#raised squared waffle blanket

[scoops-aboy86]

Not Dating, part 3

part 1, part 2, parts 4 & 5, part 6, part 7, part 8 - also on ao3

Eddie needs better self esteem. In the meantime, he's wallowing and indulging in that Triple Decker Eggo Extravaganza that El told him about. (The great thing is, it's only 8000 calories.)

The first thing Eddie does upon getting home is slam the door of the brand new double-wide that still doesn’t feel quite like home. New walls and new furniture and Wayne had to start a whole new mug and hat collection, which sucks because most of it had been from his long haul trucker days and everything had had a story behind it. Now the stories are mostly, ‘look what I found in a bin at the thrift shop.’

His uncle looks up from the newspaper he’s reading in his (new, not quite broken in yet) recliner and mildly raises an eyebrow. 

The second thing Eddie does is stomp over to the phone and grab the jack that connects it to the wall. “We don’t need this for a few days, right?” he snarls, keeping his voice and expression hard because as soon as he lets up on that facade, the second it cracks, he’s going to fall apart. He hadn’t realized how much Steve had been holding him together lately, but now that’s been yanked out by the roots and he feels dangerously unstable. 

Wayne considers for a moment, then shrugs. “Nah, guess not.”

“Good.” Eddie yanks it and continues to his room without another glance. He slams that door behind him too, digs through the detritus on top of his (new) desk to find the radio Dustin had given him, and turns the knob to off with a vicious twist. 

Then he burrows into his (new) bed and screams into his (new) pillow and wishes that none of it had never happened, that he was still in their old place in its old spot where everything was familiar and he didn’t have scars and he’d never spoken more than a few words to Steve fucking Harrington in his entire, goddamn, shitty little life. 

Over the next few days, Eddie chain smokes through both his cigarettes and his pot stash. Maybe he’ll still leave town, but once the initial angry energy drained away he hasn’t felt like doing anything, so it can wait. The only times he crawls out of bed to use the bathroom or get something to eat. And eat. And eat. 

Yes he’s aware that he’s self-soothing with food, and no he doesn’t give a flying fuck. It feels like a black hole has opened up inside him and what it’s demanding is Eggo waffles with every single little square full up with whipped cream, chocolate sauce, and M&Ms. (Eleven had mentioned it in an offhand comment once as her go-to Bad Mood Food, and by god that girl is onto something; it’s bready, creamy, and crunchy combined in every bite.)

But it’s not booze, so Wayne hasn’t commented on these additions to the grocery list. And thank fucking god for that because Eddie doesn’t think he’d be able to talk about much of anything without suffering a complete breakdown—just getting out of bed is hard enough. 

The phone stays unplugged, so if anyone (if Steve) tries to call, Eddie remains blissfully unaware. Max broke in on day two to check for proof of life, turned the radio back on and changed it to an obscure channel, and warned him that if he turned it off again she and the rest of the Party would not be held responsible for Dustin’s actions. So, fine, when Dustin radios to check in Eddie responds, but it’s all brief and monosyllabic, literally just a proof you’re not dead’ call. 

And Eddie is left alone. It’s the way he wants it. 

It’s agony. 

After four days of wallowing in exactly what he deserves for falling for a straight boy, Eddie rolls sluggishly over in bed towards the tap of thrown pebbles on his window. He glares at the offending thing, which he can’t even see through the thick blackout curtain. 

“Fuck off,” he yells, and his voice is hoarse but carries well enough. He slumps back down and starts to pull the blanket back over his head, when the tapping comes again. “What about fuck off did you not—”

“It’s Steve.”

Eddie freezes, then shudders and turns to whine into his pillow, the only word going through his mind a frantic litany of no no no NO. He can’t let Steve see him like this, can’t let the object of his hopeless affection know how much this is hurting him for fear that Steve might try to be nice about it, and that would just blur the lines even more and make things worse. And Eddie hasn’t showered, combed his hair, or brushed his teeth in days, there’s probably chocolate on his face, and the way he can’t even pull his shirt down over his belly is just—no. 

“Absolutely fucking not,” he snarls.

“Eds, please, I made a mistake. I fucked up, I know that, but please let me at least try to fix this.”

And oh, Eddie already knows what mistake Steve made. It’s one thing to be friends with the local gay metalhead and social pariah, but to fuck him? Can’t have that, no fucking sir. 

