relationships. He was either all in or not at all. And he was all in for Julie, and he was like, 75% sure she was all in for him too. But even still, it was too early to ask her to move in. Right? Fuck, he was going to have to go back to his pros and cons list later.

“Trust me, if you’d been in this place you’d know what I mean by bad vibes. Carlos would say it gave him ‘bad ghost tingles’, which I really didn’t understand before today,” she laughs a little before muttering something he doesn’t quite catch and then something he’s pretty sure translates to shoving something somewhere unpleasant and Luke grins to himself. Julie with a little road rage is kind of hot.

“Anyway,” she returns to the conversation and he really wishes he was in the car with her and not across town leaning in a doorway, it’s almost enough to make him start pouting before her next words are crackling through the phone, “Are we still on for dinner tonight after your shift?”

“Yeah!” Luke clears his throat, hand rubbing at the back of his neck at just how quickly and loudly he had agreed to that, but he can hear Julie laughing gently through the phone so he’s not really all that embarrassed, “I mean, yeah as long as you’re still up for it?”

“You said Alex was going through a fusion phase and I really want to see how he’s going to combine Italian and Thai food.”

“Oh I see, so you’re only using me to get close to my chef roommate, huh?” Not that he could blame her. Alex made some pretty great food.

“Don’t be silly, I’m clearly playing the long game and intend to use you to get to play with the sirens on a fire engines,” she giggles and it’s nearly enough to make Luke quit his job to spend the rest of his life trying to make her repeat the sound over and over.

Which is of course when the alarm sounds and people start rushing around him. He hears Julie blow out a breath on her end of the line and for a moment Luke can picture her so clearly. Sitting in her car, hands gripping the wheel and fingers tapping along to whatever melody is stuck in her head, hair tied up because she was going to wash it tomorrow, a little crease between her brows as she concentrated on the road that would deepen every time someone pissed her off. God he— huh. Luke blinks and blows out a breath of his own. If it’s too early to ask her to move in, he knows it’s probably too early to say the thought that just stuck him.

“I gotta,” he rasps, swallows and tries again, “I gotta go. Duty calls. I’ll see you tonight?”

“Eight o’clock. I’ll meet you at yours,” he imagines she’s nodding her head at him, “Be careful out there okay?”

“Always am,” Luke wants to say something else, but Danfroth hurries past him and he’ll be damned if he's not ready first, “Bye Jules.”

He holds on for a few more seconds, to see if she’s going to say anything more but it’s just static and their breathing and a click as they hang up.

//

His first year at the station there had been a massive ten car pile up on I-5 where the Hollywood freeway decided to join the party. It had been a lot of broken glass and people calling for help and a car hanging over the edge as others started burning. Luke doesn’t remember many of the details of the night. Except that he kind of remembers all of it.

Because his brain hates him and insists on keeping hold of all the traumatic moments in his life no matter how hard he tries to forget them.

He remembers being frozen at first. Gripping the strap of the bag he’d been told to hold as people bumped into him as they’d got straight to work. He’d been 21 and a probie and suddenly thinking he’d made the wrong career choice. He’d been seconds away from bolting when he’d heard a small voice calling for help. And Luke had blinked. Sucked in a breath of cold air and got to work.

It had been a series of reassuring smiles and telling people to cover their eyes and trying to ignore the way some people were covered in more blood than what was left in their bodies. He hadn’t had to deal with the worst of it, not really, but that didn’t mean he didn’t still sometimes wake up having dreamt of blood on roads and pulling people from cars before they blew up.

Now, as he closes the door of the engine and snaps the strap on his helmet closed, Luke thinks he’ll be dreaming of this call for a long time to come. On the plus side, at least this one was taking place in daylight.

“The hell happened?” he mutters.

“Truck lost a wheel and took out three cars in front of them and then another four behind. I think the rest are just collateral damage,” Danforth shrugs as he passes by Luke to open one of the side hatches on the engine.

Something about the way he says it rubs Luke the wrong way but he doesn’t have time to figure it out because Harrison comes up to give them assignments and he’s grabbing the jaws of life and heading into the chaos and the mess.

There’s a moment of calm between him helping get a young man out of a car and arguing with someone from a different station about not scaring already scared people by saying they’re going to cut trapped limbs off, where Luke manages to take a moment to breathe. There’s sweat coating the back of his neck and he knows if he looks close enough he’ll spot blood on his gloves but that's a problem for future him. Right now all he wants is a cold breeze to blow across the freeway and to not see an other person stuck in their car.

“Can we get some help over here please!” Someone shouts and Luke rolls his neck, pushes away from the wrecked car he’d been leaning against and heads towards the voice.

The first thing he sees is a car on its side with something leaking from somewhere it shouldn’t and knows they don’t have long before it makes a bigger problem. The second thing he sees is someone with strangely familiar curls kneeling over a body surrounded by an awful lot of glass.

“We’re gonna need a medic over here!” He calls over his shoulder before closing the distance with a jog and dropping into a crouch next to the young woman with her hands pressed into the side of an older man. Luke’s eyes track from his body to the car and the trail of blood and back to the woman's hands, coated in blood and arms that are shaking.

“Okay, we got him. Did you pull him ou— Julie!?” Luke’s hands falter for a moment as he reaches to replace the woman's hands with a wad of gauze as he finally has a chance to glance up at her face and realises the familiar curls were familiar for a reason. There’s blood on her sweatshirt and a streak across her cheek that’s disturbed by tear tracks and Luke remembers the first time he’d met her, crouching behind her sofa with tears on her cheeks, holding a bag full of song books and photos to her chest, and looking terrified.

She looks scared right now, but not like she had then, a different kind of scared that comes from not knowing if you’re doing enough to save someone.

“I— I pulled him out because the car is leaking gas and I didn’t—” she pauses to suck in a breath, hands balling into fits as she tries to steady them and Luke takes the pause to run his eyes over her and check for any injuries. But she seems fine, which is the important part right now. Well that and doing his job.

“Hey, we got him,” he ducks his head to catch her eyes and waits until she lets out a shallow breath and nods, “You need to go get checked out by a paramedic.”

“I’m fine, it's— it’s not my blood. I wasn’t in the crash, I just got out to help,” she trails off as her eyes follow the path of a pair of paramedics hands that come into view, taking over his job of putting pressure on the wound and Luke rocks back on his heels to let someone else take his place.

“Come on Jules,” he puts one hand on her elbow and slowly pulls her up as he stands too, moving them both out of the way so the paramedics can do their jobs. He waits until they’re lying down a backboard and Julie can see that he’s breathing. That he’s alive they’ve done all that they can and Luke practically feels the breath she lets out, shoulders dropping and her hands finally uncurling as she lets him pull her further away from the scene.

“You’re okay?” Julie asks as they come to a stop near his station's engine, hands reaching out for him only to seem to notice the blood and stop half in the air, and Luke can’t stop the half scoffed laugh that comes out of his throat as he unclips his helmet to pull it off his head to see her better.

“I should be asking you that,” he mutters, raising a hand up only to remember he’s still wearing his gloves and starts to pull one off before trying again, letting his palm cup her cheek, thumb brushing gently over her cheek and taking some of the blood with him. “What were you doing out there? You could have been hurt.”

“That guy was hurt and he needed help,” Julie shrugs a little as she looks up at him with a small twitch of her lips, leaning her cheek in his hand as her lips brushing slightly against the skin of his wrist as she speaks, “You’re out here every day risking your life, Luke. All I did was drag a guy from a car and try to stop him bleeding out.”

“Probably saved his life is what you did,” he blows out a breath and tries to send all his worries and concerns with it. He wonders if this is how his family and friends feel everyday he goes off to work, because it kinda sucks, maybe he should apologise to his mom later. Luke opens his mouth to say something before being cut off.

“Patterson! We got another call, come on,” Harrison interrupts, shooting a quick smile at Julie before looking at him and nodding towards the engine.

“Are you okay to drive? I can get someone to drop you off at mine?” He’s pretty sure someone around here owes him a favour, or he can see if Willie’s free or—

“I’m fine to drive but you’re not going to be finished for four hours. I don’t want to be intruding or anything,” there’s a small frown between her brows that makes Luke grin and want to kiss it away. So he does. He presses his lips to her forehead, and rests like that for a second, two, three.

“They won't get this all cleared for a while but they’ll let you turn around and my place is back the way you came,” he points out as he pulls back a little to be able to see her eyes better, “So, you go back to mine, feel free to use one of Reg’s bath bombs if you want, raid the cupboard next to the fridge for some of Willie’s cookies. Relax. Plus you know where the spare key is, and Reg should be back at about five so if you can’t find anything he’ll be there to help.”

“You sure it’s okay?”

“Go. I’ll be back by eight. Promise. I love you.

They stand like that for a few more seconds, his hand on her cheek and staring into each other's eyes in a way that he’s sure is going to get him teased later on. And then Harrison calls his name again and he rolls his eyes to make Julie laugh and press a quick kiss to his lips. Before he leaves her, he catches someone from the 97 and asks them to make sure she gets out fine. And Julie rolls her eyes at him, but he simply shrugs as he starts to walk backwards with a grin.

It’s not until he’s sat in his seat, headset on and clutching his helmet that he realises he’s just said he loves her. Oh fuck.

//

As the door clicks shut behind him the first thing Luke notices is Hotdog waiting by the pile of shoes for him like she does every Tuesday when he gets home. 

The second is the smell of onions and garlic, which means Alex is home and cooking dinner and he hadn’t realised how hungry he was.

The third thing is the sound of Julie’s laughter mixing with Reggie’s and Willies and Alex’s voice trying to sound offended. And Luke smiles to himself as he kicks off his shoes, drops his bag and bends down to pick up Hotdog, fingers scratching under her chin as he thinks about how all of this is something he could get very used to.

Plus, if Julie’s here it means he hadn’t scared her off with his spontaneous declaration earlier. Which is good.

“...found her behind the bookcase in Reggie’s room like, 3 hours later!” Alex finishes saying as Luke strolls into the kitchen with said hide and seek champion in his arms.

“Are we talking about the first or the second time Reg couldn’t find her?” He asks leaning his elbow on the back of the chair Julie is sitting in and drops a quick kiss to her lips as she turns her head to smile up at him. She’s retied her hair up and all traces of smoke and sweat and blood are gone from her skin, leaving her smelling like peaches, so Luke’s going to guess she took him up on the bath bomb offer.

“Hey,” he whispers as he pulls away to run his eyes over her face, pretty sure she’s doing the exact same thing to him.

“I’m still fine. Better even. You have a really great bath,” she says, quite enough that only he hears, and he definitely doesn’t miss the suggestive tone that makes him bite his lip before he says something not appropriate for present company. Instead he settles for poking her lightly between the shoulder blades and letting his fingers trail up from her shoulders to her neck to idly play with a loose curl at the nape of her neck. Biting down on the smirk that’s threatening to take over his face, Luke turns his attention back to his boys and the times Reggie has lost their cat.

“Wait, you lost her more than once?” Willie stares pointedly at Reggie who pauses in his cutting up of vegetables to smile a little sheepishly at them all.

“Hey, Alex is the one who freaked out thinking she was blind when she just didn’t give a fuck about the laser pointer!”

“That’s not even—” Alex starts, turning around and pointing his spoon at Reggie only to sigh and shake his head before turning to look at Luke with a raised brow and a look in his eyes that he doesn’t understand in relation to his next words, “Okay, moving on. Put out many fires today?”

Luke rolls his eyes at him because ever since he’d started his firefighter training six years ago Alex had been asking him the same question every night he came home. It was tradition at this point. So he adjusts his position so Hotdog can jump from his arms to the ground and make her way over to Willie before he answers so he has full range of movement for his dramatic retelling of his day. He only gets as far as lifting one arm to point at his friends before he’s cringing and lowering it again, instead holding up his index finger and nodding towards the bathroom.

“Actually, let me shower first. There was a whole incident with vinegar at a store earlier,” he waves away confused looks and drops one eye in a wink as he starts to back out of the room, “All will be answered soon.”

He tries to shower quickly, but gets caught up in scrubbing his hands through his hair and letting the hot water pound on the tight muscles on his back for longer than he’d like to admit. Someone he’d carried down five flights of stairs had once told him that he carried too much tension in his shoulders, like he was carrying a bunch of burdens and shit that he needed to let go. At the time he’d just said it was because his equipment was heavy. Now he’s starting to think that they might have been on to something.

Only problem is that he doesn’t really know what his burdens are or how to let them go so he just keeps ignoring them in hope they’ll sort themselves out.

Turning the water off and wrapping a towel around his waist Luke wipes condensation off the mirror as he grabs another towel to rub over his hair quickly, pushing still damp strands out of his eyes. He can still hear the boys talking faintly in the kitchen and doesn’t have a chance to wonder where Julie might be when he picks up a voice singing from his room. It’s something from a musical he thinks, something that she’s been working on with the kids she teaches for the last few weeks and Luke feels bad for them because how could they possibly compare to her voice?

Luke leans his shoulder against the doorframe, arms crossed on his bare chest as he watches Julie move around the other side of his room, picking through the books and cd’s he has stacked haphazardly on a bookshelf. She has her head tilted a little to the side as she reads the spine of something, shoulders moving up and down as she skips through a verse to hit the chorus again, hips swaying in a pair of his dark jogging bottoms that she’s had to turn up several times at the bottom. He hadn’t realised before that she was wearing his clothes, that she must have relaxed in the bath and then rooted through his drawers to find his softest pants and comfiest looking t-shirt. It must be a newish one, he thinks, because it’s still got sleeves attached and he can’t recognise it from the back. God he kind of loves to see her in his clothes.

The frame of the door starts to dig a little uncomfortably into his shoulder and he hisses a little as he pushes away, grabbing Julie’s attention who looks over her shoulder at him her mouth turning up into an almost coy smile as her eyes track down his body. His eyes brows raise a little as he grins back at her, pushing further away from the door to walk towards her only too falter as she fully turns around and —

Luke sucks in a sharp breath as he finally gets to see the t-shirt she’s wearing. He had forgotten he still had it. Cheap white material that was soft until you washed it once and it turned like paper, but when they’d been sixteen with their only money coming from allowances and busking, it was the best they could afford. He can still remember Reggie spending painstaking hours designing their logo, testing out different versions of the curve and font styles before settling on that one. And then the three of them spent even more hours carefully transferring the logo onto cheap t-shirts.

He hadn’t really thought about those t-shirts for a long time. He didn’t know if the others even still had any left. He didn’t know why he even still had one. The thing hadn’t fit him in years, like the second he’d given up on singing and music the t-shirt had grown too small for him. Or he’d just grown too big for it.

“Are you okay?” Julie asks, and he doesn’t know when she has moved, but suddenly she’s in front of him and Luke is getting a clear, up close view of his old band's shirt on her. 17 year old Luke would be losing his mind at the sight. Actually, 24 year old Luke is kind of losing his mind at the sight.

“Yeah just—” his voice cracks a little and he swallows, trying not to notice the way she’s biting her lip to stop a smile, “Not seen that t-shirt in a long time.”

“Oh?” she hums looking down at her chest, pulling slightly at the hem so she can see the logo a bit better before looking back up at him from beneath her lashes, “Reggie did say you might be a little surprised by it. I can take it off if you want?”

Fuck. He kind of wants to kill his friends for not warning him. Kind of wants to not be thinking about anyone but Julie for the next half an hour at least.

“It looks much better on you then it did on any of us,” he mutters, one hand coming up to lightly trace the lettering across the fabric.

“So you want me to keep it on?”

“Did they say how long dinner would be?” He asks as his fingers move from tracing the letters to up following the curve of her collarbone gently, lips ticking up on one side as she shivers.

“Twenty minutes,” she breathes, arching her neck to give his fingers more skin to explore and letting her breath fan across his lips as her fingers drop to the edge of his towel, using a fingernail to trace his hip bone. He’d want to talk about what he said earlier, to see if she felt the same but there’d be time for talking later.

“Keep the shirt on.”

FOUR

Luke really fucking hates working nights.

It’s a fact Alex is always laughing at him for, because of them all he’s always had the worst sleeping habits, had always been known to be up in the middle of the night doing something else. But that was by choice. This is because he needs money to pay rent and buy food and take Julie on nice dates.

Which is his newest reason for hating working nights.

He misses spending time with Julie. Being on opposite schedules really fucking sucks.

At this point he’d even take just getting to hug her, to watch something crappy on tv and fall asleep together in the same bed.

Logically, Luke knows that Harrison hadn’t been aware of what stage his relationship with Julie was at, but a part of him truly believes she had scheduled his turn of nights just as they’d gotten past that awkward stage of not knowing if they could stay over at each others place and where hitting the stage of leaving a toothbrush and saying ‘I love you’ when they said goodbye. And hello. And just anytime one of them felt like it.

Harrison couldn’t have known, but he’s going to blame her for not getting to see his girlfriend in daylight for the last week anyway. And when he starts to feel bad for blaming Harrison he’ll find a way to blame Danforth instead.

“You’re extra grumpy today,” Alex comments as he stirs something in a pot on the stove, watching the way Luke dumps cream into this coffee and grunting at the way his favourite bowl is still dirty in the sink from yesterday.

“I hate the night shift,” he mutters, giving up on his hunt for cereal and pulling a box of leftover pasta from the fridge instead.

“If you wait five minutes you can have some of this.” Luke doesn’t even have a chance to say anything before Alex is pulling the container away from him and is left with no other choice but to wait.

“Something is smelling good!” Reggie breezes into the kitchen with the air of someone who has been up for hours and is preparing to wind down for the evening. Luke kind of wants to throw something at him for it, and might have tried if he didn’t spot a ball of fur purring away on his shoulder, “What’s going on with Mr McPouty?”

“He’s not seen Julie in a week. I think he’s having withdrawals,” Alex whispers loudly as he spoon what Luke thinks is risotto into a bowl and slides it across to him.

“Can’t say I blame him, we went for coffee yesterday between classes? Man Julie’s so cool! And did you know her dad's this, like, semi famous photographer?” Reggie gushes and it takes everything in Luke not to pout even more at the fact Reggie got to hang out with Julie and he didn’t, “She says hi by the way.”

“Fuck off,” he mutters, flipping Reggie off as he starts laughing and pulling a fork out of the drawer closest to him, it does nothing to dissuade his boys from their laughter and Luke can’t find it in himself to care.

He’s tried and he misses Julie. He’s allowed to be grumpy about it.

“Anyway, you can’t talk to me about being grumpy. Remember when Willie went to that competition thing in San Diego and you didn’t see him for two days?” Luke points his fork at Alex and is rewarded with him having the decency to flush a little at the memory.

“Oh yeah! You lonely baked like, fifty cupcakes!” Reggie grins, snapping his fingers and leans in to whisper to Hotdog, “Two of your parents are lovesick fools. But it’s okay, because Julie and Willie are super cool. I’m sorry I didn’t properly prepare you though, I thought we’d have more time.”

“If I wasn’t so tired I’d take offence at you insinuating we’d never get partners,” Luke grumbles, shoving a fork full of risotto into his mouth and shooting Reggie a half hearted sort of glare.

“Well I’m not tired so I take full offence to it! And stop lying to Hotdog about us!” Alex steps away from the stove, picking up some cooked chicken to toss towards Hotdog, grinning at the way Reggie sputters in protest as she tries to climb his face to catch them.

He knows Alex and Reggie are still bickering around him but he lets it all fade into the background as he eats and thinks about what Reggie had said. Because he wasn’t strictly wrong. Luke's last serious relationship had been at least four years ago and had lasted a month before things had just...fizzled out. And yeah there’d been the occasional girl since, but nothing serious. Nothing like what he felt for Julie.

She made him want to pick up a pen and write again. She made him want to look at old dreams he’d pushed aside out of fear. Which was a kind of terrifying thought in itself. Because Luke hadn’t thought about that dream of standing on a stage and playing music he wrote and making a connection to everyone in a long time. Not since he’d left the hospital after a house fire and the first time he’d tried to sing a month later his throat had felt like it was bleeding. So he’d pushed that dream down and found a new one and had avoided looking at it ever since.

Until Julie.

With her stunning voice and captivating laugh and blinding smile. Until she’d dragged him to a silly open mic night and handed him a guitar and just asked him to back her up.

Luke hadn’t told the boys about it.

That he’d stood on a stage and played while a crowd cheered. He didn’t know what it meant. Wasn’t even sure if it could be classed as progress if he hadn’t actually sang anything. But playing something for someone that wasn’t him was something, right?

He chews thoughtfully at a piece of chicken and looks between Alex and Reggie who have moved on from bickering to discussing weekend plans. Maybe he should tell them, they’d probably have some helpful insight into his problems.

Or they might just call him dumb and point out it’s been seven years and his throat is fine and he’s not had any problems talking since two weeks after leaving the hospital and he’s just been a coward. Damn he needed to get Alex and his stupid logical voice out of his head.

“Dude,” Reggie cuts through his thoughts, frowning at his phone screen, “You’re gonna be late if you don’t get ready soon.”

Luke squints at the screen as Reggie turns it towards him and nearly chokes on the bite food in his mouth as he pushes out of his chair and picking up his bowl as he goes, “Fuck!”

//

Luke slams the door of the fire alarm panel shut as the beeping and sprinklers in the restaurant finally stop and he’s left with a slight ringing in his ear and water soaking into his back. Which is bad. Because it means he’s torn his coat at some point and is going to need to sort that out before their next call. He’s glad he found out on a false alarm rather than while being in a burning building though, better a slightly damp back to being burnt.

“Alarms off, I’m going to do a sweep through,” he holds down the button on his radio and waits for the crackling to die down and Harrisons voice to filter through a confirmation.

False alarms are his least favourite calls, which he knows is bad, but he likes a little action in his night. If he’s going to be stuck on the night shift he at least wants to be doing something more than opening storage closets to check there’s no one trying to wait out a fire.

He hums the theme tune of some 90’s sitcom he can’t remember the name of as he walks down the short corridor between the kitchen and the main dining area, glancing in the men's room and the ladies and pauses a moment too long as he looks in the disabled toilet.

The last time he’d been out for a meal it had been an awful group event that Alex had made them all go to for one of the waiters at his restaurant. The food had all been weirdly sticky and they kept playing a questionable remix of Bless the Broken Road and the biggest bright spot of the whole evening had been when everyone was wandering around talking, Julie had dragged him down a corridor and into a bathroom.

Letting the door shut, Luke lets out a slight groan as he moves away from the corridor and back towards the main entrance. As if he wasn’t missing Julie enough already. He just had to go and remember that evening.

“Place is clear. It looks like a wire got loose but they’ll need to get someone in to check all the detectors. It didn’t seem like the sprinklers were really doing their job in the kitchen,” Luke reports to Harrison once he’s outside and within earshot of her, taking his helmet off and running a hand through his hair as he comes to a stop beside her, glancing towards the crowd of people waiting behind cones and a man arguing with someone in a police uniform. Luke shakes his head at the sight of the man gesturing towards the building and back at himself as he unfastens his coat and shrugs it off his shoulders, “He doesn’t think he’s actually going to be able to reopen tonight does he?”

“Hm? Not our problem,” Harrison says without even looking up from whatever form she’s filling out, though she does lift her pen up and wave it to something over his shoulder, “There’s someone over there looking for you. You’ve got 15 before we’ll be ready to leave.”

With a frown Luke looks over his shoulder, but can’t see anyone that he knows and it’s as he turns back to tell Harrison that when she taps him on the ear with her pen and Luke gets the hint. He leaves his helmet and coat with her and is halfway to the taped line when he spots a face in the crowd that makes a smile split across his face.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, not even attempting to keep the widening smile off his face as he jogs to a stop beside the tape line where Julie is standing with an arm linked through Flynns.

“Well we were trying to have a nice dinner,” Flynn mutters, and Luke catches the way she wrinkles her nose as he pulls away after leaning over to kiss Julie quickly, but there’s a slight smile on her lips too. Which is always nice to see because winning over Flynn had felt like the biggest test of his life and some days he still wasn’t entirely sure if she liked him or not.

“Just karma for trying to eat anywhere that’s not Alex’s place,” he rocks back on his heels and crosses his arms over his chest, letting the thumb on his right hand hook under the suspenders and dragging it a little across his chest.

“I don’t want him to think that I’m interested in being his friend because he can get me a table at the last minute,” Julie says, a small furrow appearing between her brows and Luke can’t help but shake his head with a laugh.

“Trust me, Alex’s first rule of friendship is don’t eat at crappy places that don’t get their fire alarms checked regularly.”

“That sounds more like your rule,” Flynn points out and she’s raising an eyebrow as she looks at him in a way that sends him back to being fifteen and put on the spot in a maths class.

Before Luke can formulate a reply Julie is shaking her head at her friend with a laugh and Luke’s eyes are drawn back to her, “No. Luke’s first rule of friendship is that you need to be able to name at least one band or artist from the 80’s. Quickly followed by knowing where all your fire exits are.”

“Just like to make sure people know the classic,” he shrugs, lips curving into a smile as realises just how well Julie knows him, and how much she remembers from their first date too.

“Ugh. You two are annoyingly cute,” Flynn mutters which is only when Luke notices that Julie’s been smiling back at him. But he can’t find it in himself to care how annoyingly cute they might look, he’s not seen her in a week and has to go back to work in less than five minutes. He’s gonna stare at her like the lovesick fool his friends accuse him of being.

//

A yawn creeps up his throat as he balls up his t-shirt and throws it into his bag, rolling out his neck as he reaches for the navy hoodie from inside his locker, foregoing another t-shirt in order to speed up the process of getting home and going straight to bed. He has plans to sleep for the next forty-two hours and only answer his phone for Julie, or his mom if she rings more then twice.

Heaving a breath he slips his hands through the arms of his hoodie and has it half lifted up to his head when a shiver runs up his back as someone traces a spiral pattern up his bare back.

“Hi,” a voice whispers behind him and Luke feels a sudden spike of energy at the sound of her voice. Enough to slip his arms the rest of the way into his hoodie and pull it over his head, he can feel Julie tugging at the hem at his neck, pulling it down to the waistband on his jeans and he tries not to be sad at the lack of her touch.

“Hey,” he finally replies as he turns around, eyes sweeping across her face and the casual leggings and too big band shirt that he’s pretty sure is his that she’s wearing, “You’re up early.”

“Mhm,” she smiles up at him, and it’s sweet and simple and lights up Lukes life in more ways than he’ll ever be able to express to her in words. “Thought I’d come pick you up. See if you maybe wanted to grab a little breakfast before you vanish into your bed.”

If it was anyone else asking him, Luke is pretty sure he’d give them a flat out no and grumble about people being too cheery in the morning. But it’s been five months and he loves her and he’s not been able to say no yet. He’s not sure he’ll ever be able to say no to her. Luke blinks as that thought settles within him.

Spending his life being unable to say no to Julie. He really likes the sound of that.

Completely unaware of the sudden life epiphany he’s experienced, Julie has zipped up his bag and is holding it, eyebrow raised as she looks at him. Waits for him. And Luke pushes all thoughts so the future aside for now, he’ll deal with them later and focuses on the now. On how easily Julie slips her hand into his when he offers it to her, how simple it feels to tug her a little closer and drop a kiss to her forehead before they leave the locker room.

“So you're gonna buy me pancakes, right?” He asks as he waves at one of the engine drivers already busy readjusting his seat for the day.

“I’ll even treat you to an extra topping,” she teases and Luke wrinkles his nose at her even as a smile pulls at his lips.

FIVE

“Hey so uh, I have to ask you something,” Luke started, eyes following the hands of the paramedic as they checked her over for any injuries. But, much like all the previous times, Julie seemed perfectly fine. Which was part of his problem. Or not problem. But his concerns. Because this was the fifth fire his station had been called out to that Julie had been at the scene for. And yeah okay maybe asking her while she was sitting on the sidewalk after running out a burning building wasn’t his best move but he’d been holding off on asking for a while and it just sorta slipped out.

“Are you—”

“You’re all good here, just keep with that oxygen for a little longer for me and then we’ll clear you to go,” the paramedic says, giving her arm a single pat before nodding to him and walking away.

“Julie, are you an arsonist!?” He blurts the question out before he can stop himself, and he watches with mounting embarrassment as Julie removes the oxygen mask from her face — slight indents in her cheeks that he’d want to smooth away if he hadn’t just accused her of a crime — and eyebrows halfway to her hairline.

“Excuse me?” she rasps and Luke winces from the hurt look in her eyes.

“I just—” he starts, waving his arms around them to try and encompass where they are. The store that’s still on fire, the firefighters still trying to get it under control, the people being treated for minor burns and smoke inhalation. “This is like the fifth time you’ve been at a fire! And I love you, you know I love you but I just gotta know if I should be covering for you or something here!”

For a moment Julie doesn’t say anything, just stares at him with her wide brown eyes and lips slightly parted and a little smudge of dirt across her chin. And then she laughs, throwing her head back against his shoulder and eyes shut tight as her body shakes with the force of it. Which does nothing to calm Luke’s fraying nerves about dating an arsonist, but does a lot to make him want to smile at the sight of her joy. Even if it’s maybe tinged with a little insanity.

“You’d really cover for me if I was an arsonist?” She asks after she calms her laughter and regains her breath.

“I mean...yeah,” he shrugs, rubbing one hand at the back of his neck as he smiles at her, a little sheepishly as he tries his best not to dislodge her head from where it’s resting.

“Luke, you’re very sweet and I love you too,” she reaches out a hand and wiggles her fingers at him and Luke barely even hesitates before he’s putting his hand in hers, fingers interlocking and rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand as he waits for her to carry on, “But I promise, I’m not an arsonist. I just seem to have really bad luck when it comes to places with faulty wiring.”

He’s silent for a moment as he lets her words register in his mind. Not an arsonist. Just bad luck. God, he’s so dumb.

“And!” she continues, sitting up straight again and poking a finger of her free hand into his cheek and snatching it away quickly before he has a chance to bite it, “You’re not even on duty today! I wouldn’t have even been in that store if you hadn’t been running late because you had to help Reggie with something.”

“Ah so it’s Reggie’s fault then,” Luke agrees and is rewarded by Julie huffing a laugh as she drops her head back to his shoulder, her hair tickling his cheek as he rests it against the top of her head. He gently reaches over to reattach the oxygen mask to her face as they sink back into a comfortable silence.

Luke thinks back to an hour ago, when he’d been hovering over Reggie’s shoulder and trying to help him work out the issue with a song he was helping to produce. He thinks about the look of shock and then excitement that had taken over his best friend's face at the sight of him scratching out a rough arrangement on his notes. How it had been the first time outside of drunken nights — and a dark crappy bar’s creaky stage for an open mic night — that he’d played anything on his guitar for someone.

When Luke had sworn off music, out of what he can now recognise as fear, he’d never really stopped to think what it meant for the people around him. At the time, he’d thought his mom was just still trying to keep the peace whenever she’d asked why he didn’t play anymore, had thought Alex and Reggie were happy for an excuse to not follow him on his quest for connections with the world, had thought that maybe music wasn’t for him.

He had never thought maybe they missed him playing as much as he had loved it.

And then he’d met Julie and that part of his brain that he’d shut off had exploded with lyrics and melodies and chords he hadn’t thought about in years. He still hadn’t sung, still wasn’t sure if he could, but Luke was starting to think maybe not being able to sing was okay if he could grab his guitar and finally express his feelings through music again. Some of them at least, he turns his head a little to press a kiss into Julie’s hair before resting his cheek back in the same spot.

“I’m sorry I was late,” he whispers, “And that I accused you of being an arsonist.”

“I’ll forgive you,” she mutters, the sound a little lost by the mask but he doesn’t miss the way her lips are pulled up into a smile, “If you buy me pancakes.”

//

“Okay what about this one?” Luke asks as he holds up a vinyl, The Bangles staring out at them from under their big hair and questionable bangs of the Manic Monday era.

“I’m trying to find some music from this century,” Julie rolls her eyes at him as she pushes his hand down and Luke pouts at her, which only earns him another eye roll.

“But you’re going to need some of the old classics too! You did say you lost most of your music in the fire,” he points out, slipping the vinyl into the small growing collection under his arm with a sweet smile at her. If she’d wanted someone to suggest modern music she had to have known he was the wrong person to bring shopping.

“You know there’s this thing called spotify? It’s amazing, it has like, all the music you could possibly want on it,” she teases as she leans in a little and Luke can’t help but do the same, wrinkling his nose as he pretends to look lost.

“Never heard of it, guess you’ll just have to come home with me later and show me how to use it,” his eyes glance down at her lips before slowly trailing back up to her eyes in time to see her rolling them again, though he also notices the slight flush to her cheeks and grins.

“Only if you help me find the records on my list,” she whispers, and for a moment Luke thinks she’ll close the distance between them and press her lips to his and is so distracted with the thought that he misses the way her hand comes up to push at his chest, sending him rocking back on his heels and Julie sliding past him.

“Tease,” he mumbles and Julie laughs from behind him, already moving through the rows and looking for things on her list. Things she lost in the fire, things she’s just always been on the lookout for. And Luke here’s to try and help her find them. But he’s also here for an ulterior motive and uses Julie’s distraction of looking through the r&b to head towards the other side of the store where he knows they keep the unsorted second hand stuff.

He’d started his hunt a few months ago, stopping by various music stores and second hand places to look around and ask the staff to let him know when they get a new stock of vinyls or tapes. So far he’d not had much luck. But he was feeling confident about today. He’d played music for Reg and Julie wasn’t an arsonist and Willie was ‘stealing’ them some of his uncles cheesecake for tonight. So today was the day he was going to find it. And it would be the best housewarming gift for when Julie moved into her new place next month.

And he really hopes he can find it because his back up plan is a plant of some kind and that just feels too cliche.

He shifts through copies of The Beatles and The 1975 and a shocking number of The Zombies which is something he’ll be thinking about later. He’s down to the last few vinyls in the crate and close to heaving a sigh when he flips back the second to last one and grins. Purple petals falling onto the upturned faces of four women who are smirking up at their band name on a dark blue background. Pulling it out, Luke flips it over and skims the five songs on the back and bites his lip as he examines the small signs of wear and tear on the edges but otherwise seems fine. Almost perfect condition.

He just knew today was a good day!

“Luke!” Julie’s voice startles him out of his thoughts and he only just has enough time to slide the record between two others in his hands before she spots it as she runs up to his, fingers wrapping around his forearm as she tugs at him, “They have a photo booth! Come take some photos with me. Please?”

She looks up at him with wide eyes and everyone always tells him he has the best puppy dog eyes they’ve seen, but Luke thinks that’s just because they’ve never seen Julie’s. Not that she needs them. He’d say yes to anything she wanted. Which she knows.

“Only if we take the most cliche ones possible,” he lets himself be pulled towards the back of the store where an old fashioned photo booth with a red crushed velvet curtain is nestled between stacks of crates and t-shirts on a railing. Putting the records down on the edge of one of the crates Luke digs some change out of his pocket while Julie slides onto the bench, leaving a space for him to join her.

Her hair brushes against his shoulder as she leans forward to read the faded instructions and Luke hands her a couple of dollar bills before she can even reach for her own purse. There’s a whirring sound after she feeds them into the machine and the screen flickers a few times before a countdown starts and Julie lets out a gasp as he wraps an arm around her shoulders to pull her back just in time for the first flash.

“Oh fuck,” she laughs and flings her arms around his neck, smooching their cheeks together and now Luke’s laughing, their reflections showing two people a mess of hair and half closed eyes. By the third flash Luke has his face buried in her curls as his shoulders shake with laughter while Julie tells him to get it together between her own giggles.

“Shall we try that again?” He asks after the last flash and the whirring has stopped and they’ve managed to calm their laughter down.

“I didn’t think it would be that quick!” Julie shakes her head, but fishes some more money out of her bag, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she sits up, “Okay. We need a plan this time around. Money in. A nice smiling one, a funny face, kiss on the cheek, classic peace sign. Got it?”

Julie waits for him to nod before leaning to put money in the machine again, and Luke honestly has every intention of following her plan. Smile, funny face, kiss on the cheek, peace. Cliche, just like he’d wanted. But as the countdown starts and Julie sits back, shoulder brushing against his as she smiles, he can’t help but turn to smile at her. At the way she’s tucked some curls behind her ear so he can see the butterfly earrings and the little stars that trail up from her seconds to her helix, at the collection of necklaces glinting at her throat, the chain of one resting below the pulse point on her neck that he knows makes her moan when he presses his lips against, the way her lips stretch into a smile that he knows if she was facing him he’d be able to see the little gap between her teeth.

A flash goes off and Luke licks his lips, mouth ticking up a little at the side as she turns to look at him with her eyebrows raised, “You were meant to be smiling.”

“I was,” he defends and proves his point by grinning at her, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he tries to keep it in check.

“You’re not following the plan.” But she doesn’t seem to be too annoyed, even as the second flash lights up the booth and Luke knows they only have a few seconds before the third one goes off so he takes his chance and leans forward to capture her lips before she can say anything else.

They miss the third flash, and the forth.

When they leave the booth a few minutes later his hair is sticking up and his lips are a little swollen and Julie has to spend a few seconds readjusting her crop top so it’s no longer riding up. If the guy at the front counter had noticed them giggling or being in the booth for too long he doesn’t show it and Luke’s not about to push his luck.

“See, told you I was smiling,” he mutters as he looks over her shoulder to look at the two strips of photos in her hands, at the blurry giggling messes that they are in the first one and the heart-eyed cliche couple they are in the second. He’s starting to get what Alex, Reggie and Flynn mean about the way they look at each other.

“I’m going to go pay for these then we can go check out that place with the lamp you liked,” he says, pressing a kiss into her temple and reaching around her to pick up the records and gently pulls the second photo strip from her fingers, dropping her a wink as she turns to pout at him, “I’m going to put this one in my locker at work. They’re starting to run low on stuff to tease me about.”

Julie’s laugh follows him as he makes his way up to the counter where the guy doesn’t even blink at his messed up hair or the bruise he’s pretty sure is starting to show up on his collarbone given how tender it feels as he brushes past it to scratch his neck. Which is another thing for his friends to tease him about.

Luke grins at the strip of glossy photos in his hand. So worth it.

+ONE

As he waits for the shower water to heat up a little Luke taps out a quick reply to Julie promising he’ll be at her new place by two to help her move boxes and unpack. Which is all very exciting. He’d personally been round to check all the fire detectors and the wiring were up to code, and should anything happen, her new apartment was in his station's district so he’d be on the scene to help.

Apparently even Ray found that reassuring, and Luke was trying to not let that go to his head. His girlfriend's dad likes him. He thinks that’s pretty cool. Of course Ray had also taken up texting Reggie a lot which was a little weird but it was fine. He had bonus points of saving both his kids from fires.

Locking his phone he puts it on the counter, bobbing his head as a song from a tiktok plays in his head as he moves back over to the shower and stepping into the hot water.

He doesn’t really know what happens next.

One minute he’s lathering shampoo into his hair, head swaying from side to side and hips rocking in a circular motion as he hums along with the song in his head.

And then his mouth is opening and he’s singing.

“We're stuck where we are, with no house, no car. Castaways, ahoy, we are castaways,” his voice tails off as he starts humming again as he sticks his head under the shower stream to start rinsing off the shampoo. Only he only gets as far as leaning a little forward before he realises what’s just happened.

“Holy shit!” he sputters, stumbling a step backwards and wiping water out of his eyes only to wince and swear again as he rubs shampoo into them. Fumbling, he reaches for the face cloth he knows is somewhere nearby and wipes at his eyes again, blinking and heart racing.

For a moment the only thing he can hear is the water hitting tiles and his heart racing in his chest and that damn song still playing on a loop in his head. Swallowing, Luke sucks in a breath and tests his voice out again. He hasn’t sung anything in seven years but he can still remember the lyrics to Now or Never like he’d written them yesterday and as he pushes himself off the wall his fingers absentmindedly start picking out the chords as the words breeze out of him.

Like they’d just been waiting on the tip of his tongue all this time. And fuck, he really does feel like he’s been hit with an electric hammer to the heart with how fast his is beating right now.

He knows exactly what happens next. He acts on instinct. And instinct tells him he has to tell someone else.

Not stopping to turn the water off, or even grab a towel, Luke jumps out of the shower, fingers scrambling with the lock on the door before he can jank it open and then he’s running down the corridor, bare feet slipping on wood.

“Boys!” He shouts, skidding to a stop in the doorway of the living room, chest still heaving as he bends over a little to catch his breath. Pushing wet — and still soapy — hair out of his face, Luke turns a wide grin at the three pairs of wide eyes watching him from the sofa. He hadn’t known Willie was here. But that’s fine. Willie’s practically family, they’re all just waiting for one of them to propose at this point.

“Uh Luke—” Reggie starts, eyes firmly on his face even as his hand waves in the general direction of his legs, but Luke doesn’t have time to worry about dripping water on the floor right now.

“Boys. I sang again.” It’s a statement. A sentence that wouldn’t mean anything to anyone else. That wouldn't be a big deal or cause for celebration.