Instead of answering, he buries himself in his blankets and under his pillow and goes back to wallowing in high gear because it’s all he’s good for right now. A few more days in this cocoon and he’ll come out harder, steeled against Steve’s sweet, prettyboy charms that he must not even realize how thick he lays on all the time, and everything will be fine. Just… just a few more days to forget how cared for Steve had sometimes managed to make him feel while fucking him. 

But he’s forgotten that Steve knows where the spare key is—not that the lock on a trailer door is all that robust, but Wayne has insisted lately after the whole ‘hunt the freak’ debacle, and that’s fair enough. 

“Eddie.” Spoken in a shaky but determined voice right outside his bedroom door. “You don’t have to let me in, just… Hear me out, okay?”

Oh, now you want to talk, Eddie grumbles internally. But not out loud, oh no; his plan is to ignore Steve until he goes away. Fuck this, fuck that, fuck everything. 

It sounds like Steve is sitting down out there, thumping against the door or maybe one of the walls and sliding all the way down. Four days apart and part of Eddie still aches to see him, pictures against his will how Steve might look right now. His imagination wants to paint shadows underneath Steve’s eyes, wants to think that he’s at least lost some sleep over this even if it’s a long shot, lips bitten red and begging for a kiss, their first—

Eddie loathes himself. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t answer your question,” Steve is saying, and he does sound tired, at least. That’s something. “It’s not that I didn’t want to, I just had… too many thoughts, it was like a traffic jam in my head. But I don’t want you to think I don’t want this, you. Because I like you, Eddie.” 

I like you.

Like you.

Because I like you, Eddie. 

Eddie has gone so still that he’s not even breathing, and Steve keeps talking. 

“I really do. As more than just a friend, okay? So I don’t… Don’t not come to movie nights, please. If it’s the kids too or just us, I don’t care; I want you to be there. I always want you to be there.”

His first instinct is to be angry. If that’s how Steve really feels, why had he let Eddie leave? Had he even tried to call? Why did it take days for him to show up? 

Then Eddie thinks, Well why wouldn’t it take the better part of a week to come to terms with liking someone like me, and the anger sputters out. 

Because it’s not like he’s a catch or anything. A three-time senior who never managed to graduate (never mind that he’d gotten his GED with flying colors on the first try), known around town for selling drugs and being briefly arrested for triple homicide… Son of a criminal and a drug addict. Raised in a trailer park, a far cry from the big houses in Loch Nora, unless his dad dragged him out that way to case the neighborhood or something. 

And even before the scars, he’d never really thought of himself as attractive. Okay at best. He’s proud of his long hair and his tats—or he had been, before patches of them had gone the same way as one of his fucking nipples. Besides all that, there’s…

Deep in his burrow of blankets, Eddie feels along the lower curve of his belly and wonders if Steve would’ve turned up on day two or three instead of four if he hadn’t gained so much weight lately. Despite how all this had started. Despite the belly rubs and how those kind touches had become something heated, almost reverent. Despite how Steve had always brought him more to eat and drink, sometimes before Eddie even had to ask, like he just knew—  

“... Eddie? Are you still in there, man?”

He can’t contain his loud, scoffing snort, because there are only two ways out of his room and it’s not like he can just shimmy out a window these days. Which hasn’t been a problem until now, when the man of his dreams is blocking the door to offer… what, some sort of pity relationship? For Eddie to be his gay experiment? To be called man during emotional moments like they’re bros or something?

“Okay,” Steve sighs, and Eddie would bet real money that he was running a hand through his hair as he said it. “Guess I deserved that. Sorry.”

And he really does sound sorry, but honestly? That’s not the only thing that has Eddie crawling desperately out of bed. It’s that he needs to see Steve’s face when he sees what Eddie has devolved into over the past few days. Greasy, unwashed, heavier, with traces of his go-to depression meal around his mouth, wearing only an ill-fitting shirt and ratty boxers. Because that’s when he’ll know, right? However Steve reacts when he opens that door, that’s how Eddie will know. 

So he gets up, itching from new stretch marks and stumbling a little with the long put-off need to stretch his legs. Shuffles over and grabs the doorknob so tight his knuckles go an even paler shade than the rest of him, and jerks it open. 

Too quick for Steve to react. And he had been sitting dejectedly against the door, because when it opens in and he ends up flat on his back with his head on Eddie’s one-socked-one-not feet. Staring up at the underside of Eddie’s gut, which, goddammit, means Eddie can’t see his face. 

“Shit,” Steve breathes. And then he’s scrambling up to where Eddie can see he’s flushed all the way down to his chest, courtesy of a butter-yellow Henley open at the collar by a few buttons. 

That’s when Eddie notices the bouquet of flowers clutched in Steve’s hand, maybe a little worse for wear from falling but the bottoms of the stems wrapped carefully in wet paper towel, plastic sandwich bag, and a rubber band. It’s a home job, not from some shop. They’re wildflowers. 

“What,” Eddie croaks. His voice gives out on the rest, which should have been, the hell do you want, Harrington? But Steve… Steve brought him fucking flowers that he’d bothered to pick himself. 

Steve isn’t wrinkling his nose in disgust at Eddie’s unkempt appearance, and he’s not looking away. Instead, he wets his lips nervously and can’t seem to look anywhere else. “Eds, I…” He runs his free hand through his hair, then shakes his head. “Damn, I had it all worked out with Robin and now I can’t remember any of it.”

“You told Robin,” Eddie says slowly. Not even a question, because it makes perfect sense that Steve would tell his best friend everything—and yet it doesn’t, because straight boys never tell anyone. Straight boys usually threaten him with violence to keep him from telling anyone. “About… us.”

“Yeah,” Steve admits. “I needed a sounding board… Sorry, if that’s, uh. If you didn’t want me too. She won’t tell anyone, I swear.”

And why does it sound like Steve is the one reassuring him about that? Steve is a catch. Steve is handsome, could probably have any girl in town if he really put the effort in. Eddie would shout from the rooftops that he bagged Steve Harrington if it wouldn’t probably get him killed—again.  

When Eddie doesn’t respond, just stares at him blankly, Steve thrusts out the bouquet. “Anyway. These are for you. Peace offering? I just want to talk.”

Eddie is so confused. He feels grimy and gross and slow, and he doesn’t know if he still wants to be angry or if there’s still some other feeling buried under the rubble of his composure. So he blinks, opens his mouth, blinks again, says, “Can you put them in a mug or something? I need to take a shower first.”

He doesn’t know how to feel right now, so buying himself some time will have to do.

Parts 4 & 5, part 6, part 7, part 8

Permanent tag list: @hotluncheddie @lawrencebshoggoth @tangerinesteve

Tag list (comment to be added or move to the perma list): @westifer-dead @eyehartart @sofadofax

[smallpotatoknitwear]

WIP blanket update 11/17/21

Wow! It’s been way too long since I posted… well, anything on this blog, really. I went back to work in June and was crazy busy then (although I did manage to finish my Floral Beauty Throw) and things just got more insane. Unfortunately, in early October I had to leave my job due to a variety of reasons, and I’m still currently looking for work. (In a related note, if anyone is looking for some fun, unique Christmas presents, I’m currently having a sale in my Etsy shop!) However, I’ve finally been able to get back into working on projects, so here’s a blanket update!

Not pictured: Floral Beauty Throw, because I finished it, and Granny Stripe, because I haven’t been working on it.

Raised Squared Waffle

This blanket is coming a little out of nowhere, as the last time I talked about it, it was in my “coming soon” post. I started this blanket after going back to work, because I wanted a simple, single-piece project that I didn’t have to put a ton of thought into, and, once I got a hang of the pattern, this blanket was perfect for that! I’ve really enjoyed working on it, and could definitely see myself making another in the future. It’s my closest blanket to completion at the moment—as of this photo, I have just finished skein #7 out of 9-10. It’s a pretty good size already, somewhere close to 5x5, but I love me a giant blanket, so I’m going to keep working on it for a little while longer!

I really love the texture on this blanket. Since the pattern is worked with a lot of FPDCs, it makes it super squishy and heavy, which I love. I’m using Caron Chunky Cakes in Bumbleberry and a size L hook for this blanket.

(p.s. sorry for such a blurry photo, my cat was running around and scared me, and I didn’t realize the photo was so blurry until I had put the blanket away and started working on this post.)

Granny Square Quilt

It’s back!!! This blanket hasn’t shown up in an update since March 3, but, now that I’m starting to wrap up most of my other Caron Chunky Cakes projects, I’m getting back to working on this one. I’m almost at 200 squares in this photo—the 160 in the tissue boxes are 100% complete, meaning the ends are woven in and everything, while the 31 laid out in front still need their ends woven in. I’m not looking forward to doing that; throughout the process of this blanket, I’ve been trying to weave in ends after making every 10-15 squares or so, but I didn’t realize how many I had done, so I haven’t gotten around to doing so lately. Oh well! It could be worse, I guess.