But Alex and Reggie had been there after the fire, after the doctors had told him to rest his voice, after he’d tried once and refused to do it since. It had been Alex and Reggie who he’d blown up at one day after school at 17 when they’d suggested going out for the school talent show as an attempt to help him. It was Alex and Reggie who have been with him every song-less day since.

So they get it.

“Holy shit,” Alex whispers, standing up from the couch at the same moment that Reggie vaults over it, both of them grinning just as wide as Luke is sure he is.

“And your voice, it was…” Reggie trails off, but his eyebrows wiggle and Luke gets the point.

“I don’t want to brag but I think a seven year vocal rest might have possibly made me sound better,” he shrugs one shoulder, but the calm, cool and casual air he’s trying to project is totally ruined by the way he’s practically bouncing in place. He feels jittery, his fingers itching for strings, mind racing with years worth of lyrics he’s suppressed.

“We told you!” Alex slaps his hand on his bicep, only to cringe as he wipes his now wet hand on his jeans.

“Dude you are so naked right now,” Willie laughs from his place on the couch, and Luke can’t help it, he drops one eye in a wink and dodges out of the way of Alex’s fist, which only makes Willie laugh more, “Happy for you though man. On the singing again. Does this mean the band is back together?”

The three of them look at each other, eyebrows raised and smiles stretched and Luke doesn’t know. But he does know that something has shifted back into place inside him. Like he’d been walking around a little off balance, not enough to really notice it until he’d been righted.

“How about we discuss future band plans when you’ve washed the shampoo out of your hair,” Reggie suggests, and Luke’s not self conscious about being naked in their living room, but he is starting to feel a little cold.

“Good plan. And then I need to get to Jules’ to help move furniture,” he points once at Reggie, and then at Alex as he starts walking backwards down the corridor, “And then we can get this band back together.”

The bathroom has filled with steam by the time he gets back, and the water is a little too hot, but Luke doesn’t care as he jumps back under the stream and finally washes the shampoo from his hair as he sings through Now or Never twice.

//

The second he steps through the door Luke knocks into a bed frame and only just manages to catch it before it topples on to him, raising an eyebrow at Julie who’s grimacing at him from the other side, “I say we move the bed first.”

Her eyebrows shoot up and she rests one hand on her hip, “Oh?”

“Not for— I just meant before it knocks someone out! Not for that,” his eyes trail down her body, at the denim shorts and plain purple t-shirt she’s tied up to making to a crop top that expose just a little of her skin, and he can’t help but grin, “Not yet at least.”

“You grab that end? And try not to drag it on the floor, I don’t want to scratch them,” she says, hands wrapping around one side of the frame and tilting her head at him until he follows suit. There’s a lot of awkward pulling and lifting and bumping into stacks of boxes with Julie’s neat writing scrawled along the sides. Then they spend a solid few minutes struggling to fit the thing through her bedroom doorway until they do some pivoting and silly impressions of Ross from friends that does little to help but make them laugh.

“Okay, okay,” Luke pants, resting against the wardrobe that’s already in the room and looking around, “I’ve lifted weights in the gym that were easier to move then that thing.”

“My tia says a sturdy bed frame is always a must have,” Julie grins at him from where she’s sat on the floor, with her legs outstretched and Luke wrinkles his nose at her before pushing away from the wardrobe to offer her a hand up.

“Come on, let's get the rest of your boxes into the correct rooms and we can test out this sturdy bed frame your tia recommended,” he pauses after pulling her up, the lack of distance between them meaning he has to look down at her as his brows pull together in a frown, “Wait that sounded weirder than I meant.”

“Just a little,” she agrees, nose wrinkling and reaching up on her tiptoes to wrap her arms around his neck and kisses him. It’s soft and quick, like they’ll have forever for something more. And then she pulls away, hands sliding down his shoulders to his biceps, “Can you move the boxes for the kitchen and I’ll get the ones for the bathroom?”

//

It’s a few hours later when all the boxes that had been stacked by the front door are spread out in the correct rooms and they’re sitting surrounded by pieces of wood and nails that are supposed to make an ikea table.

What Luke is learning from it is that Julie is not very good at flat pack furniture.

“It says the weird squiggly one goes into the inside holes at the bottom! But I can’t find any holes and the weird squiggly things won't turn!” she whines, jabbing the screwdriver in the direction of the half built table and waving the instructions at him like he’s personally written them.

“Well uh might help if you turn it the other way around,” he suggests, fingers wrapping around one of the legs and rotating it so the side that had been facing him and is now facing Julie and she can see the holes she was missing. The flush in her cheeks darkens a little as her mouth opens to form a silent ‘oh’ and Luke grins, stretching an arm out to pry to the screwdriver from her fingers. “How about we take a break from building furniture, have some lunch? I’m no Alex but I know how to fry an egg and bacon.”

Julie heaves a sigh, head falling into her hands and then pushing her hair out of her face as she looks back up at him with a tired smile, “I can go and grab us some coffees?”

“Sounds like a plan,” he smiles at her, pushing up onto his knees and kissing her cheek before pushing up further on to his feet with a groan and then offering Julie a hand up too.

“Try not to burn my new apartment down while I’m gone,” she taps her fingers against this chest and then picks up her phone and moves towards the front door to find her shoes.

“Think you’ll find you’re the arsonist in this relationship,” he calls after her, grinning as she laughs into the kiss that she blows to him before shutting the door. And then he’s in her apartment by himself. The place still feels a little empty and cold, with the only furniture in place being the sofa her dad and brother had helped carry up earlier and the bookcase against the wall that connects to the second bedroom. But Luke had caught a glimpse of her old apartment, and had seen her room at her dad's house and knew that while Julie might not be good at putting furniture together she was really amazing at decorating a space and making it feel like home.

After rooting through one box to find a frying pan and a second to find a spatula, Luke grabs eggs and bacon and glances at the spinach that’s part of Victoria’s welcome package before ignoring it and turning back to the stove. He’s pretty sure she’s got a speaker or a radio in one of these boxes somewhere, but he doesn’t want to go rooting through her things. Not that he needs to, because he can make his own background music now and it’ll probably be better then anything on the radio too.

Idly, as he cracks open an egg, Luke wonders if maybe he’s a little too cocky inside his own head for someone who hasn’t sung a note in seven years but well, he’s never been known as the humble one in his friend group.

“You can't start a fire, you can't start a fire without a spark,” he sings, hips swaying as he pokes at the eggs, “This gun's for hire, even if we're just dancin' in the dark,” he mumbles through the next sentence as he flips a piece of bacon before throwing himself back into the song in full force, “Radio's on and I'm movin' 'round my place. I check my look in the mirror,” he sucks in a breath and raises the spatula up to his mouth like a makeshift microphone and scrunches his eyes shut as he almost growls the last sentence, “Wanna change my clothes, my hair, my face!”

“Oh.”

If he hadn’t been gasping for a breath he might not have heard her. Because he certainly hadn’t heard her come back in, but as lowers his spatula and spins around he comes face to face with Julie clutching a tray of drinks and staring at him wide eyed.

“Uh, hi,” and, for some reason, he waves at her with the spatula while his other hand rubs at the back of his neck with a sheepish smile, “Sorry I uh, didn’t hear—”

“When did you start singing again?” She blurts out before he can finish his sentence and right. He hadn’t told her. He’d nearly gotten squished by a bed frame and forgotten about his news.

“Um like, six hours ago?” He shrugs, finally putting the spatula down and taking a step towards her, suddenly nervous in a way he hasn’t been since their first date.

“That was— you’re—” she trails off, eyes trailing over his face with something that looks like awe, but Luke doesn’t understand why. Shit maybe time has fucked with his brain and he actually sounds shit? Oh god is she going to break up with him for being a terrible singer?

“Fuck Luke, you never said you could sing!”

“Yes I did,” he frowns at her, “I said it on our first date that I used to sing and then I stopped because of a fire!”

“Yeah but I didn’t know you could sing like...that!” She shakes her head slightly, her smile widening as she puts the drinks down on the counter and closes the gap between them, arms reaching up to circle around his neck and Luke’s hands automatically rest on her waist, fingers brushing against the strip of skin above the waistband of her shorts and below her top.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” she asks.

“Nearly got hit by a bed frame,” he shrugs and flexes his fingers against her waist when she giggles.

“This is big,” she breaths, and her smile softens a little and Luke’s eyes dip to her lips before going back to her eyes, “This is big, right? Because you sounded pretty amazing just now. And it really fucking hot too, but if this isn’t an exciting thing I can—”

“No this...it’s big and it’s exciting,” it’s his turn to cut her off with a shake of his head, and his fingers trail down her ass and trace the edge of the top of her back pocket before sliding in and squeezing, Julie rocks forward, mouth opening to say something but Luke takes his chance to put his lips against hers and find her tongue.

She moans into his mouth and Luke walks them backwards until the hand that’s on her waist hits the counter. He lowers his hand to tap her thigh, and without breaking apart she lifts her leg up to his hip and he hoists her up the rest of the way until he can balance her on the edge of the counter and get better leverage. Julie pulls away first, her breathing heavy and Luke smirks at her before trailing his lips up her jaw and down her throat, paying extra special attention to her pulse point on his way down.

“You really found me singing hot?” he whispers as he sucks at a spot just above her collarbone, nipping at her skin when she only moans instead of answers.

“You already know you're hot,” she groans, fingers in his hair and tugging gently until he gives in and lets her tug his head away from his attack at her collarbone and can reattach her lips to his. And Luke’s not about to complain about that either. Kissing Julie in any way is one of his favourite things. He pulls away first this time, pulling his hand free of her pocket and wrapping it around her thigh to push her further onto the counter. Her whine of protest at the lack of contact pulls a grin from his lips as he leans forward to kiss her again quickly, once, twice, and then runs his hands down her legs slowly as he pulls away again, head lowering back to the dip between her clavicle.

“Fire,” she whispers, and Luke grins against her skin because yeah, he kinda feels like he’s on fire right now too. Julie runs her fingers through his hair again, nails scratching at his scalp, “Luke. Fire.”

“I know, Jules, me too,” he mutters against her, lips moving up the other side of her collarbone and half wondering if she’d mind if he ripped her t-shirt and — “Ow!”

He pulls away sharply, eyes widening as he looks at her while one hand goes to his head to rub at the spot where she’d pulled at his hair too hard, “What was that for?”

“Fire!” Julie shouts and points over his shoulder. Where the stove is. Where Luke had been cooking before getting distracted. Where a small grease fire is now raging in the pan with eggs and bacon for fuel.

“Fuck,” he hisses, dropping his grip on Julie’s leg to lunge for the box of kitchen equipment to pull out a metal baking tray before turning back to the fire and slamming the tray on top, wincing at the heat but pushing through to turn the stove top off and push the pan to the back.

Hands on his hips, Luke blows out a breath and is about to ask if Julie is okay when he hears her burst out into laughter. Eyebrows raised, he turns to see her still on the counter top, fingers gripping the edge as her legs swing back and forth and she leans forward, “I thought I told you not to burn down my apartment?”

“Guess I’ll just have to find a way to make it up to you,” he chuckles and, checking the pan isn’t about to burst into flames again, turns his attention back to what he was doing with a little more attention to detail then before.

//

“I got you a gift,” he whispers much later after the sun has set and they’d ordered pizza and given up on building furniture to pile blankets and pillows on the floor of her living room to stretch out on. Julie turns her head from where it’s resting against his chest to look at him, eyebrows raised and a small smile playing on her lips.

“You got me a gift?” she repeats, “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I know but…,” Luke shrugs and gently dislodges her head so he can reach over to grab his boxers and slip them back on before getting up and padding across the apartment towards the front door to retrieve the wrapped box he’d left there earlier. By the time he’s padding back to their nest of blankets Julie is sitting cross legged and pulling her hair out of the neck of his t-shirt.

“It’s uh,” he rubs at the back of his neck as he sits back down, mirroring her position and carefully setting the box between them, it’s dark green paper rustling a little as Julie traces a finger down one edge, “Well you’ll see. And if you don’t like it or— or if it’s too much then that’s fine. I can uh I can take it back or something. But I just, you said it was important to you.”

There’s a quizzical sort of look on her face, brows furrowed and lips pursed as she pulls the box closer and finds the edge of the paper to unwrap it. Luke watches her face carefully as she pulls the paper free and then slowly lifts the lid off the box to see the record nestled in purple tissue paper underneath. Her hand freezes with the lid half in the air, and her lips part and fuck there’s tears in her eyes. He gives her a moment before tilting his head to try and catch her eyes, but they’re tracing over the cover art.

“Jules,” he whispers, though he doesn’t know what he’s going to say, if he should be apologising or comforting or what. “Is it too much?”

Julie blinks and Luke watches as a tear glides down her cheek and he aches to reach over and catch it but she’s closing her eyes, head shaking as a watery laugh bubbles past her lips.

“Where on earth did you find this?” She finally asks, turning eyes of unshed tears at him but she’s smiling so he’s going to guess happy tears.

“Remember that place with the photo booth?” He asks and shrugs when she nods, “I asked a bunch of people to let me know if they got any second hand vinyls in and well, just got lucky that day.”

“Dad looked everywhere to try and find another copy after the fire,” she whispers, and Luke sees her fingers shaking a little as she reaches out to trace the letters of Rose and the Petal Pushers on the cover before looking back up at him, “You’re— Thank you. This is...this is amazing Luke.”

“Good thing we dug your record player out, huh?” He nudges her knee with his own and nods towards the only table they managed to complete, where her TV and record player are set up and Julie wipes at her cheeks before reaching into the box and carefully pulling her mom's record out, holding it like it’s the most precious thing in her life. Which, he supposes it kind of is.

Julie pads across the room to put the record on the machine and set the needle and Luke watches her and thinks. He thinks about music and how it has always been such a large part of his life even when he couldn’t play it, couldn’t sing. How he’d once dreamt of filling his days like this, listening to songs sung by people who understood just how amazing music was. He thinks about how he’d given up on that dream and found a new one, but how he’d ended up back here anyway.

Luke thinks, as Julie sits down next to him, her arm wrapping around his waist, as his goes around her shoulders to pull her closer, his fingers making idle circles on her shoulder through the arm holes of his top, that maybe he was always going to end up here. With Julie in his arms and music playing around them.

He thinks maybe he has a couple of fires to thank for it too.

Luke's fingers are idly playing with one of Julie's curls as the her moms voice echoes around the apartment, drums fading into the background as a piano plays them out of the song and Luke's thinking about how much she sounds likes her, and how incredibly she'd sound singing this song when it hits him. It's sudden and harsh, like a hammer has just landed on his gut and he lurches forward pushing Julie up with him as she looks at him with wide eyes. 

"What? What's wrong?" Her hands hover in the air around his chest, like she's afraid she might hurt him by touching him. 

"The first song I sang after seven years was the stupid fucking Castaways song that people keep using on tiktoks," he whines, head falling into his hands and Julie's attempts at comforting him by rubbing at his shoulder is lost in the way her laugh replaces the music, both in her apartment and in his head.

[marjansmarwani]

2021 fic wrap up!

Tagged by the lovely @carlosreyess, @iboatedhere, @bellakitse, @reyesstrand and @morganaspendragonss - thank you all!

Total Number Of Completed Works: 57

Total Word Count: 345,631

Fandoms I’ve Written In: 911: Lone Star (plus one 911 crossover, I guess)

Looking Back, Did You Write More Fic Than You Thought You Would This Year, Less, Or About What You’d Expected? More. My goal was 300k, but I didn’t really expect to reach it, let alone surpass it. And yet there are still so many stories I had planned that I never got to. 

What’s Your Own Favorite Story Of The Year? I feel like I’ve been saying this all year because it was the first thing I posted in 2021, but I am still really, really pleased with some of the writing in it. I actually think would've loved you for a lifetime is one of the best things I have ever written, not even just this year. But storywise, probably I am not what you planned (aka Dr. Carlos).

Did You Take Any Writing Risks This Year? I think the one I posted yesterday (I’m in this for life) is probably the riskiest or at least most creative/most unusual piece I’ve done storywise, but there ain't a language for the things I feel was the riskiest in terms of process because I wrote it without any kind of outline (which I never do). I had an idea for the opening scene and then I let it unfold from there. It was pretty stressful, honestly.  

Do You Have Any Fanfic Or Profic Goals For The New Year? To reach 300k again, to clear out my wip folder, and to write a coda for each episode this season again.

Most Popular Story Of The Year?  by kudos it is tender-hearted sadness pulls me through the day, by comments it is I am not what you planned, by hits it is trust that there will be light always waiting behind. (Not counting my two fics that are collections of shorter fics, those both did better than any of my stand alones, by a lot)

Story Of Mine Most Under-Appreciated By The Universe, In My Opinion: in the hope of open hands, without a doubt. My Nancy/Marjan fic that I was really proud of but that was not received well, to say the least. 

Most Fun Story To Write: Either I am not what you planned, Groundhog Day, or would've loved you for a lifetime because I love a non-linear timeline.

Most Unintentionally Telling Story: Well there’s an anonymous one that is anonymous for exactly that reason, but really I think they’re all pretty telling to an extent. I definitely put a lot of myself into my writing. 

Biggest Disappointment: in the hope of open hands again (I am still pretty bitter about that entire situation, if you couldn’t tell), but also anytime I don’t write about TK and/or Carlos specifically, like the truth is stranger than all my dreams (a Marjan introspective piece I loved) and there ain't a language for the things I feel (which I kind of get because it was a very angsty firefam story)

Biggest Surprise: That I wrote 340k? But beyond that, probably the Dr. Reyes/Paramedic Strand enemies to lovers AU that became a series. I did not expect to write that and I certainly did not expect for it to be as popular as it was.

My Favorite Part Of Fandom This Year: The people in it. Anyone in this fandom who has interacted with me or my writing, whether it was leaving a comment or kudos or sending an ask, I hope you know how much I appreciate you. It was once again not the easiest year, but little interactions like those made it easier. 

No pressure tagging (you’ve probably already been tagged and I do apologize for that) a few people: @moviegeek03 @justaswampdemon @howtosingit @rafael-silva @dancer-me @strandnreyes @sunshinestrand @kiras-sunshine​ and anyone else who wants to

[sunshineacd]

2021 Fic Year in Review

Tagged by @carlosreyess @bellakitse @reyesstrand and @marjansmarwani - Thank you so much, lovelies.

Total Number Of Completed Works: 28

Total Word Count: 102,304

Fandoms I’ve Written In: 911: Lone Star

Looking Back, Did You Write More Fic Than You Thought You Would This Year, Less, Or About What You’d Expected? I think probably more, I know I’m never able to write quite as much as I would like because of school so I had to try my hardest. But I wrote more this year than I did last, so I’d call that an accomplishment. 

What’s Your Own Favorite Story Of The Year? This is so hard because I really do love them all so much. I think definitely my recently published we’ll heal and the sun will rise but I also think I really enjoy when the skies get rough and for angst type stuff maybe drifting beneath the horizon. I’m going to stop before I list all of them.  

Did You Take Any Writing Risks This Year? I ventured into the world of physical hurt/comfort and tried my hand at writing that instead of just my usual emotional hurt/comfort so that was definitely new for me. 

Do You Have Any Fanfic Or Profic Goals For The New Year? Clean out my WIP folder because man that thing is a mess. Maybe get a few more fics published than this year. 

Most Popular Story Of The Year? By hits: I’ll Steady Your Hand and by kudos: You Got It In You - Ironically, both canon related fics. 

Story Of Mine Most Under-Appreciated By The Universe, In My Opinion: My bottom three fics (with the least kudos) are you are worth fighting for, my love you shine so bright and you’ll be in my heart and I think that they don’t deserve to be down there so far. But I really enjoyed writing them and the people that did read them really enjoyed them, so I guess that’s all that matters in the end. 

Most Fun Story To Write: we’ll heal and the sun will rise again. Especially because I got the experience of working and talking with @pragmaticoptimist34 who helped me through multiple meltdowns in order to get it published.   

Most Unintentionally Telling Story: I’m not exactly sure what this means? But I think they are all pretty telling, I like fluff and I like AUs. 

Biggest Disappointment: I think fic wise I’ve kind of already answered that. But also that I didn’t get my two other AUs done and that I really had a hit of writer’s block this year. I don’t think I’ve struggled quite as much. 

Biggest Surprise: Honestly? Just that people read my fics continues to absolutely blow my mind. Like these incredible people just sit down and read my fics on their free time? For fun? And they enjoy them? It’ll never get old knowing that. 

My Favorite Part Of Fandom This Year: Getting to continue on with the friendships I have made since joining the fandom, I know some pretty freaking amazing people and I can’t believe I get to call them my friends. Also making some new friendships with people I feel like I could have known forever and I’m so glad that I have gotten to meet them. (Special shoutout as well to my lone star house lovelies because I’ve never been part of something like this before but gosh, am I ever glad I did join <3) 

[recurring-polynya]

For the AU request, whichever one(s) you prefer (for RenRuki of course):

the X-Men universe

the Mafia/criminal underworld

the circus

as FBI agents (the X-Files world perhaps)

So, I got this ask, and I immediately wanted to go for X-Files, because I was hugely into X-Files when I was a tween/teen, and I think that my actual first published work of fanfic on the internet might actually be X-Files. (I didn’t even post it myself, I was like 12 and I didn’t have the internet at home, but a friend of mine posted it on Usenet for me, I have no idea whatever became of it). Anyway, I was going back and forth in my head who I wanted to be Mulder and who I wanted to be Scully, and then I got this ask:

@ulkoilla​ said:

I though the 10 would be full in about 1 microsecond so I didn’t even try :D This is maybe not AU enough for the purpose but I'd love to see your take on Bleach world where the shinigami work among humans as if they were in gigai -> they'll have to balance the supernatural, perhaps violent elements of their life with the modern day laws and such (like in Supernatural). Renji and Rukia have ofc gotten in trouble with the non-supernatural law (meet: Detective!Aizen?) and are on the run…

It suddenly occurred to me, What If: X-Files World, but Renruki are the cryptids. And it suddenly popped into my head exactly who I wanted to be Mulder. Anyway, I am sorry missrambler, if I messed it all up, I hope you like it anyway.

Also, I somehow thought that I would save myself some trouble by combining two prompts, but then it ended up… really long. (Forty! Eight! Hundred! Words! Go to Talks-Too-Much-Jail, Polynya!!)

PS: This takes place in D.C. because it’s X-Files and also because I am familiar with D.C. and I never get to write about places I know about. A half-smoke is a local delicacy that’s halfway between a hot dog and an Italian sausage. They are delicious.

Read on ao3 or ff.net

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Ichigo Kurosaki had known that an office with a view of the Smithsonian might be too much to ask, but he had not expected to take have to take two separate elevators down to sub-basement C, and walk past a storage room, two broom closets and a weird old vending machine full of brands of snacks he swore he hadn’t seen since he was a child.

Maybe Agent Inoue has a huge lab, he told himself. Maybe it needs to be 50 meters below ground because she collides large hadrons down here or so that her work can’t be picked up by spy satellites.

He had to turn sideways to get past a rack of wire shelves full of banker’s boxes, but there, on the other side was a door sporting a handwritten cardboard nameplate reading “Special Agent Orihime Inoue.”

“Come in!” a voice called inside, just as he raised his hand to knock on the door.

Ichigo blinked twice, and then went in.

The office was cluttered, mostly with more cardboard boxes, but books were also stacked precariously on top of boxes on top of books. The walls were plastered with maps and graphs and photographs of hazy blurs in front of staircases. There was a large poster showing a UFO, with the words “I WANT TO BELIEVE” in block caps below it.

A woman with long chestnut hair twisted up into a bun and held in place with three pencils was hunched over a metal box full of diodes and transistors and other things you would buy at Radio Shack. Or rather, that other people would buy at a Radio Shack. Ichigo had never set foot in a Radio Shack in his life.

“Er, good morning,” Ichigo said, as the woman looked up and blinked at him owlishly. “Agent Inoue? I’m Ichigo Kurosaki. I’ve been assigned to work with you.”

“To spy on me, you mean,” Agent Inoue corrected, cheerfully shaking his hand with great vigor.

Ichigo bristled. Yes, he had been directed to ‘provide additional documentation on Agent Inoue’s activities,’ but that hardly counted as spying. She was known to be somewhat scatterbrained, and having an organized person around would probably be a great benefit to her. “If you have any doubts about my qualifications or motivations--”

“Oh, don’t take it personally!” Inoue replied, slotting a lid onto her electronics project, and attacking it vigorously with a jeweler’s screwdriver. “Just because you’re a spy doesn’t mean you aren’t a nice person. Also, I read your file, you have a very interesting background! Degree in literature with a focus on folk legends. Teaching at the academy for the last few years while working on your book.” She took a momentary break from her screwing to fix him with her big, soft brown eyes. “Tell me, Agent Kurosaki, what do you think happens after you die?”

Ichigo froze. “I would be buried? Maybe there would be a funeral first?”

Inoue started laughing so hard that Ichigo was sure he caught a tiny, adorable snort. “Sorry, sorry! I wasn’t clear!” She sniffed, and wiped a tear from her eye. “Do you believe in continued existence after the death of the body? An afterlife, religion-based or otherwise? The existence of ectoplasm, cold spots, spirit photographs, EVP?”

“Are you talking about… ghosts?” Ichigo asked hesitantly.

“Yes!” Orihime replied with a nod. “Ghosts.”

“We-elll…” Ichigo drew out. “I believe that people believe they observe certain phenomena, as part of the cycle of grief and--”

“Just say ‘no’ if you don’t,” Inoue interrupted him.

“Er, no. I don’t.”

“That’s okay. Are you good at carrying heavy things?”

“Am I... I guess?”

“Perfect!” She shoved the box into his arms, and Ichigo’s knees almost buckled under the weight. “Let’s walk and talk, I want to go get a reading over near Franklin Square before 9 am. We’re gonna pass a really good half-smoke cart on the way, do you like half-smokes?”

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“Take a look at this,” Inoue said, her cheek half stuffed with sausage, jabbing a finger at the LED read-out of her mysterious box.

It was rather hard for Ichigo to see, because he was holding the box and the readout was on the other side, but he did his best to crane his neck around. “What am I looking at? The squiggles? I’m sorry, it looks like nothing to me.”

“Exactly right!” Inoue announced, waving her half smoke in the air. “Not a sniff of spiritual residue!”

Ichigo pressed his lips together. “Um… is that good?”

“It is interesting,” Inoue corrected. “Five days ago, a sixty-four year old woman had a heart attack while sitting in that bus shelter.” On every day since, I have been able to record EMF fluctuations, and on Sunday, I was able to get a voice recording that sounded like a woman reciting a grocery list. But this morning, nothing! Nada!”

“Well, uh, ghosts gotta move on eventually, right? Otherwise, just about everywhere would be haunted, right?” It’s not that Ichigo had suddenly started believing ghosts or anything, but there was something about Agent Inoue that just made you want to go along with her and see where all this panned out.

Inoue shot him a finger gun. “Or, they get moved along.” She shoved a folded paper map at him. “You can put that thing down.”

Ichigo eased the Spirit Detect-O 9000, or whatever it was called, to the grass and accepted her map. It was a street map of DC, meant for tourists, emphasizing all the local transit routes and popular attractions. There was also a great loop marked on it in orange highlighter, zig-zagging back and forth through the city. There was a little ‘x’ marked on Franklin Park, with “Tuesday, early morning” written in a bubbly hand.

“What is this?” Ichigo frowned. It didn’t seem to match up with any of the metro or bus lines. It didn’t even match with the sidewalks, it appeared to cut straight through large buildings like the convention center.

“As far as I can tell,” Inoue said, her brown eyes very solemn, “that is the patrol route of our local grim reaper.”

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“So I actually got interested in grim reapers,” Inoue explained, once they were back in the office, “while I was investigating violent ghost phenomena.” She was eating a bag of corn chips that she had gotten from that ancient vending machine by punching it and then shoving her own arm up the chute. (She’d gotten Ichigo a bag, too, but he was too afraid to eat them.)

Ichigo was sitting at a cluttered table that Inoue had told him “could be his desk.” Half of it was taken up by a large aquarium full of rocks and a water bowl, but no life forms that Ichigo could detect. The other half was covered with back issues of “Ghost Hunter Technology” magazine. “You mean like poltergeists?” he asked.

“Not exactly. Poltergeists are noisy, but they aren’t usually able to kill their targets.”

“Kill? Ghosts can’t kill people, aside from, like scaring them to death,” Ichigo scoffed. “I mean, folklorically speaking. As we established earlier, I am not a ghost-believer.”

Inoue tipped her head to the side. “They do, actually, it just tends to get blamed on something else.”

“By ghost-non-believers.”

“By everyone, really, and that’s what’s so strange.” Inoue pulled a fat binder from a stack of seemingly identical ones, and tossed it open in front of Ichigo. “Edison, New Jersey, 2014. An elderly woman dies ‘of a broken heart’ a week after her husband dies of cancer. Coincidentally, a telephone pole falls on her house the same night and rips a hole in her house.” She turned a page. “Norfolk, Virginia, 2017. A young woman dies in what the police rule as a suicide, despite the fact that she made a 911 call 48 hours previous, expressing fear of her ex-boyfriend. Three days later, the boyfriend is dead of mysterious causes. Coincidentally, his apartment complex suffered significant damages from ‘a wild cougar.’”

Ichigo squinted at the pictures. The walls of the building were scored with what did appear to be scratch marks. “Hell of a cougar.”

“Exactly! And I’ve got dozens of these historic cases. But about four months ago, I was able to investigate one myself-- a young man named Joe Wallace. He lives here in the city, over near Dupont Circle. Wallace had cut off his toxic dad years ago, and refused to visit him in the hospital as he was dying. Four days after his father’s death, a truck crashes into his house in the middle of the night and then drives away before the police can arrive.”

“And he died.”

“No!” Inoue held up one finger. “Scratches and bruises, but he doesn’t die!”

“Okay, great. So what does he remember?”

“He remembers a truck crashing into his house.”

Ichigo scratched his chin. “I am confused.”

“Look at this!” Inoue stabbed a finger at the pictures. “These are claw marks, not vehicular wreckage! There’s damage on the second story window! Wallace had scratches and defensive wounds, as if he had been fending off an animal! And look here, at the damage to the walls of the bedroom!”

“What am I looking at?” Ichigo asked, squinting at a photograph that looked like it had been blown up past the point of recognition.

“There were cuts and slashes in the walls and bedding as though someone had been fighting with a sword.”

“Like a Medieval Times sword? Was the guy a Medieval Times enthusiast?”

“More consistent with a katana. Do you like Medieval Times?”

“No one likes Medieval Times.”

“I like Medieval Times. You’ve probably never even been. But back to the ghost! Why would Wallace remember a truck crashing into his house, when nothing about the scene is consistent with that story?”

“He was...lying?”

“His memories were replaced.”

“His memories were replaced,” Ichigo echoed.

“Yes.”

“By… aliens?”

Orihime heaved a deep sigh. “By a grim reaper.”

“A grim reaper with a samurai sword.”

“How on earth did you come to this conclusion?”

Inoue raised one eyebrow. “Because when I placed him under hypnosis, Wallace didn’t remember anything about a truck. He did remember a monster with batwings and a mask made of bone and his dead father’s voice who tried to kill him, except that he was saved by a tall man dressed in black. The man had bright red hair and fought the monster with a sword that was also a whip and then he wiped Wallace’s memories.”

Ichigo stared at her. “You can hypnotize people?”

Inoue gave him a long-suffering face. Ichigo had the sudden flash that he was going to be seeing that face a lot in the days to come. “Yes, I am a certified hypnotist.” Inoue’s phone suddenly started playing “Tubular Bells”. “Oops, that’s an alarm. Come on, we have a meeting with some important people. Do you like diners?”

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Agent Inoue apparently did not care for public transit, but she walked very quickly. Ichigo was concentrating so hard on keeping up with her that he nearly collided with her back when she stopped very suddenly.

“You don’t mind if we make a quick stop, do we?” Inoue asked.

“You said the meeting was with important people.”

“Oh, don’t worry about them!” Inoue pursed her lips. “You see that bodega right there?”

They were in a part of downtown that was mostly mid-to-upscale restaurants and government buildings and FedExes. But sure enough, there was a dingy little bodega nestled between a Mexican-Indian fusion place and an Au Bon Pain, the windows stuffed with t-shirts from the last administration and a variety of cell phone chargers. The overhead sign read “Urahara Shop.”

“Y...eah…” Ichigo replied.

“That place is a hotbed of supernatural activity.”

“Is it?” Ichigo asked.

“I am almost positive that it is a supply point and meeting place for grim reapers, monster slayers, cryptids, alien hunters, and lycanthropes, but the owner is on to me.”

“I see,” Ichigo said levelly.

“Can you go in and pretend to be a customer? They have lots of good candy you can look through. Inoue dug in her purse and came up with a fiver. “Here. Buy a scratch ticket or something.”

“I’m not buying a scratch ticket, they’re a scam.”

“If the big guy is working the counter, he’ll glare at you until you buy something, so be prepared.”

As Ichigo pushed open the door, he realized he’d never actually agreed to any of this. Agent Inoue’s secret hypnosis powers, once again. Whatever. It was a bodega, there were a thousand of them in DC. They all had the same Nats t-shirts and coffee mugs with pictures of the Washington Monument on them. Ichigo pretended to be interested in a rack of comics. He tended to prefer indy comics over the big publishers himself, but even so, he didn’t recognize any of the books. Maybe they were by local authors.

Up at the front of the shop, a tiny, dark-haired woman was giving whatfor to the man behind the counter, a tall fellow with pale, straw-colored hair sticking out in tufts from under the saddest hat Ichigo had ever seen, a shapeless, battered bucket, striped green and white.

“Well, I can sell you a new battery for your phone, Miss Kuchiki, maybe that would help.”

“Not if it only lasts as long as the last one you sold me! I really need to get in touch with my partner, except that even if I could get my phone working again, his battery is probably dead because everything you sell is the same crap!”

“Ah, that’s too bad! You know, I think Mr. Abarai was in here a few days ago… I wasn’t in at the time, but Jinta said he came in, asking about…”

The man trailed off, and Ichigo glanced up to see the shopkeeper looking directly at him.

“...metrocards. But as you know, we don’t sell metrocards anymore.”

The woman made an aggravated noise. “You’re so useless! If I write him a damned note, will you give it to him if he comes in?”

“Oh, of course! Anything for you, Miss Kuchiki!”

The conversation trailed off as the woman hunched over the counter to angrily scratch out a note.

Ichigo stuffed the comic he was flipping through back on its rack. He skipped the enormous display of bedazzled flip-flops and started perusing the surprisingly extensive selection of gum.

“Here!” the woman finished and shoved her note at the shopkeeper. “You’re the worst, you know that?”

“Have a wonderful day!” the shopkeeper tootled, giving her a little finger wave.

Ichigo felt bad for the woman. “Er, excuse me?” he said as she passed.

She turned to scowl at him. For such a tiny person, she seemed to contain a remarkable amount of rage.

“Do you need to call someone? You can use my phone, if you’d like.” He held it out like an offering.

The woman blinked at him for a moment.

“I didn’t mean to be nosy! You were just kind of loud and you sounded worried about your, um, partner.”

“I’m not worried about him, I just need to find him.” Her face softened. “Thanks, Mister, but I can’t reach him on a regular phone. Don’t worry, I’ll track him down eventually.” She turned to leave, then stopped to jab an accusatory finger at Ichigo. “And that’s professional partner, not… you know! Whatever!” She stomped out.

What a strange, tiny person.

Ichigo selected a gum and walked up to the counter.

“Oooh, dragonberry lime, good choice!” the man trilled. “Anything else I can get you? Bottled water? Fanny pack? Spare phone battery?”

“I’ll pass,” Ichigo replied dryly.

“I imagine it’s against FBI policy to let a stranger use your cell phone,” the shopkeeper said sweetly.

Ichigo’s brows furrowed. “This is my personal phone. And how did you…?”

The man gave a chortling laugh that sent shivers down Ichigo’s spine. “Because headquarters is three blocks away and only an FBI agent would wear a suit that square.”

Ichigo took his change and his gum and shoved them both in his pocket. “Yeah, well, your hat sucks.”

The man laughed harder. “Doesn’t it, though?”

Once he was outside again, Ichigo handed Inoue the gum and her change. “The owner of that place is a creep.”

“The guy in the green and white hat?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s Urahara. You’re right, he’s the owner. Were there any other customers?”

“Just the short lady. You must have seen her come out. She was ripping Urahara a new one for some dodgy cell phone battery he sold her. I think she must have been NSA or something. She said she was trying to get ahold of her partner, but she needed a special phone.” As he said it, Ichigo realized it would be pretty odd for an NSA agent to be buying cell phone batteries from some shady bodega.

“No one came out,” Inoue replied.

“She definitely did! I heard the bell over the door ring.”

Inoue regarded Ichigo very seriously. “Agent Kurosaki. I was standing here the whole time. You were the only person who went in or out.” She looked at the gum. “Ooh! Dragonfruit lime! Do you want some?”

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They were late to the meeting.

Two men were waiting for them in the back corner booth. One of them had pinched, pointy features and piercing blue eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. His chin-length haircut was pretty dramatic, but not as dramatic as his pure white trench coat. A cup of black coffee sat on the faded Formica table in front of him, but it didn’t look like it had been touched.

His companion was an enormous, good-looking Latino who was shoveling pancakes into his face.

“Inoue,” the dramatic guy said. “Who’s this?”

“This is my new partner, Kurosaki,” Inoue replied. “Kurosaki, this is Uryuu Ishida,” she indicated the white trenchcoat guy, “and Chad,” Mr. Pancakes.

“Also known as the ‘Lone Archers,’” Ishida specified. “We are apolitical actors who are interested in revealing the truths that are regularly hidden from the general populace by secret forces that conspire within the machinery of the American government.”

“You can just call me Chad,” said Chad.

“Good morning!” the waitress said. “Can I get you folks anything?”

“Oh, yes! I’m getting mozzarella sticks! Do you like mozzarella sticks, Kurosaki? They’re so good here!”

“So’re the pancakes,” added Chad.

“I’ll just have a coffee,” Ichigo announced. He glanced at Ishida’s cup. “Black.”

“Double mozzarella sticks, please!” Inoue chorused. “And a cherry coke!” She leaned over to Ichigo and spoke out of the side of her mouth. “I’ll give you a mozzarella stick.”

“Do you want some pancake?” Chad offered to Ishida. “I never think to offer.”

Ishida waved him off with a hand. “Agent Inoue. At great personal peril, I was able to obtain a sample of the item we discussed.” He slid a small paper packet across the table. “There are two tablets inside, but one should be sufficient for your purposes.” Ishida leaned forward, his mouth set in a firm line. “I was cautioned very strongly against using this, unless one had a firm plan for handling the… consequences.”

“I understand,” Inoue replied, stuffing the envelope into her purse.

Ichigo wanted to ask more questions, but the conversation shifted very quickly to some USGS floodplain maps that Ishida wanted Inoue to obtain for him that were apparently not available from the public webportals, allegedly because of filesize. Ichigo could practically hear the air quotes around the word “filesize.”

“We’re going to look for Jersey Devils next weekend,” Chad explained, sounding pretty excited about it.

“There’s only one, Chad,” Ishida corrected. “It’s just ‘Jersey Devil.’”

“There could be more than one,” Chad shrugged.

Thirty minutes later, they departed. Inoue had an order of mozzarella sticks in her purse. Ichigo had an armload of backissues of the Lone Archers’ ‘zine, which was, conveniently enough, titled The Lone Archer. There was no doubt in his mind that at least Ishida was completely off his rocker. The jury was still out on Chad… he struck Ichigo as the sort of guy who just went along with Ishida’s nonsense because he was a good friend and also liked taking camping trips and doing layout for ‘zines.

“So what was that thing they gave you?” Ichigo pestered. The idea of that little paper packet had been burning a hole in his brain the entire time.

“You busy tonight?” Inoue asked, raising an eyebrow slyly. “Between 10 and 11?”

“What are we doing?” Ichigo asked cautiously, wondering if he would be able to charge his time.

“We’re going to try and attract an angry ghost.”

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“Are you… sure this is… a good idea?” Ichigo asked for the sixteenth time, as Inoue focused the thermal camera on him.

They were in an old, abandoned lot that had formerly served as a Metro service facility. It was pretty spooky all on its own, filled with train cars too dilapidated for salvage.

It was 10:25pm. Inoue had set up no less than 17 different pieces of ghost detection equipment. Ichigo was questioning his life choices.

“You told me you don’t believe in ghosts. If ghosts don’t exist, then what could possibly go wrong?” Inoue posed.

“Well… that’s true,” Ichigo granted. “And, for the record, I still do not believe in ghosts. But in the Pascal’s wager sense of things, I am considering the ramifications of what happens if there are ghosts that exist, regardless of my belief in them.”

“And?” Inoue asked.

“Well, you said that these ghosts have hurt and killed people before. It seems like trying to attract one without having any method of, um, fighting it, seems kind of… irresponsible?”

“Ah, but you see, I’ve specifically picked this time and location to coincide with the grim reaper patrol routes I’ve been mapping out. Our friendly neighborhood psychopomp ought to show up just on schedule to fight the angry ghost for us. We’re doing them a favor, as I see it.”

“How so?” Ichigo exclaimed.

“It’s not like we’re creating an angry ghost out of nowhere. We’re just attracting an existing one to our location. We’re saving the grim reaper the trouble of having to hunt it down.”

Ichigo pinched the bridge of his nose. Why was it so difficult to argue with Inoue? Possibly because she was so incredibly earnest in all her beliefs, and all her arguments were in completely good faith, it’s just that her logic came from some other dimension. This woman has solved multiple, high-profile murders, including several that were ice cold, Ichigo reminded himself. So she’s quirky. I am sure I can learn a lot from her.

“Okay, everything is in place!” Inoue announced, placing her hand on her hips. “Go hide behind that pile of moldy seats!”

Inoue took Ichigo’s place at the center of her recording equipment. “Agent Orihime Inoue speaking,” she said, for posterity. “It is 10:28pm. I am crushing one tablet of a substance called ‘Hollow Bait.’” She crunched the little white tablet, which looked an awful lot like an Alka-Seltzer, between her fingers, and then made a flying leap for the rotting pile of damp, orange upholstery that Ichigo was crouched behind.

“So, just out of curiosity,” Ichigo started. “How long would we have to wait, theoretically, with nothing happening, before we would declare this a bust?”

Inoue pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Usually, I would give it about two hours, but if you’ve got somewhere to be, I don’t mind if you leave early. It is nice to have company for a change.”

“No, I don’t have anywhere else to be,” Ichigo replied. “I mean… sleeping, I guess.”

Inoue gave a charming little laugh. “I don’t sleep very well. And hunting for ghosts is more interesting than most of the stuff on Hulu.”

The way that she said it gave Ichigo the distinct impression that Inoue was, well, lonely. But that didn’t seem correct. She was weird, sure, but she was also friendly and talkative, and, er, well, she was extremely cute. Surely she had tons of friends.

“How’d you get into ghost hunting, anyway?” he tried to be conversational.

“Hmm,” Inoue hummed noncommittally. “Let’s just say there was an incident in my teen years, where my memories don’t match up to the property damage.”

Oh. Ichigo wondered if he should apologize, when suddenly, a cold chill ran down his spine and a sound like a roar echoed in his ears, except he didn’t actually hear anything. “Did you hear that?” he gasped.

“It’s the EMF detector,” Inoue nodded, scrambling for the reader and Ichigo realized he could hear a faint beeping.

“No, not the beeping, it was like a… a… scream…”

“You heard a scream?”

“I didn’t exactly…” Ichigo trailed off as he heard two more, coming from different directions. “There’s more than one. Monster screams. Not human screams.”

Inoue stared at him, eyes wide. “I don’t hear anything. Have you ever been tested for latent psychic ability?”

There was a sudden change in the air pressure, and a fetid, rotting smell, even worse than the Metro seats. Ichigo grabbed Inoue by the shoulders and rolled out of the way, just as the pile of junk they had been crouched behind compacted like it had been through a car crusher. Or smashed by a giant foot.

“Whoa!” Inoue exclaimed, trying to push Ichigo off of her so she could see what was going on.

Ichigo blinked through the night. He couldn’t see anything, but there was an area of space that looked thick and hazy, like it wasn’t refracting the harsh glow of the sodium street lights quite correctly.

“We have to get out of here,” Ichigo gasped.

“Can you see it?” Inoue asked, her eyes wide and excited.

“Not-- not really,” Ichigo replied, pulling at her arm. The air blurred, and Ichigo had the sense the thing was jumping at them. He could tell it was fast, but he couldn’t see it, he didn’t know what to--

“Howl, Zabimaru!”

It was both there and not quite there, a liquid blade made of glass and starlight, that snapped through the air at the invisible thing. The monster bellowed, and whipped around, charging at a dark figure standing atop one of the old Metro cars.

“Pick on someone your own size, ugly!” the man bellowed, and as Ichigo squinted, he realized that their savior was dressed all in black. He was tall, and his hair was pulled back in a spiky ponytail. It was bright red. He was also wearing sunglasses, even though it was the middle of the night. They were pushed up on top of his head, to be fair, but Ichigo had a feeling this detail would stick with him.

“You can see that guy, right?” Ichigo asked Inoue desperately. “The guy who’s fighting the ghost? The guy that looks just like the guy in your report?”

“There’s a guy?” Inoue asked. “No. Where is he? Can you usually see ghosts?”

“I don’t even believe in ghosts!”

“Well, maybe you don’t believe in them because you can see them and you don’t want to, did you ever think of that?”

“I don’t think now is the time to interrogate my personal traumas!”

Suddenly, there was another drop in pressure, and Ichigo had the sense of heavy breathing and sharp teeth. “Inoue. I think there’s another one.”

“Well, can you get the guy to come fight this one, too?”

“He seems busy,” Ichigo squeaked.

Something black flashed by his vision, and there was a loud crack and a sound of something screeching in pain. A second dark-clad person had arrived, landing softly on sandaled feet. There was the same unreality to her, a sense that she wasn’t entirely there, as well as a certain familiarity that Ichigo couldn’t place. Her sword was bright in the darkness, like moonlight reflecting on snow.

“Oi, there you are, you big dummy!” she shouted at the first man and Ichigo realized with a jolt that it was the angry woman from the bodega. “I’ve been looking for you for four days!”

“I had a problem with my gigai and maybe you should check your texts once in a while!” the tall guy shouted back. Ichigo refused to think of him as a grim reaper. A grim reaper would not wear sunglasses.

“My phone died!”

“Can we-- ow! -- discuss this later? I’m glad you’re okay, I missed you. Why are there so many Hollows in this train yard?”

“You’re such a sap! And the Hollows are here because some stupid humans got ahold of some Hollow bait.” The woman turned, and glared at Ichigo. Her eyes burned with blue flame, like the burner of a gas stove.

That would have been the last thing Ichigo remembered, if he had actually remembered it, or any of the things that came before it.

  👻     👻     👻

Ichigo was sitting at his desk.

Inoue was sitting at her desk.

The sun was streaming in the window. The clock on Ichigo’s phone read 7:12am.

Inoue frowned. She examined a coffee cup on her desk. She took a hesitant sip, and then made a face. “Why are we here?” she wondered softly.

“I hate to pull an all-nighter,” Ichigo said, stretching, “but it sure does feel good to be caught up on paperwork!”

Inoue regarded him. “Kurosaki,” she said, “how long have you worked here?”

Ichigo frowned. “Well, I guess this is my second day.”

“Right. So… how much paperwork did you have to catch up on?”

Ichigo blinked. He very distinctively recalled working through the night-- his hand cramping, the incredibly spicy Thai food they’d ordered, Inoue’s seemingly infinite Boy Bands of the 90’s playlist. “I… was helping you, I guess?” Come to think of it, why was he filling out paperwork by hand, anyway? His laptop sat next to him, the lid closed. It wasn’t even plugged in.

Inoue’s fist slammed down onto her desk. “Gosh darnit! They wiped my memories again!!”

[lockedstuck]

how to make friends and influence people

March 2021

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you probably should have thought this through better.

Picture a thin blonde girl sitting by a phone, being watched by a woman in navy blue scrubs. The girl wears light blue hospital issue pants, and a white T-shirt with a pink cat on it. Her frustration shows clear as day, from her posture to her facial expressions. She yanks the phone off the hook and punches in a number with such speed that the gesture must be semi-unconscious. She puts the phone to her ear, waits a few moments, then swears loudly. Then, in a tense voice, she begins to speak.

“Mommy, this is the fourth time I’ve called you today… Please call me back when you can.”

Her bobbed hair bounces as she turns to face you.

“Oh!” she exclaims. “Did you want to use the phone?”

Yeah, yeah you did, to call your unceasing nag of a brother. He’s the reason you’re here in the first place, since he’s the fucker who called 911 on you. Therefore, he should have to bring you clothes. You grab the phone and dial Kankri’s number. He does not answer. You listen to his voicemail and grow progressively angrier. You mentally curse him and his next seven generations.

The weird blonde girl watches your frustration with a hint of amusement. This will not do.

“What the fuck are you looking at?” you ask her. She blinks, shrugs, and walks away.

Your name is Karkat Vantas, you’ve been in the loony bin for ten minutes, and you’re already pissed off. Score one, you.

Apparently you arrived just in time for morning meds, so all the fucking loonies are out on parade, including the blonde girl, who gives you a friendly wave. You scowl. Nobody has told you where to put your shit yet, or deigned to assign you a room. Not that you have much shit to put anywhere. Just the clothes you arrived in the psych ER with - a black turtleneck, and black sweatpants. They took away your shoes and gave you a pair of hospital socks.

Allegedly this is one of the nicest hospitals in the area. Go fucking figure.

Finally, after what feels like six hundred years, an orderly tells you that you’re in room 1224, on the men’s side.

Wait, there are sides? The psych ER wasn’t organized according to gender; you were stuck there with two homeless people (one man and one woman), an alcoholic, and some guy who had overdosed on alprazolam. Whatever, though. You shuffle your ass over to room 1224, which is about thirty feet away. You drop your stuff in the closet, take one look at your snoring roommate, and go back outside.

The blonde girl - having taken her medication - dashes back to the phone, dials a number, waits a moment, and then bursts into tears.

Great. You should have never written that note. Now you’re stuck in here with this chick. You contemplate trying to comfort her, and decide that you’d probably suck at it.

Another person saunters past her and stops. She’s a few shades lighter than you, and has these long Poetic Justice type box braids. Her green dress looks like it’s been immaculately pressed. She tugs the hem down to fully cover her thighs. She also has three eyebrow rings, a lip ring, and a full face of makeup. You didn’t know staff could have piercings. She offers the blonde girl a hug. You really didn’t know staff could do that.

This is not what you were expecting from the psychiatric ward.

“Roxy, why are you crying again?” the woman asks. Roxy sniffles and swipes at her eyes with the back of her arm.

“I had a nightmare and my mom won’t answer the phone,” she responds. “Where is she?”

“Asleep, most likely. It’s awfully early, isn’t it?”

“I guess so,” Roxy admits. She gives the woman a weak smile. “Did you go for vitals yet?”

The woman sighs and nods. “Yeah. 92/53. They’re telling me to drink more water since my pressure’s so low and my heart rate’s so high.”

Wait. That woman must be a patient.

She doesn’t seem like the type. She’s too authoritative, too poised.

You take a look at her again, scanning her for some sign of insanity. Maybe a few marks on her brown arms where the razor slipped. You search her carefully, not trying to seem like you are.

She has one thin, deep, healing scar down each wrist. Well, then.

She manages to pick up on you, because at that moment she turns to face you. She smiles.

“You must be the new admission to the unit,” she begins in a cool, pleasant tone. You’re reminded of a receptionist.

“Uh, yeah.”

She offers you her hand to shake. “I’m Porrim. Porrim Maryam.”

“Karkat,” you reply.

--

Trying to sleep in your room is an absolute trip. It goes the way everything in your life has been going, absolutely fuckawful.

“I won’t take it!” a high-pitched voice exclaims, all of a sudden, jolting you out of your light sleep. “Water you even playing at?!”

Oh, how you can empathize with that sentiment, furious as you are with whomever voiced it. Fuck the psych ward. With distinction. You peer out of your room, and watch a black girl in a purple onesie sprint down the hallway, yelling all the while.

Your roommate, who had heretofore been snoring with his mouth open fish-wide, starts to mutter things at the ceiling.

“Nurse Esther musta tried to give Clozapine to Fef again,” he says. “What an idiot.”

He looks at you and blinks. Fully registers your presence. He props himself up on one hand and stares some more.

“You must be my new roommate,” he says. “I think. Are you?”

You roll your eyes. “No, I’m just here for shits and giggles.”

He snorts and turns on the light. Apparently he’s got the front part of his blond hair dyed purple. You’d never do anything like that personally, but it looks okay on him. He gropes for his glasses and crams them onto his face.

“Christ, you look awful,” he says.  

Where the fuck does he get off saying that?

“You don’t look so hot yourself.”

Your roommate curses and shakes his head.

“Nah, I didn’t mean it like that,” he goes on. “I mean, you look like you haven’t slept in days.”

“I haven’t,” you reply, thinking of the time leading up to your suicide attempt. Not even an attempt, really. More like… a contemplation. A contemplation that led you to telling Kankri you’d rather jump in front of the train than send one more month in your parents’ house,

“Well, you’ll get lots of sleep here. There’s not much else to do. The name’s Eridan, by the way. Welcome to 3 East.”

“Thanks,” you say. “I’m Karkat.”

“Nice to meet you.”

A few minutes later, someone starts knocking on your door. Eridan groans.

“If it’s Roxy, tell her to come back in half an hour. I got ECT today. I need my beauty sleep.”

“The crying girl?” you ask.

“Was she on the phone while she was crying?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s Rox, then. She calls her mom every four hours and then flips a shit if she doesn’t answer,” Eridan says. “Ever heard of Rose Lalonde?”

Before you started transitioning a couple years ago, they had you in the women’s unit for a week. Dr. Lalonde saw you twice over that seven day period and was probably the only clinician who reliably used your pronouns.

“The psychologist for the unit downstairs?” you ask.

“Exactly,” Eridan says. “That’s Roxy’s mom.”

Well, fuck.

---

A couple of days later, there’s a new admission. Kid looks comprised of a bunch of coat-hangers and duct tape, all angles and gangle. He walks up to use the phone, without realizing there’s a line for the phone already behind him. Gamzee just rolls with it, even though he was next in line. This dude is clearly a massive douche. He’s only on for a couple of seconds though - you assume whomever he was calling didn’t pick up.

When the good ugly fairy was handing out ugly, she must have dumped in almost as much for him as she did for you. He is by far the skinniest dude you have ever seen. And being that everyone in your major in college was hopped up on amphetamines, you have seen some truly thin people. If a strong breeze hit him, he’d fly clear to Canada.

Roxy asks him for his name, and when he replies, “Thollukth Captor”, with the universe’s thickest lisp, you can’t help yourself. A snort escapes your mouth before you can take it back. The dude looks at you with a narrow-eyed suspicion, and you raise your eyebrows at him in response. How does he talk like that and not expect mockery?

“And uh...” Roxy trails off helplessly. “How do you spell that, exactly?”

“What’re you, with regithtration, or thomething?”

“I was just curious.”

You won’t laugh, Karkat. You swear it. You thwear it, to use this man’s parlance. Unfortunately, though, you’re grinning. His eyes alight on you, and he gives you a quick, “the fuck are you looking at, aththhole?”

“Call me an asshole again and I’ll cram those glasses so far up your ass they’ll need a colorectal exam to find them.” 

[supremeuppityone]

Written for Klaroline Bingo @klaroline-events Prompt: “You’re safe.” 

This is a sequel to Chapter 70: Summer of Salvatore, found in A Beautiful Symmetry. Thanks for all of your asks about this one and I appreciate your patience in how long it took me to come up with the idea for this! 

Caroline just wanted to casually date the mysterious new guy from work. Something nice and normal. But the universe had other plans.

Chapter 115: Part 2 - Summer of Salvatore

"Crime is common. Logic is rare."

— Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, The Adventure of the Copper Beeches

           “You didn’t hesitate when I gave you the address,” Caroline observed, taking a sip of her coffee. “I mean, I know you’re new to town, but everyone knows the south side of the city is a bit shady.”

           Klaus let out a chuckle, amusement dripping from his voice as he asked, “Detective Forbes, are you concerned for my safety? I can assure you, given your act of valor at that crime scene, I can’t imagine a safer place than at your side.”    

           She could feel her cheeks grow hot, and she ducked her head shyly. She’d relied on instinct when Stefan had attacked them, and while she never went for the kill unless she had to, there was no denying the relief that washed over her once she saw he was dead. He’d been a monster. “I’m just glad I was there to stop him.” She fiddled with her nails, a nervous edge to her voice as she asked, “As much as I hate that you were there, I was wondering if you’d feel comfortable going back with me? I’ve been asked to provide a detailed report of my findings and I could really use your perspective since you may have observed something I missed.”

           He looked surprised by her invitation and she hurriedly explained, “I mean, the methodology established to empirically score copycat crimes is measured in seven factors ranging from sociology, biology and psychology, not to mention influences of the media and even geography, and I just don’t want to overlook a single opportunity for a thorough report given the potential ramifications this case could have on future criminal justice procedures.”

           Klaus flashed her a dimpled smirk, taking a drink of his coffee as though contemplating something. “Of course. You’re a widely respected expert in your field, sweetheart, and I’m flattered that you asked.”  

           She could feel her cheeks grow hot at his perusal. “Um, sorry...I didn’t mean to ramble on about forensics and crime scenes on a date.” Tucking a blonde curl behind her ear, she muttered, “Guess it’s been awhile for me,” and then immediately squeezed her eyes shut, mortified.

           He reached across the table to hold her hand, winking as he said, “I don’t mind a bit of murder on a first date.”

           She returned his smile, hardly believing her luck. It was really difficult to meet someone who wasn’t turned off by forensics, and this was the first date she’d had with a coworker who hadn’t been a misogynist who instantly discounted her research. “Can I ask how you got into this field? Have you always been a dispatch driver?”

           “It’s a recent change for me, but I’ve always been interested in the more historic aspects of murder. For example, are you familiar with ling chi? It’s known as —”

           “Slow slicing or death by a thousand cuts initially practiced in 10th century China,” Caroline interrupted excitedly.

           Klaus smiled, his gray eyes lighting up at her enthusiasm. “I always found it fascinating to see the ingenuity involved in finding blades sharp enough in that era to gradually shave away the bits of skin and muscle tissue.”

           “Exactly! Murder weapons are such an essential part of forensics,” she replied a bit breathlessly, her heart beating a bit faster when she saw the unmistakable lust in Klaus’ gaze. She was giddy at the thought of finding someone who shared her enthusiasm for criminal science forensics. She noticed Klaus suddenly stiffened as he studied something intently behind her. She glanced at the reflection in the window, frowning as she realized someone had walked in wearing a Halloween mask and the black tip of a small caliber gun was peeking out of his sleeve.

           Seriously? Of course this would happen on her date. Taking a calming breath, she slowly slid her phone over to Klaus, murmuring quietly, “Call 911.” Using carefully controlled movements, she quietly removed her concealed sidearm, promising, “You’re safe. It’s going to be ok, I promise.”  

           The would-be robber had just raised his gun to the cashier when Caroline yelled, “Police! Put down your weapon and turn around slowly!” She could read in those tense muscles that the suspect would run, but before she could make a move, he hopped over the counter, putting the cashier between them as he made his escape. Registering the clatter of his weapon being dropped in the commotion, she raced after him, briefly pausing in the brick alleyway to determine which way he went.  

           Running in the most likely direction, she stopped short when she saw Klaus casually holding the suspect against the rough brick. Arm wrenched up his back in what appeared to be a painful wrist hold, his face was scrunched as he howled. Stepping over the mask that must have fallen off in the struggle, Caroline wryly observed, “Did you run track or something? How’d you manage to beat me here?”

           Klaus shrugged, a small smile on his face as he replied, “Perhaps I’m faster than I look.”

                                  _______________________________

           Something weird was going on. Caroline brushed some of the ashy residue into a sterile envelope, sighing as she mentally went over everything she knew about desiccation and growing more and more frustrated as she couldn’t find a rational explanation. Stefan sustained a gunshot to his tibia. Which should’ve crippled him. Instead, it seemed to enrage him further and when he leapt at her, she issued a fatal headshot.

           She felt little remorse at having brought down a serial killer; especially one that had posed an imminent danger to both Klaus and herself. What she found disturbing was the accelerated decomposition of Stefan’s remains. What the hell happened? By the time dispatch had arrived, Stefan’s corpse appeared as though he’d been dead for more than a century.      Frowning, she studied the chalk outline notating where the remains had been prior to her team’s removal, and Klaus’ amused voice interrupting her thoughts. “It’s almost as though you expect the evidence to talk back, sweetheart.”

           Carefully pressing an evidence seal to the envelope, she replied, “All evidence speaks; it’s just a matter of understanding what’s being said.” She settled more comfortably on the plastic sheet, blue eyes straying back to the powdered residue that clung to the grooves in the wooden floor. “Accelerated desiccation is almost unheard of in forensics. I can’t account for what happened to Stefan’s body. The remains appeared to have been subjected to an even source of airflow or aerated soil to damage the soft tissues in that manner.”

           He leaned back on his palms, stretching his legs out next to hers, and the almost-touch of his body made her shiver. Crime scene, Caroline — get it together. “There’s emerging studies regarding destructive micro-organisms contributing to desiccation. I actually read an interesting take on this in Drs. Parker and Sommers’ joint work in the latest Forensics Quarterly,” he ventured, a small smile gracing his lips as though pleased with himself.

           It was a statistical improbability that someone with those cheekbones would read Forensics Quarterly. When they wrapped up the scene for the night, she planned to drag him back to her place to ride his test tube until it broke. “Seriously?! You’re trusting Parker and Sommers’s research? You might as well say a Kardashian is a respected forensics authority.”

           He let out an amused chuckle, pulling her in for a quick kiss. “You are a delight, love. It’s rare to find someone so enthusiastic about this type of work.”

           Her lips burned from the kiss, and her pulse raced when she thought of where the night would take them. She’d never met someone who seemed to genuinely appreciate the science behind the macabre. “It’s hard for people who aren’t in the field to understand. There’s a certain beauty to it; the way the research can lead to a hypothesis and eventually a satisfying resolution.”

           “There was a...case I worked on in which a body had been drained while hanging right-side-up. Utter poppycock as everyone knows the most efficient draining method is —”

           “Upside-down,” Caroline cheerfully interrupted, “because the subclavian and carotid arteries’ location is ideal. No self-respecting killer would attempt draining without having a basic understanding of anatomy.” A slight tingle went down her spine as she realized that Klaus seemed to appreciate her dark humor. It was nearly impossible to succeed in this industry without developing at least a hint of gallows humor.

           He shook his head in bemusement, and she barely resisted the urge to poke at those innocent-looking dimples. But they still had work to do. Clearing her throat, she leaned over to access her files, zooming in on the dental images from the remains. “I’ll admit I’ve seen some unusual remains during my career, but nothing like this.” She pointed at the obvious deformity, adding, “It’s a clear case of megadontia, but I can’t imagine someone willingly allowing their condition to grow out of control like this to the point that they have large, curved canines. Given the depth of the unnatural growth, he must’ve been in incredible pain.”

           Stefan had smiled at her. With those teeth that had been so sharp. Too sharp. Caroline had been proud of how she’d handled the situation, but something primal had overtaken her when she saw those canines. Fangs. She shook her head slightly, ignoring the cold pit in her stomach that inexplicably had formed. Klaus looked decidedly uncomfortable, and she cursed herself for being so oblivious. Clearly, Klaus was traumatized by what had happened and it was selfish of her to expect him to bounce back right away after seeing such violence.

           However, before she could apologize, Klaus abruptly stood up, helping her to his feet even as he seemed weirdly fixated on the front door. Suddenly, a forceful blow had the wood splintering, and two musclebound, intimidating men with dark eyes walked in. Their vacant, mindless stares were somehow more disquieting than their size.

           “Caroline, there you are,” drawled a familiar voice, and she didn’t miss the way Klaus stiffened as he moved in front of her.

           Peering around Klaus, her eyes widened in surprise as she exclaimed, “Dr. Maxfield? What are you doing here?” What was her biology professor from Whitmore doing at her crime scene?

           He still wore the same smug grin she’d done her best to forget all those years ago. There always had been something vaguely threatening about him, but Caroline inevitably dismissed it as the typical sleazy college professor creeping on naive students and made sure to steer clear whenever he tried to get her alone multiple times. But now there was something more. Something dangerous. As he took a cocky step toward her, Klaus growled in warning. Wait — Klaus growled?

           “Forgive my intrusion, but I’ve been following your fascinating work for some time now, and your research of the Ripper of Monterey’s murders over the past century caught my attention,” he explained, eyeing his two companions in a manner that was both reverent and dispassionate — he might as well have been examining a piece of art. “I’m certain your research will aid me in locating other ripper vampires capable of successfully hosting the Ripper Virus my lab has created.”

           Ripper vampires? Ripper Virus? Not to mention his ridiculous assertion that murders spanning more than a century could’ve been the work of a single individual. What the hell was going on? Caroline kept her hand next to her sidearm, studying Professor Maxfield and his companions to determine the threat.

           Suddenly, black veins appeared underneath the dark eyes of the two men who bracketed Professor Maxfield, their sharp canines inexplicably long. What the hell? Those were fangs. She was staring at fangs. Fear gripped her heart, but she was proud of how steady her grip was as she raised her gun.

           She flicked her gaze to Klaus, who seemed strangely at ease. He rocked back on his feet, hands casually clasped behind his back as he sneered, “Words cannot express the trouble you find yourselves in, gentleman.” With his signature smirk, he added, “I’m Klaus Mikaelson.”

           It was when Klaus shockingly revealed a double set of curved fangs along with feral gold flashing in his gaze that Caroline began to understand. She was safe. Professor Maxfield and his companions were not. The intruders stepped back uncertainly, no longer flanking Professor Maxfield like vicious guard dogs. “Ah, you’ve heard of me. Fantastic,” Klaus said, his chest swelling with pride.

           While Caroline felt her heart beat a rapid tattoo in her chest, she somehow wasn’t afraid with Klaus beside her. He’d positioned himself between her and the intruders, clearly comfortable in this dangerous situation, but also not willing to risk her safety. He leaned into her, and her body instinctively curled into his.

           Klaus’ voice carried a solemn promise that despite the insanity around them, Caroline couldn’t help but believe as he told her, “You’re safe. It’s going to be ok, I promise.”  

[just-another-romantic]

How to Date a Broken God - Chapter Two

Chapter Two: Honest Apologies and a Sparring Match

Series Summary: After too many years of pain, a mortal teaches a god how to feel again. Maybe she can learn from him.

Warnings: ngl (Y/n)’s just rude in this one, language, sad Loki, fighting

That night, Loki threw up. After (Y/n)’s confession, the god quickly excused himself from the room, and barely made it to his bathroom before puking up everything he had within the past century. He hadn’t been ill since he was a child, and here he was: knelt over on the cold tile, head in the toilet bowl and clammy hands holding on for dear life.

Last time he had been ill like this, his mother had scooped him up in her arms - despite his protests - and tucked him into her bed, pulling the silk blanket up to his chin. He tried to recall how her hands stroked his hair in comfort as he pushed a stray lock from his face.

He was sick at himself. The once vain god now looked in the mirror and hated the face that stared back at him. He hated his heritage, Odin’s lies and abuse that lasted centuries, and he hated the spiral the truth threw him into once it was unveiled. He hated Thanos with his mind control, that he was weak enough to fall into it - costing thousands of innocent lives, including that poor girl’s parents.

Loki let out an audible groan of anguish, his head dropping lay on his land clutched to the toilet bowl. He hated her...well, not exactly. He hated how his heart twisted at the mere mention of her name. How his heart burst at the melody of her voice or, Odin forbid, her laugh. How she was not a normal mortal, that she stood her ground and held a knife to his neck the second he dared test her. He hated that in every aspect, (Y/n) was what Loki wanted in a lover.

She could never love you, he remembered. You’re a murderer, a cold-blooded killer. A monster, like the world...like your own father and brother think of you. Who would ever want to hold your crimson-stained hands?

Shakily, the unbreakable god stood up from the bathroom floor, quick to splash water in his face in attempt to refresh himself. He looked into the mirror and a monster looked back at him. If asked, he would deny it, but that night Loki fell asleep with tears running down his cheeks.

The morning wasn’t any better. An awkward heavy air still lingered above the Avenger’s heads, leftover from last night. Loki entered the kitchen nook of the floor around seven, grey sweatpants hanging dangerously low on his hips and maroon t-shirt contrasting against his pale complexion. The golden rays of the still-rising sun fled into the room, enveloping the god in what one could only describe as a halo. Of course, Loki was tired and disoriented from sleep; the only thing he felt like was disheveled. No one noticed the beauty of the waking deity, no one except (Y/n), who promptly choked on her hot coffee.

Bucky was laid out on the sofa, the morning news drowning out his soft snores. James Rhodes sat at the dining table, a book in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. Sat on the ground by the television, Peter started on a new Lego set of the Avengers Tower, mumbling about the minor mistakes there were in the tiny architecture. Loki was worried he’d convince Pepper to sue the company.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Sam called from the barstool, cup of coffee in hand. His eyes traveled from Loki, to Wanda and the pans of scrambled and fried eggs and the pot of boiled eggs, then the pile of bacon next to her. “I hope you like eggs. Don’t really know what you guys eat on different planets.”

Loki stifled a yawn. “I’ll get myself a bagel. But, Birdbrain, yes, we have eggs on Asgard. I just don't eat them.”

“Oh my god is he vegan?” came Peter’s small voice.

Loki chose not to respond to that question and only walked into the kitchen in search of the toasters. He found them pretty quickly, (Y/n)’s small form serving as a landmark. She looked snug and smug, giving Loki the once over as she sipped her coffee, her feet dangling from where she sat on the counter. She looked innocent enough, cozy and clad in sweatpants and an oversized Star Wars shirt, and though she was barefooted, Loki had no doubt she was hiding another dagger somewhere.

“Good morning,” she chirped sweetly. “Don’t worry, I don’t have another dagger on me.”

Well, there’s one question answered. He gave her a smile in greeting. There was a bit of a pause before she raised her eyebrows as in ‘Aren’t you getting something?’ to which Loki quickly grabbed the bagels from the breadbasket.

After putting the two slices into the rack, he found himself suddenly interested in his cuticles, while it had been a bad habit he picked up when he was only a child- that constantly got him ratted out by his mother for it. The once suave god that had women falling at his feet lost his tongue in the presence of a mortal girl. “(Y/n)-”he began, before getting cut off.

“Don’t. I know what you’re gonna say.” He gave her an inquisitive look, to which she only rolled her eyes. “The air’s still heavy from last night.”

Loki felt his cheeks heat up. “(Y/n)...I give you my sincerest apology. And I’m well aware that a simple ‘I’m sorry’ isn’t even close enough to covering it.”

She shrugged. “I loved them. Still do, with every ounce of myself. My parent’s were my best friends. But you know what they always taught me?” Her burning stare locked with his. “That there’s two sides to every story, and even the monster thinks he’s the hero.”

Her voiced echoed monster in his ears and left an impact in his gut. “I’m sorry darling but I’m not seeing your stance on this...are you offering forgiveness?” His mouth dried up and he found himself unable to speak more than one sentence. He couldn’t even think.

(Y/n) scoffed, swinging down from her perch on the marble. “Oh no. Not even close.” She stepped uncomfortably close and Loki was intimidated, though she barely came up to his nose. “No. I hate you,” she seethed.

His stomach rolled in his belly at the venom in her voice, the words she spewed stinging like hellfire. 

“But I will never wish you bad intentions. Like they always say, ‘keep your friends close but your enemies closer’.” She flashed him an innocent smile, the façade immediately building back up. “We’re teammates, we have to at least tolerate each other.” Tolerate. Enemy. “And for the record, don’t call me ‘darling’, darling.”

Loki gulped, feeling as though his throat had filled with cement, stepped down from his stance with her, and quickly grabbed his food before retreating to his room without another word.

Throughout the entirety of (Y/n)’s accusations, the newest Agent's voice had grown tremendously in volume, drawing the attention of the rest of the room’s occupants. There was a sweet moment of silence and (Y/n) turned to enjoy her coffee in peace, but Sam was too blunt for a Saturday morning.

“Don’t you think that was a bit...I dunno...harsh?”

“If it was, I don’t care.”

“You should,” said Bucky from the coach, his face stony and serious. “It’s how the whole Civil War ordeal started.”

“That’s completely different,” she snapped. “They had their reasons, Stark was being ignorant to the truth, as always it seems-”

Coronel Rhodes’ voice boomed through the kitchen, “Hey!”

(Y/n)’s head turned as the silence fell over the room. Rhodey’s eyes narrowed in on her. “I suggest you watch yourself, little lady,” he said. “You are the new comer, you have absolutely no right to waltz in and talk bad about the man who saved the universe, saving your ass as well.”

“Loki killed my mother in cold blood! My brother! My sisters and my father! And I had to watch!”

“Stark’s weapons killed my family, sweets,” spoke Wanda, seemingly appearing out of thin air. Her slender fingers interwove with the agent’s own, soothing and warm. “And I forgave him. In a matter of weeks.”

“He had no control of who used his weapons, Wandie.”

“I killed his parents,” mentioned Bucky. “He forgave me.”

“You were brainwashed!”

Rhodey leaned against the counter, arms crossing and face stern. “Loki was too.”

Agent (Y/L/n) felt her heart drop at a sickening speed. “He was...what?”

“It was all a part of Thano’s mastermind plan or some bullshit,” explained the Falcon. “He sent people to collect all of the infinity stones, but that ended up going south and he took it into his own hands. One of them being Loki.” Sam’s brown eyes fell to the ground in a silence, and the extremity of the situation hit the girl like a truck. “He found him, floating out there in the depths of the universe, took him, and convinced him to go on a killing spree. Basically.”

(Y/n)’s mind was going a million miles an hour and everyone in the room could practically see the wheels turning in her head. All the blame, all of the hurt, she had cast onto the wrong man. Her voice was shaky and breaking, “So...my parent’s death was - was that raisin’s doing?”

“Thanos killed millions before the Blip,” said Bucky gently.

Tears pricked at her eyes. “Jesus, I really am an asshole, aren’t I?”

Rhodey laughed, clapping a hand on her shoulder. “You have a few things to learn before we put you on the field, that’s for sure. Gotta control those anger issues, but I think we can whip you into shape pretty quick.

------------

And boy, did they whip her alright.

Hesitantly, (Y/n) agreed to beginning her training early on Sunday, instead of waiting for the work week to start. First, it was a three-mile run with Sam and Bucky around the compound at the crack of dawn, nothing she hadn’t done before or couldn’t handle. After breakfast, there was weights with Rhodey, then yoga with Wanda. Thankfully, she caught a break with Banner in the lab in between sessions, talking about the design of her new suit and how the tech that she didn’t understand would work. Now, she laid flat on her back, thrown for the fifth time in a round of sparring with Bucky.

“C’mon doll,” he taunted in his Brooklyn drawl, “get your butt up. Or do you need help? Do I need to phone 911?”

“For an old man, you sure do know how to talk shit, Granny.”

His black brow quirked in amusement. “That was the best you could come up with?”

Shakily, the agent denied the hand he offered and pushed herself up again, resuming the fighting stance. “I’ll work on it.”

The brunette supersoldier smiled at her, wiping the minimal sweat off himself with a towel. “Don’t worry, doll. I’m giving ya someone that’s more so your size this round.” He called off behind his shoulder and low and behold, Loki took his place on the mat, looking unpleased.

The first thing he said was the simple, “I didn’t sign up for this.”

“I doubt you would,” she replied, masking her nerves with a stern voice. She shot a glare at Bucky, who sat off to the side with a grin that could beat the Chesire Cat’s. “’I’m pairing you with someone more your size,’ he said! ‘It’ll be fun,’ he said! Bullshit, Buchanan!”

“He’s your size!”

“He’s a god!” (Y/n) looked the mischief maker up and down. He was scrawnier than his blond brother, but his stance and build clearly stated he’d be a difficult opponent. He stood a good half-a-foot above her head, and she doubted her own strength could outmatch his.

“If you haven’t noticed,” Barnes began matter-of-factly, “Loki isn’t built the same as Thor. He’s less jacked and smaller.” Loki’s muttering was heard but disregarded. “However, he’s still one of the strongest of the universe.”

“Then why the hell are you putting me with him if he could squash me between his fingers? I’m human.”

“Yesterday morning, you seemed to be out for his blood, I’m giving you what you wanted.”

Heated shame crept up (Y/n)’s chest and face and Loki’s smirk rendered her speechless.

Bucky ignored her redness, continuing, “He uses his brain, his cunning, his agility, and his speed. Along with his magic, he become’s a dealy combination. You could learn a lot from him, which is exactly why I’m pairing you with him. But for a fair fight, no magic.”

“You’re no fun, Sargent,” the god complained.

“Unless (Y/n) has a trick up her sleeve, no magic.”

Loki looked at her with hopeful eyes, to which she only shrugged. “I only know party tricks. Sorry.”

The mix-matched pair stepped onto the mat, both hesitant. The moment Bucky’s voice rang “Start!” throughout the room, (Y/n) swung a punch, that was quickly deflected and brought behind her back. His body pressed against hers, heat and electricity in-between the two bodies. The agent writhed, brining her elbow hard into this side, then looping her legs around his own.

“That’s it, (Y/n)!” Bucky praised, and (Y/n)’s face flushed under the compliment and the god’s mighty stare. The applause fueling her, she had Loki down a moment later, sitting on his upper thighs, her own straddling his waist. His arms were pinned helplessly against the floor; she smirked.

Loki’s eyes were blown wide, breath heavy, but he smiled back. “You okay there, Silvertongue?” (Y/n) cooed sweetly. She had won.

“Loki,” Bucky called from behind the ropes, “quit holding back!” and the agent’s blood ran cold.

Instantly, her back slapped against the mat, the positions now reversed. Pinned, despite how hard she struggled and fought against his strength. Loki’s eyes locked with hers and her breath caught in the base of her throat, mouth running dry. 

“Never better, petal,” the god answered, whisper of breath crossing her face. The heat left her body as he got up, grabbed his duffle bag, and exited the gym.

(Y/n) sat on the floor, heaving and images of the bluest eyes flashing through her mind. 

AUTHORS NOTE

Holy shit. The first month of 2020 has been kicking my ass. Lord help us all. I’m so sorry for the wait, guys. I hope I can make it up to yall.

TAGLIST

@cosmic-souls-and-stardust @rinthehufflepuff @electroma89 @madshelily @ultracolorfulnerdcollection @acf2510 @daddylouislittle @fanartdom @iam-a-painted-whore 

[ijustwannawritesomeshitok]

A mistake PART 2 (Ben Hardy!Roger x Reader)

A/N: Hello! Some lovely people asked for a part two of “a mistake” so here it is. It will have three parts in total, but I have no idea yet when I will post part three, since I’m very busy writing my thesis (god help me, it’s the absolute worst and I don’t even want to graduate anymore, I just want to sleep). I hope you (somehow) enjoy this!!! :)

Length: 911 words (wow, look at me, already writing slightly longer pieces, one day I’ll get there)

Warnings: swearing, mistakes and AN OVERUSE OF COMMAS (I really like commas, ok? Fight me)

part 1

this gif has nothing to do with the story but let me be

It’s been almost a month and yet you’re still wearing the necklace he gave you. Two little drumsticks to remind you of him. Though he liked showing you off to the world, and letting the world know you were his, he didn’t want to give you something as simple as the letter R on a necklace. Something subtler, yet obvious enough for everyone to know from whom you got it. You wanted to take it off, maybe even throw it away, but you didn’t have the heart to do so. It gave you comfort, even when you didn’t want it to give you comfort. After all he did, you still love him and you’re not sure if you can ever un-love him.

You look in the mirror while pulling the red jumper over your head. This is definitely not the most fashionable you have ever looked, but it will do for today. It’s not too neat, but also not too flashy and perfectly fine for a job interview at the local café where you don’t actually want to work anyway, but you need the money. Being in your last year of university meant most companies didn’t want to you to work for them yet, because they needed someone for either full time, or someone with more experience. But it might be good for you to get out of the house, to get distracted from your own life. You brush your hair one more time and grab the bag from the ground. Ready to go.

--

“How does Tuesday sound?” “Tuesday is fine.” “Wonderful. I’ll make sure to have everything ready. Welcome to our team Y/N.” The middle-aged woman holds out her hand. “Thank you so much,” you smile and shake her hand. “I’ll see you on Tuesday!”

You give her a wave and then close the door behind you, walking into the café itself. The interview was a lot less awful than expected, actually, it was rather fun. Jane, the owner, was incredibly nice and even already made some jokes. Not that bad of a boss.

“Y/N?” You stop, immediately recognizing the voice. Slowly you turn around, seeing exactly who you thought it was. “Hey Brian.” You give him a small smile. “Just a hey Brian?” He laughs and opens his arms. You accept his warm invitation and take a step forwards into his arms. He hugs you tightly, a form of human contact you had missed in the last month. Just as you thought that thought, you realized how pathetic it sounded and you were grateful no one is able to hear your thought process.

“How have you been?” He smiles lightly, but on his face you can see he regrets the question. Asking the ex-girlfriend of your best mate how she has been after said mate cheated on her, not once, but three fucking times, is perhaps not the best question to ask. But you force a smile.

“I’m okay.” “That’s good.” “Yea, I guess it is.” Your hand automatically moves up to your neckless, fiddling with it without even noticing what you are doing. Unknowingly mentioning to Brian that maybe, definitely, you are not okay.

“How are you?” You ask after a few seconds of silence. On one hand you want to keep the conversation going, know everything about what he has been up to, hoping he tells you about Roger, though on the other hand, you know, you’re better off if this conversation ends soon. You shouldn’t want to know about Roger, you should move on, just like he probably did.

“Good, good. Mostly busy. Recording our next album now.” His face slightly lights up. “That’s amazing, Brian.” You try to think of something else to say, but all your mind can think about is the recording sessions of the last album. How you often just sat there on the couch, watching them create melodies and lyrics. Fighting and bickering, but in the end making the most amazing songs. Watching them work full passion, seeing their struggle but mostly their love for music. Seeing Roger glance at you with a smile when he thinks you’re not looking, but you definitely were. You couldn’t look away from that beautiful face of his, that beautiful face that now makes you feel pain instead of love, that face that makes you angry and sad and confused, but yet also still in love, all at the same time.

“You should,” he pauses for a moment. Unsure if what he was going to say, is the right thing to say to you. “You should stop by.” “I,” you take a breath and look down at your feet. “I’m not sure if that’s a smart thing to do. I mean, I want to but, I can’t. I can’t. I really can’t.” “Of course, I understand.” “I have to go Brian,” you say while already walking away to the door. “I’ll see you later.” “Wait. Y/N wait!” You don’t want to ignore him, but you can’t continue the conversation. Thousands of possible situations coming up in your head, for if you actually visit the studio. Not knowing if you would start screaming at Roger, or perhaps you’d just fall into his arms, or so many other options.

You walk through the door and just when it’s about to close, you hear it. He misses you. Brian’s voice rings through your ears, through your head, through your whole fucking body. He misses you. Roger misses you.

---

part 3

Taglist: @oohlovergirl​ @wonderless-screwup @thewinchesterchronicles @psychoticobsession 

[hitsuhinalover]

Hitsuhina day 2019 (was once again fun, even though I hope I would have had time to make more works.)

Prompt: Bonds (and kind of an alternative universe as well :)

A/N: It was okay to publish a work on the 10th of March (right?), so...

Disclaimer: I don’t own Bleach.

Warning: This may include some plot holes because the idea is vague and I changed the structure while writing. Hope you still can enjoy it :)

Through the dimensions to you

If he had known a trip to the nearest supermarket included seeing a dead girl, he would have stayed inside.

No, she wasn’t dead, he observed, having crouched next to her and placed his hand against her neck. Her skin was as cold as a dead person’s, a result of lying in a November rain for a while, but her pulse was strong and steady. She would be burning from a fever when she woke up, though. For some reason, a thought put a frown on his face. Carefully, he peeled long, dark strands from her face, to see if she was someone he knew, if her features brought a name and memories to him, which would explain why he felt so worried for her.

No such luck. One more feeling he couldn’t quite place, one more mystery to solve.

The rain drops sliding along his forehead startled him out of his thoughts. Sometime during his admiration, his umbrella had fallen from his grasp, exposing him to the pouring rain. His cheeks flaming despite the low temperature, he tore his eyes from the girl and snatched the damn umbrella, glancing back and forth to make sure no one was there to witness his embarrassment. Sheltering more her than himself, he started shaking her shoulder gently. “Hey, you. Don’t sleep here, okay? Do you hear me?”

At the moment he was about to dial 911, she opened her eyes. They were normal brown eyes, he reminded himself. A great percent of the population had brown eyes. There was nothing special to that particular pair of brown eyes.

Before he had time to convince himself about that or say anything to the girl, she scrambled to sit up, swaying a little. To prevent her from falling back to the puddle, his hand shot to grip her arm. Her long hair had fallen back to covering her face, and with one impatient move, she pushed it away, not caring about the strands that stuck to her cheeks and that he wanted to slide behind her ears to see her face completely. With her expression so honest and open, he could identify a pleasant surprise with a great deal of hopefulness in her bright, widened eyes and parted lips in a way to forming a smile.

“Hitsugaya?” her hoarse voice called, his heart sinking as his doubts about them knowing each other and her getting sick got confirmed. Disappointed in himself, and desperate to know more about the girl, his tone had a sharp edge to it. “How do you know my name? Do you live in my neighborhood?”

“So...you don’t remember me? At all?”

Like he feared, her voice was tinted with sadness, and the more time he looked at her without saying anything, the more hopefulness seemed to die inside her. He fished for anything he could say to cheer her up, but there was nothing. In the end, he settled on a simple, “Should I?”

In a weak attempt to hiding her pain at his stupid words, she smiled, but couldn’t keep it on for longer than a few seconds. “Ah, no. Captain Kurotsuchi said you would most likely suffer from temporal amnesia, but we hoped that seeing me would bring your memories back. You and I...we have a history together, you see. That’s why I was chosen to bring you back.”

Frowning, he tried to digest all the information he had just been given and find a question that would clear everything instead of complicating. Eventually, he chose the easiest and the most crucial question: “Back to where?”

She took a deep breath, but her confession “To our home dimension” wasn’t as dramatic as it could be, with her sneezing at the end of the sentence. He decided to concentrate on something concrete and said, “Come, let’s go to my house. I can’t take seriously a dimension-traveler who looks like a drowned rat.” That was a lie, of course, but it served its purpose as a part of the sadness slipped from her.

……...

The lock took an embarrassing amount of time to open, but it finally caved in and let them in. Looking around, Hinamori understood why Hitsugaya hadn’t even once referred to the place as a “home”: the walls and the floorboards were bare, without any decorations or colors.  In one room, she could see a big carpet and a low table, but that was it. All in all, the house seemed like ready to be purchased. Still, she had to make sure there was no unpleasant surprises. “Do you...do you have parents in this dimension?” she asked warily, her voice echoing a bit. Although she didn’t have experience of parents, any she would remember, she imagined they wouldn’t take it well if a girl who looked like a drowned rat claimed their son was from another dimension.

“Is Earl Grey fine? You need to drink something hot,” Hitsugaya said from the kitchen. “And please go to the living room, so you don’t ruin the floor in the whole house.”

Even though he wasn’t able to see her, she stuck her tongue out before heading to the living room with a smile on her face. Outsider might gasp and be horrified of their conversations, whereas Hinamori had long before realized he only teased her and often tried to cheer her up, for he always picked up when she was feeling low. Of course she had to pretend to pout, but secretly she was delighted their friendship was so strong they could talk like they did without it shattering into pieces. Perhaps their bond would be enough to get Hitsugaya back to home.

Her musings stopped short when a towel was dropped on her head, covering her vision. “Hey!” she shouted, her voice muffled by the clothing. Outside it, she could hear a clink of a tea cup against the wood and a small chuckle from Hitsugaya, which pulled the corners of her lips upwards. When he pulled the towel from her head, she quickly schooled her expression. They had serious issues to talk about. Besides, she should avoid encouraging him to tease her more.

“So you’re from another dimension,” Hitsugaya stated, talking slowly as if he was tasting the words, while looking at her thoughtfully.

“You too!” Hinamori couldn’t help adding.

“Well, how did I end up here?”

Hinamori grimaced. “The test gone wrong. Or rather, done to a wrong person. Captain Kurotsuchi was trying to reach new dimensions, and was going to run some tests, until you rushed to the Twelfth Division. Matsumoto, your lieutenant, was once again avoiding paperwork and had signed up as a volunteer to examine those possible new worlds. Albeit...” a sly look to Hitsugaya, “I also think you might have been a little bit worried for her.”

“For some slacker? Definitely not,” he huffed, but the words sounded hollow even in his own ears. Quickly, he asked another question. “And how did you manage to keep your memories, if I didn’t?” And did they work in an army, or what was with the captains and lieutenants? Was that girl his coworker, too?

“Captain Kurosuchi gave me a pill that put me asleep during my trip to this dimension. Since sleep is essential to forming new memories and strengthening the old ones, he thought it could help me keep my memories.”

“Isn’t that quite dangerous, traveling between dimensions while asleep?” If his displeasure wasn’t clear enough in his furrowed eyebrows and tightening of his jaw, it was easy to detect in his voice. “He made you to do that?”

“I volunteered,” Hinamori shrugged, and “of course” was close to escaping from his lips. Something in her, or perhaps in his implicit memories of her, told him she was that kind of person who went to the great lengths to lend a helping hand to others. He should have been flattered, but he couldn’t help thinking of the danger she had willingly put herself in. For him. It should be other way around.

“Okay, how do we get back?” At Hitsugaya’s question, the teacup almost slipped from her hands. “Y-you believe me?”

He shrugged. “It felt...feels like there are a lot of important things missing from my life. Like someone has created a fictional character but left him unfinished, since he wouldn’t be needed all the time. I don’t have any memories of my relatives, nor of my childhood. There’s a calendar on my wall that has marking from January to this day,” he nodded towards the only decoration covering the white walls, “but I don’t have any clothes in my closet. When I saw you, I was actually going to buy some food, since there’s nothing but tea in the cupboards.”

Hitsugaya seemed to notice she was at the loss of words, since he continued. “So, are you going to tell me how we travel from one dimension to other?”

“Yes, of course! The idea is try to get you to remember as much as possible, so that the bond between you and our home dimension strengthens, since it will, kind of, pull you back. When you go to sleep, you should be able to get back, since your brain deals with memories in your sleep. And I, uh, hopefully get back too.”

“Hopefully?! You came here thinking you hopefully get back?!”

Hinamori didn’t even blink at his outburst. “I had to try to save you.”

His hand raked through his white hair, frustration palpable in his every moment. “Hinamori, that’s...I don’t understand how you could do something so dangerous and stupid! What if–”

Hinamori stared at her, flabbergasted. “I never told you my name,” she said slowly. As a reply, she got a huff. “That’s not the main point.”

“That’s exactly the main point!” Hinamori yelled, fingers coiled into fists and her smile close to morphing into laugh. “You’re going to remember everything, and you’re able to going to home.”

Still thinking about the possibility Hinamori would be stuck there for the rest of her life, Hitsugaya found it difficult to share her joy – even though he looked forward to remembering their shared past. Noticing his silence, Hinamori reached over the table and took his hand in hers. She had beautiful hands, and he decided he preferred to keep staring at them to facing that painful hope in her eyes.

……

Once the night fell and they lay on the carpet of the living room, Hinamori wasn’t so sure about it anymore. “Do you really think we’re getting back?”

She heard a quiet huff from somewhere next to her. “Even the whole dimensions can’t beat your stubbornness. Now sleep, or I’m getting back without you. And it’s the truth, Bed-wetter Momo.”

He heard a intake of breath from his other side. “You remember?!”

His “something” sounded pretty much “everything”, which made Hinamori’s eyes prickle. Her hand fumbled for his in the darkness and, to her surprise, he let her cling onto him. She sniffed, but only because she had spent some time in rain, not because she was on the verge of tears.

“If we were to stay here, I wouldn’t mind, as long as I could be with you.” As soon as the confession was out of her mouth, she regretted it. The worst thing that could happen wasn’t them staying there, but one of them getting back and other staying there. If Hitsugaya’s bonds with her and their home dimension weren’t strong enough, he would have to keep living in the world he knew wasn’t his, without people who cared about him around. Since the dimension-traveling wasn’t a piece of cake, it could also be Hinamori who was left behind, with all of her memories. But at least she would have saved Hitsugaya.

As if sensing her doubts, he squeezed her hand gently. “If I’ve traveled once through the dimensions, I can do it again if I must.”

……

One could think the bright light hurting your eyes and frantic screams “They’re back! They’re back!” echoing in your ears would be a horrible way to wake up, but Hinamori thought it was the best morning she had ever had. Sitting up and turning her head to her other side, she looked at the smiling Hitsugaya and squeezed his hand that she still held. Before he had time to say anything, Matsumoto rushed to them and tackled them into a bone-crushing hug, which led to reproaches and threats of paperwork from Hitsugaya. Several members of the Fourth Division came to talk and inspect them, saying they didn’t yet know much about the possible health risks of the dimension-traveling – albeit they might have been worried about Matsumoto’s hug, as well. In the middle of fuss, their hands lost their grip, but Hitsugaya caught her gaze and mouthed something that looked like “thank you”.

Even though an elbow hit her side and someone stepped on her foot in their hurry to help the two travelers, a smile didn’t slip from her face. They were home. Together.

[dork-empress]

Thace/Ulaz Hammock

Part of my Voltron “Bed Time Stories” Oneshot Collection 

Read on Ao3

Ulaz is always worried about Thace getting hurt. Thace, less so.

“This, my dear, is the life,” Thace said, hooking the final hook into place, “Sleeping in the great outdoors, among nature, as our ancestors once did.”

“Thace,” Ulaz said, arms crossed, “We are in the city. We are 5 stories up. In absolutely no universe can this be described as ‘the great outdoors.’”

Thace bit his lip, thinking, “Then sleeping in the OK outdoors, among nature, as our ancestors intended.”

“The only nature out here is the pigeons,” Ulaz grumped, because that was Ulaz’s natural state of being.

“Pigeons count!” Thace said, “Come on, this is perfect, a good time to relax outside in the fresh air.”

“Mmhmm,” Ulaz said, arms crossed and leaning on the door frame.

“There’s room for two,” Thace sang, presenting the hammock like a magician showing the result of his trick.

“The only reason I’m here at all, and not resting in our bed--our actual bed--and playing angry birds all morning is because I’m reasonably certain based on a wealth of anecdotal evidence that you’ll hurt yourself in all this.”

Thace gave his own typical response, which was to stick his tongue out at Ulaz, “It’s just an outdoor bed designed for comfort. What--”

“PLEASE don’t say ‘what could go wrong,’” Ulaz cut him off, “Whenever you say that, my hand twitches with the desire to call 911.”

“Hmph,” Thace said, angling the hammock so he could sit on it. “You’ve been proven wrong before, and you’ll be proven wrong now.”

Ulaz watched with baited breath as Thace started to angle himself off the ground. Despite Thace’s thoughts, Ulaz didn’t WANT to see Thace get hurt on this damn thing. It’s just….ok, Thace was actually a pretty brilliant guy, and talented in any number of ways. But he just...he seemed to attract accidents. Ulaz once had the theory that he did it to get Ulaz to take care of him, but no, he was just absolutely clumsy.

Like he was moving a bomb about to go off, Thace adjusted himself to lay horizontal on the hammock. The ropes sagged in protest, the metal hooks squeaking under the weight. Finally, with a sigh of relief, Thace lay back, hands behind his head. “See? All completely safe.”

Ulaz hummed, not quite believing it. It’s when he let his guard down that accidents happened, sensing their lack of caution like a raccoon sniffing out trash. “We’ll see about that.”

“Come on, Ulaz,” Thace said, “It’s a HAMMOCK. I’m just going to be sleeping here. What harm--”

Ulaz cut him off with a noise, “Stop! Tempting! Fate!” He ordered his boyfriend.

Thace swung the hammock just a little to give Ulaz a mini-heart attack. “Come on it with me.”

“What, so when it falls over or tangles up or whatever else this death trap has to offer, I go down WITH you?”

“Exactly,” Thace said, with his annoyingly charming smirk. “That’s the whole point of doing this, we go down together, no matter what.”

Ulaz grumped. What he hated most is that he was actually tempted. And what else was he going to do if Thace was out here? Angry Birds really wasn’t THAT much fun.

Groaning in defeat he made his way over to the hammock, ignoring Thace’s grin of victory.

Carefully, he sat on the edge, making the whole thing tilt and Thace roll over.

Somehow they ended up with Ulaz’s leg through a hole in the hammock, and his body on top of Thace.

Thace laughed at the awkward position, and Ulaz tried to stay grumpy, but his laugh was too damn infectious.

Finally, they readjusted. “There, see?” Thace said, “Nothing to worry about. And don’t tell me not to tempt fate, we’re already here, it’s over, nothing to tempt fate over.”

Ulaz hummed doubtfully, but let his eyes flutter closed.

“What was that about tempting fate?” Ulaz said several hours later.

Thace sighed, flinching in pain, “Never do it.”

Ulaz slapped some more burn cream on them. They were both bright red from laying in the sun. “Damn Right.”

[builder051]

Risk and reward, part 2

This is part 2 of what I expect to be a 3-part arc featuring Ash, with cameos from the rest of the Mike&Co cast.  

Find character info here.

Find the previous installment here.

This chapter contains violence, implied homophobia, and 911 calls.

_____

Ash is on the point of answering when someone calls out to him.  A dark figure approaches, walking down the sidewalk in the opposite direction.  

“Huh?”  Ash stares at the as they pass each other.

“I said, is that an iPhone?” the guy repeats loudly.

“Yeah?”  Ash wonders why it matters.  He’s already zoomed halfway down the block.    He shakes his head and looks forward again.

“Well then you better give it to me.  And your wallet.”  The second man emerges from the shadows before Ash has the chance to slow down.  He stumbles off his board a second before they collide, but it doesn’t stop the large fist from colliding with the side of his face.  Ash staggers, dizzy.  His phone hits the pavement.  Then his head does too.

_____

“Ash?”  Mike holds the phone an inch away from her ear as the line crackles loudly.  “What the fuck?”

The call’s still connected.  Her screen glows, showing a years-old profile pic of Ash sticking his tongue out.  “What did you do, you idiot?  Did you drop your phone?”

There’s no answer.  There is movement, though.  Heavy footsteps and what sounds like wind noise.  Then a voice that’s decidedly not Ash.  “Pat him down.  Check his pockets.”

It takes Mike a second to process.  “What the hell?” she mutters.  This can’t be real.  This only happens in movies.

“Gimme your wallet and you won’t get hurt.  Well, not too bad.”

“Get away from me.  What did I ever do to you?”  That sounds like Ash.  But its thick and muffled.  He’s already hurting.

“We’ll call it wrong place, wrong time.”  There’s a gruff laugh.

Then a third voice speaks, this one much closer to Ash’s phone.  “What the--?”  Static plays over the line, and the sounds shift quieter, then louder again.  “Fuck.  He was talking to somebody.”

So two attackers?  Mike swallows her shock and tries to memorize the details.  This guy has Ash’s phone.  The other one has Ash.  

“Ash?” Mike yells, cramming her phone against her mouth.  “Fucking run!  Get out of there!”

“Shit.  Hang up before they call the cops!”  A muffled thump.  A cry of pain.

“Who were you talking to, huh?”  There’s a tap of thick fingers against the screen.

“Ash!”  Mike tries again  “Run, Ash!”

“Ash, run!” the goon parrots.  He laughs cruelly.  “Is that your girlfriend?”

“Hey, you fucking stop,” Mike spits.  Anger surges, and she’s glad for it.  It’s easier to deal with than fear.  “Fucking let him go!”  She hears impact again, and Ash moans.

“Ha.  Mike.”  More laughter.  “I fucking knew it.  Your pansy-ass boyfriend isn’t coming to save your pansy ass.”

“You shut the fuck up,” Mike rises up on her knees, knocking her laptop off the bed.  “Get out of there, Ash!”  She can see the events unfolding in her mind’s eye, each one shoving another arrow into her heart.  Her stupid nickname, Ash’s tendencies to fill his contacts with emojis instead of useful information, the goddamn stick figure drawing she’d sent him instead of a profile picture…  It’s easy to misinterpret, even for someone with an intelligence level higher than that of the average street robber.

“Nah, you’re not going anywhere.”

“Here, get his wallet.”

“Hey, fuck you!” Mike screeches.  “You fucking--”  

The line crackles again, then goes dead.

“Ash?  Come on.  Ash?”  She knows there won’t be a reply, but she can’t seem to stop asking.  “Fuck.  Ash?”

Mike’s door bursts open.  Jason fumbles the light switch, then stands in the doorway, squinting.  “What the hell are you doing?” he asks sleepily.  “What the fuck?”

“Goddammit!”  Mike lowers her phone, watching the screen fade to black.  “Fuck.  Ugh.  What the hell am I supposed to do?”

“What are you doing?  Why are you screaming?” Jason blubbers, rubbing his eyes.

“I--fucking Ash,” Mike says, looking at her brother and acutely aware of how much she’s shaking.  “He’s getting mugged or something.  What the fuck am I supposed to do?”

“Wait, what?”  Jason shakes his head.  “Ash?”

“Yeah, he called me, and they robbed him, and, fuck, I don’t know--”

“He called you for help?”  

Jason’s fixated on the wrong part, and Mike has no patience for him.  “No, before that,” she says.  “But he’s not here.  He’s at home.  I don’t-- like, what do I…?”  Her throat goes tight.  The urge to help is alien to her.  But it’s born of protective instincts, some overgrown aspect of her inability to turn away from a fight.  

“God, Mike, I don’t know…”  Jason comes to sit on the end of Mike’s bed just as Colby appears, looking much more awake.

“What?  You ok?”  Under any other circumstances, Mike would care about the differences in Colby’s and Jason’s approaches.  But today there’s no time to spare on an answer.  

“Ash is getting beat up, and he called me from fucking Ann Arbor, and he’s probably dying in the street two hours away from here,” Mike blurts, eager to push out the words as quickly as she can.  The pressure of building tears makes her head throb.  It’s a feeling she’s unfortunately used to, but that doesn’t make it any more pleasant.  

“Ok, um…”  Colby blinks a few times.  He barely knows Ash, probably barely comprehends what Mike just said.  He drops a comforting hand on Jason’s shoulder and fixes his eyes on Mike’s.  “I think you should call the cops.”

“But it’s a different city!”  Here comes the anger again.  At least if Mike’s loud, she’s not sobbing.  “They won’t do anything!”

“Maybe they can connect you or something.”  Colby bites his lip.  “I mean, it’s worth a shot.”

“They won’t fucking do anything,” Mike says.  But she wakes the screen on her phone anyway.

“Do you want me to call?  ‘Cause I will.”  Colby holds out his hand.  It’s how he operates, pressing Mike’s buttons and driving her up the wall in exactly the right way.  Mike wonders if he even realizes he’s doing it.

“I can do it,” she mutters defensively, dialing 911 and putting the phone on speaker.

“911, please state your emergency,” a young, female-sounding voice answers.

“I, um, ok.”  Mike takes a breath.  “My friend’s getting mugged.  They beat him up and took his phone, and he’s hurt, I think.”

“What’s the location?”

“He’s in Ann Arbor,” Mike says.  She realizes she’s unsure where in Ann Arbor, making her even more unhelpful.  She can rattle off Hannah’s address, give a general description of the neighborhood, but she doesn’t know where Ash’s apartment is, whether it’s north or south or closer to the university.

“Ok.  This is East Lansing PD,” the operator says, sounding confused.

“Yeah, I live here,” Mike replies.  “He’s in Ann Arbor.  We were on the phone, and then the call got fucked up, and he’s getting robbed.  They were beating him up!”

“Something happened during the phone call?” the operator clarifies.

“Yes!” Mike shouts, exasperated.  “I heard it.  There were two of them, taking his shit and hitting him!”

“Ok, sweetie, try to stay calm.  Is he conscious, do you think?”

“Don’t fucking call me sweetie!  I don’t know.  I’m not fucking there.”  Tears begin to drip from the corners of Mike’s eyes.  “It’s all my fucking fault.”

“Take a breath,” the operator soothes.  Mike doesn’t on principle.  

Colby clambers onto the bed between Jason and Mike.  He gently grabs Mike’s wrist and pulls the phone toward himself.  

“This is her roommate,” Colby chimes in.  “She’s really worried about her friend.”

“Ok, yes, I understand,” the operator says.  “It’s just, it’s a different PD.  I can’t dispatch from here.”

“Can you transfer the call?”  Colby’s younger than Mike.  She wonders how on earth he’s so mature.

“No, but I can give you the number.  You can request a welfare check and let them know you suspect an assault.”

“Ok, ok, yeah, good,” Colby says.  He leans over and digs a sharpie out of the mess on Mike’s bedside table.  He scribbles the number on his palm as the operator reads it off, then thanks her profusely.  

“That was a fucking waste of time,” Mike mumbles.  The operator wasn’t inept, but Mike choses to color her that way anyway.  It helps write over the piece of truth she’d spilled.  Mike doesn’t want to think about it, but it is all her fault.

“No it wasn’t.”  Colby takes Mike’s phone and starts dialing.  He nudges Jason in the back with his knee.  “Why don’t you go back to bed.  I’ll be right there.”  Then he looks at Mike, his gaze earnest again.  “We’re gonna take care of this.  It’s gonna be ok.”

Every part of Mike screams for her to contradict him.  He’s being too optimistic.  And she’s been lied to too many times to give the words any weight.  But deep in her heart, she wants them to be true.  So she stays silent as the phone line begins to ring.

[theolddarkmachine]

Centerfold

Normally, Keith wouldn’t give anyone the time of day if they were the kind of person that would pick up hitchhikers. He knew about stranger danger, thank you very much, and he knew that those kind of people were predisposed to being serial killers.

But today didn’t seem to be normal, and for once, the universe seemed to be apologizing for all its wrongs. Even if he ended up being murdered, he would probably still need to thank someone, because leaning over the center console and fixing him with a silver gaze, was an all too familiar face. One that Keith had committed to memory if only because he was certain that was exactly what the dictionary meant by the word ‘perfect.’

One, that Keith had just jacked off to that morning. Twice.

Part 1 of 2

Warnings- Rated M for Masturbation

AO3

A/N: This hits the ground running and will eventually earn an E rating. But right now Part 1 is sitting at a good and solid M. Remember when I said 911 was going to be my trash fire fic? I lied.

forgive me father, for i have sinned

************************

Low in his gut was the fizzling crack of a bursting star that tickled at the back of Keith’s navel as he ground his teeth around a soft gasp. It was a sensation he’d grown quite accustomed to ever since finding the steady grey gaze that he was currently pinned under. Heart hammering at the back of his ribs, he continued to keep hold of the burning silver that watched him as his own hand dragged his orgasm from his very core.

In a perfect world, the person above him would be the one getting him off but Keith would take what he could get.

Besides, he’d always had one hell of an imagination.

A sharp, pointed smile cut itself into the corner of his mouth as he quickened his pace, his palm pulling the burning edge up through him as that heated gaze bore into him. Of course, he supposed he could just be laying there and nothing would change that given the smolder had been captured forever within the two glossy magazine pages that he’d oh so elegantly taped to his ceiling.

Whatever, it didn’t change the fact that staring down at him, with a smile made of light and a face crafted by Michelangelo’s spirit, was the single most beautiful man Keith had ever seen: Takashi Shirogane.

Or rather, Shiro.

That first time he had seen him had been a mistake. 

He had missed the swirling script of the magazine’s title, his attention caught instead by the beautiful cherry red motorcycle that had been gleaming on the cover. It took nothing more than the quick flip of a few pages to realize the mistake, but by then it was too late. Because right there, in the center of the magazine, was the actual light of Keith’s life.

He had felt every one of his insides shudder to a stop as his entire world was turned upside down by the model. The man was stretched across two pages with oiled abs that shined with sunlight from beneath a leather jacket that was placed on his shoulders. Clad in tight black jeans that sat low on his hips and left little to the imagination, Shiro had been leaning against a black motorcycle with one leg out and the other bracing him so he could leave his whole body on display.

When he’d immediately taken the magazine to the register, Keith had told himself and the bored teen at the checkout that he was buying it for the BMW S 1000 R Catalano, and not the man draped over it.

She hadn’t looked entirely convinced, smacking her gum in response before she rattled off the high price of the specialty magazine and holding her hand out for his money. The lie carried Keith long enough to for him to get home and situated in his bed with the magazine open beside him and his hand around himself.

Since, he’d made it routine to check the magazine each month in hopes that Shiro would once again be the centerfold. Much to his dick’s delight— and his wallet’s dismay— he almost always was, which meant Keith had begun quite the collection.

But with his two-toned hair style that only someone touched by angels could pull off, and a scar that somehow only made him more attractive, Keith was convinced that Shiro had walked his way straight out of his very sinful dreams and who was he to deny himself that kind of beauty.

He was a good person. He deserved to appreciate those wide set shoulders, the size of those arms, and the way those full lips seemed to quirk just so at the edge to expose a pointed canine.

A canine that he was so certain would leave the most delicious impression on his skin.

His hips snapped up into the halo of his fist as he attempted to swallow down another groan shaped by the spreading burn of pleasure that had begun to stretch outward from his core.

Still holding the unmoving stare, Keith could almost feel the way those large hands would drag heated lines over his skin, tracking his body with unwavering attention. He could feel the soft flick of a tongue across his nipple that would accompany a low chuckle, the brush of it cooling the newly wetted skin. Keith could practically hear how deep his voice would be, with the slight curl of a growl as he would drag his lips down the center of his chest, over his stomach and then—

Keith’s cry tore unbidden from his throat as he came in his fist, warmth slicking his knuckles as heat lightning ran itself down to the tips of his toes with a force that had them curling into his comforter.

“God,” he breathed, riding out the ebbing waves of his orgasm with a loosened grip as he finally tore his eyes from the silvered gaze that had held him captive. Admittedly, he probably should be embarrassed by how quickly he was able to get off now that he had the centerfold over his bed.

But with that face as inspiration, could anyone really blame him? No one would have stood a chance.

Waiting for his pulse to lull itself back into normalcy, he lazily reached for the tissue box that had a permanent home on the floor just next to his bed. Quickly wiping himself clean, Keith adjusted his boxers so they fully covered him once more. Surveying his shoddy cleanup job and deeming it worthy enough, he let his head fall back against his pillow with a soft thump!

Staring up at the spread that had started it all, Keith traced the line of Shiro’s easy stance and his hungry smile. Everything about the model exuded a sense of ease, almost as if the pose and the look were completely natural. Like Shiro often found himself in the middle of the desert, leaning against a $20,000 bike with a bottle of baby oil and a camera. Something about the effortlessness of it all held the appeal, because even though Keith knew he was untouchable, everything about the model screamed that he wasn’t.

Which, was probably why he was a regular in a magazine with “Fantasy” in the title, but that was neither here nor there.

What really matter, were those stormy eyes that stared down at him expectantly as a silent judge of all the debauchery the centerfold was an unwitting muse for.

Maybe, if Keith had any shame, he would feel embarrassed about the fact that he got off to magazine pages more than he ever had with anyone he’d ever met. He could admit that maybe, just maybe, this crush of his had gotten a touch out of hand. Then he could possibly do something about the growing stack of magazines in the corner of his room and try to actually meet someone that could lend him a hand other than his own.

The problem was, of course, that he didn’t have any shame.

Which was how he found himself already getting hard once more as he dragged his purple gaze along the terrain of Shiro’s abs.

Flicking his eyes towards his bedside clock that proudly read 8:35am, he made a decision.

By his calculations, he had ten minutes before he would absolutely need to be out of bed if he wanted to make it to work on time, which was more than enough.

Licking a slick line across the bottom of his smile, he got comfortable and pushed his hand back under the band of his boxers.

***

Keith was fucked.

This had to be some sort of karmic retribution for getting off twice that morning. He’d gotten too greedy. He heard the universe and it’s obvious objections to his libido, and now he was stuck on the side of the freeway in the middle of the desert still five miles out from town.

Honestly, he shouldn’t have been shocked since things had been going too well, and he’d been in too good of a mood, but that didn’t stop the spike of panic as he’d felt the stall beneath him before his bike had begun to slow down of its own volition before stuttering to a stop.

Sighing again, he tried once more to start it back up only to be met with its sad wheeze that was a sad cry from its usual sexy purr. Keith had known he had been pushing his luck with his alternator but he hadn’t thought the old girl would betray him like this. She had been the best thing he’d had in his life and the only thing to never let him down.

Until today.

Figures.

Pulling his leg back over the seat with a grunt, Keith eyed the road as he followed it’s long stretch out towards town. It was a long expanse of concrete that always looked so inviting when he had two wheels beneath him to carry him across it, but now looked nothing short of ominous. Heat lines twisted the distance before his eyes, turning the town in the background into a wiggling painting of melted greys and blacks. A drop of sweat rolled down the back of his neck and disappeared beneath the collar of his motorcycle jacket, reminding him in the least helpful way, that it was fucking hot.

Thrusting his hand into his back pocket, his fingers closed around the solid rectangle of his cellphone as he poured every ounce of prayer he could muster into the hope that it wouldn’t read exactly what he knew it would. Dragging a steadying breath past his quickly drying lips, he pulled it from his pocket, thumb already pressing the home button to bring the screen to life.

In a twist that didn’t surprise him at all, he had no service.

“Shit,” he huffed as he ran the palm of one of his driving glove across the slick of his sweat at the back of his neck while thrusting the useless phone back into his jeans.

There were— as far as he could tell— three options open to him.

The first, was to just fry under the sun. (A solid option that he would heavily consider.)

The second, was to wait and see if anyone would drive by. (A terrible option that would just be option one but with high hopes.)

The third, was to attempt to make the trek on foot. (Which, was just option one, but moving.)

“This is fucking fantastic,” Keith muttered as he screwed his eyes shut to the bright light of the sun as he pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. It wasn’t like he didn’t know he would just need to suck it up and walk until he got close enough to town to pick up some signal from the cell tower. Honestly, it could be worse, and he was well aware of that.

But that didn’t make it suck any less.

Dropping his head back, Keith opened his eyes upward to the endless light blue of the sky above him. He noted bitterly that there wasn’t a single cloud marring the perfect stretch of azure.

“What’s a guy got to do to catch a break?” He asked angrily, shooting his question directly to the universe. After a moment of obvious silence, he continued, if only because it helped ease some of the tension from within his chest to just yell up at the sky.

“I won’t do it again, I swear,” he tried. “No more morning solo missions. I’ll be a good boy. I’ll get to work.”

Another silence, accompanied by a world weary sigh. The universe probably saw through that blatant lie.

“Fine! I’m going, god,” Keith huffed as he turned his attention back to the glittering asphalt and the town that was so, so far away. “But when I get roasted and become vulture food, you’ll be sorry!”

For added effect, he shook his fist up at the sky.

Whether there really was something out there in the great beyond listening to him, and whether that something really took his threat to heart, Keith didn’t know. What he did know, was that his protests were suddenly answered by the distant sound of a fast approaching car. Turning quickly on his heel, he had just enough time to see the solid black body of a sleek SUV that looked like it cost more than some of the houses around town.

Not just some, but most.

Who the hell is that, he thought as the vehicle began to slow as it drew closer, finally coming to a stop right in front of him. Keith’s own confused expression was reflected back at him in the dark tint of the passenger window before it started to creep downward.

Time itself sputtered to a halt as the glass slowly revealed the driver, who was looking out towards him with a friendly smile.

Normally, Keith wouldn’t give anyone the time of day if they were the kind of person that would pick up hitchhikers. He knew about stranger danger, thank you very much, and he knew that those kind of people were predisposed to being serial killers.

But today didn’t seem to be normal, and for once, the universe seemed to be apologizing for all its wrongs. Even if he ended up being murdered, he would probably still need to thank someone, because leaning over the center console and fixing him with a silver gaze, was an all too familiar face. One that Keith had committed to memory if only because he was certain that was exactly what the dictionary meant by the word ‘perfect.’

One, that Keith had just jacked off to that morning. Twice.

“Need a ride?” Takashi “Shiro” Shirogane, said with a voice filled with concern and a roughness just this side of deep that Keith couldn’t have even begun to have imagined. It was enough to send his brain into overtime as it tried to catalogue the sound of it for future use.

Sorry, Universe.

Standing there under the burning heat of the sun and the burning gaze of the model, Keith tried to wrap his mouth around any words that would save him from looking like a complete dumbass. Any words that weren’t “fuck” and “me,” of course.

He must have stood there looking dumbfounded for a minute too long, because a line of concern buried itself deep between the Shiro’s eyebrows as he leant further against the divider.

Keith also filed away the way his bicep strained against the hem of his sleeve.

“You alright?” He followed up, unaware exactly what it was he was asking.

Couldn’t he see that Keith was so very, very far from alright? Because at any moment, he was probably going to wake up, stretched across the burning asphalt as a buzzard attempted to make his entrails his extrails. Then he’d have to cure the universe for the cruel joke of ending this heat stroke induced dream before he found out what it was like to straddle Shiro in that leather driver’s seat.

A low chuckle snapped him quickly from his thoughts as Shiro’s smile widened and sent a single arrow straight through the meat of his heart.

“Stupid question, I know. I’m sure you aren’t out here for fun,” his words were colored with bright mirth as he gestured his metallic hand towards the bike behind him. “It’s a pretty bad spot to breakdown.”

The way he said it almost sounded like he could empathize, like Keith thought the model would ever be stuck on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere.

“Yeah,” he breathed, finally finding enough of his voice to get something out. Shiro’s shoulders relaxed at the sound of it, a steady thrum of relief coursing through him at finally getting some form of response.

“Want a ride?” He asked, repurposing his original question as he dragged his gaze over what he could see of Keith.

The answer, of course, was yes. He did want a ride. But something told him the ride Keith was thinking of currently was not the same Shiro was asking about. Still he should say something.

“Are you going to kill me?”

Smooth.

Heat burned in his cheeks as he bit down on his lip as if that would stop the words from getting out, but it was already too late. A boisterous laugh echoed around him as Shiro began to shake with it, his eyes crinkling at the corners as his smile widened into an opened mouth thing. It would have quickly been added to the mental folder Keith was quickly compiling of the man if the moment hadn’t been turned sour by the embarrassment that was zinging through his veins.

“I mean—“ he started, not even quite sure what he was going to say to take it back.

New plan, Universe, please just strike me down.

“No, no, I get it,” the words came between the spaces of his laugh. “I’m a stranger offering a ride. It’s a valid question.”

Bits of his laughter fell away until it dried up completely, the light of it never quite leaving the sterling of Shiro’s eyes as he fell into contemplation. Being trapped on the receiving end of his stare was something else entirely when it wasn’t trapped within the confines of magazine pages, and Keith could feel his blood starting to run hotter the longer he stared.

For a moment, he was certain the model could see straight down into his core.

“I’m Shiro,” he finally said with a shrug.

I know, Keith immediately thought, quickly swallowing the words before they could escape on his tongue. Even he was aware the implications if he said as much, and he, for one, had hopes to play it cool.

At least, as long as he could manage.

Shiro’s brows arched upwards as he waited, expectant but not pushy. It was enough to make his heart flip itself upside down.

“Keith,” he said bluntly. “I’m Keith.”

So much for being cool.

“Well, Keith, we aren’t strangers anymore, and I don’t have any plans to kill you.” There was that laugh again. Honestly, Keith wasn’t sure he ever wanted him to stop.

“So,” Shiro’s smile sparked with the light of the hot desert sun. “How about a ride?”

Under his skin, skipping through his veins, Keith could feel the ominous pulse of a lightning storm rolling in. It felt too good to be true, which was always a sign that it was, but pinned beneath that hopeful look, Keith couldn’t find it within himself to care. Clearing his throat, he finally nodded.

“Yeah, alright,” he said, offering his best smile and trying to ignore the way his heart stuttered as Shiro’s widened. Turning toward his bike to bring it over to the car, Keith threw a last word over his shoulder.

“Thanks.”

Whether it was intended for Shiro or the universe though, even he didn’t know.

***

“So I’ll see you tomorrow?”

The words swam around his mind as he dropped himself down onto his bed, bouncing slightly as he landed square on his back.

When Shiro had finally gotten him to the body shop, he dropped him off with a soft smile, a new number in his phone and the promise of dinner the following night. Or rather, that Keith would buy him dinner the following night.

It had made for a long day filled with the distraction of a bright laugh, a brilliant smile and moonlight colored eyes. At one point, Hunk had taken him off his current project and pointed him towards his own bike.

“Fix her up, and then go home, buddy. You’re pretty useless today.”

Any other day Keith might have been offended.

But today had proven it was anything but another day.

Sighing loudly, he looked up at the ever present stare that watched over his bed, noting that the glossy pages hadn’t even done Shiro justice. If it did, it would have caught the dark flecks that peppered the silver of his eyes, or the way the right corner of his mouth pulled higher than his left, or the way his mouth was the same color of crushed rose petals.

The model had been a force of nature, swooping in and tearing everything apart with soft, sweet words and tempered gazes in the mere 15 minutes it had taken for them to get from where Keith had broken down to the garage.

Yet in that 15 minutes he’d managed to pack a lifetime, until Keith felt he’d known him just as long by the time he was climbing out of the passenger seat.

Breathing in, Keith held onto the air as he stared up at those grey eyes, letting the burn in his chest ebb away into that in his lungs. It wasn’t until his vision began to swim that he finally exhaled, his mind clearing with the single hush of air.

Tomorrow he was going on a date with Takashi Shirogane.

Scratch that.

Tomorrow, he was taking Takashi Shirogane on a date.

The sudden realization of it hit him with all the force of the black SUV that had saved him from becoming road kill.

Holy. Shit.

*************************