On the bright side, I should have pretty much exactly enough yarn to finish this blanket. I wasn’t sure if I was going to use the leftover Rainbow Jellies from my Ten-Stitch blanket with the rest of the colors, but I’ve made a few squares out of some of that yarn (i.e. the dark green and yellow squares pictured above) and I’m very happy with how the colors work with the rest of the colorways, so I’m going to continue using that rainbow yarn with the rest.

For this blanket, I’m using a US size L hook and bulky weight yarn.

Total squares: 191/270

Scrap Granny Triangle Quilt

This blanket has grown considerably since my last update, and I’m really happy with how it’s working up! This was my go-to work project, as it was easy to transport, so I was able to get a lot of pieces done while I was working. There’s more red and less blue than I was expecting to have here (mostly just because I haven’t really used much of the blue yarn I have for this blanket yet, and I found an extra skein of red yarn to throw into the pile that I wound up using first) but I’m still happy with the colors so far!!! I’ve also decided to make the blanket a little smaller than I was initially planning, in the hopes of being able to avoid having to buy yarn for it, so it hopefully won’t take me too much longer to make as I’m actually over halfway done already! Unfortunately, I haven’t been weaving my ends as I go on these pieces… Maybe I’m just going to have to sit down and take a day to weave in ends on these triangles and my granny squares 😂

For this blanket, I’m using worsted weight yarn (or multiple strands held together to make a similar weight) and a US size H hook.

Total triangles: 64*/121 (*I found two squares that had fallen out of the basket I’m storing them in after I took this photo, so my total is slightly off from the count in the photo!)

Armonika Blanket

If you’ve been following this blog for… pretty much any length of time, you’ve probably seen me talk about my first-ever blanket, my giant rainbow blanket, which used a scarf pattern from Ravelry but added in extra repeats to make it into a blanket. You can find all that info in this post. After I cast off my Ten-Stitch Blanket, I decided I wanted another knit blanket to work on when I felt like knitting, and, since it’s been a while, I decided to make another of these blankets! I really love this pattern, and I’ve really been enjoying working on it again. Like so many of my other blankets, this one is using Caron Chunky Cakes yarn, and, like my Granny Square Quilt, it is using leftovers from other blankets. So far, I’ve used one skein of Blue Moon, and the next colorway I’ll be using is Sweet & Sour, from my Granny Rectangle blanket. After that, I’ll be using Cherries Jubilee (Pickup Lines Afghan), Ballet Sorbet (C2C #1, although this yarn was specifically purchased for this blanket, as I have already used my leftover Ballet Sorbet to make granny squares), and at least one skein of Bumbleberry (Raised Squared Waffle, pictured above) but possibly more, depending how much, if any, is leftover from the waffle blanket. I’m also considering purchasing a cake in a different color that I haven’t actually used for a blanket, such as Rice Pudding, Plum Perfect, or Blueberry Pudding (although those last two are currently completely unavailable, sadly), as I think I’m going to need 6 skeins to make this a good-sized blanket, not just 5. I’m really excited for the finished product, though, and I think it’ll be really pretty once it’s finished! Plus, it’ll match most of my other blankets, since it’s using the same yarn 😅

For this blanket, I’m using US size 13 needles and bulky weight yarn.

Corner-to-corner

Just as I’ve been making leftover blankets with my Caron Chunky Cakes yarn, it looks like I’ll be doing the same with my Caron Cakes yarn. So far, the only Caron Cakes yarn I’ve used is Rainbow Sprinkle (from my Floral Beauty Throw), but I have plans for a few others coming in the middle future, once I finish up a few more of my WIPs and start the scrap ripple blanket that is the final blanket on my “coming soon” post. Also, I just really wanted to make another c2c. It’s such a fun pattern!!!

For this blanket, I’m using worsted weight yarn and a US size I hook.

[rosy-cheekx]

Aesthetic prompt- song: "in hell i'll be in good company" by the dead south; vibe: steam off a warm drink, heavy rain on windows; color: cool gray, bronze, red :)

Took me long enough! This fic is months in the making, but I am so excited to finally be able to answer this prompt. This is chapter 1 of probably 3!

A Phoenix Razed

Chapter 1- Rebirth

---

3 days since Great Yarmouth

Tim’s hands encircled the paper cup in his lap. The cup was small, he noted; he could clasp his fingers together easily. Or maybe his hands were just big. The tea was dark, way over-steeped, and the herbal scent bloomed out in waves alongside the rising steam. There was no sugar, no milk, none of the usual accoutrement Tim used to take tea. Just harsh, bitter, black.

It’s what you deserve.

Tim rolled his eyes at his internal monologue, drama queen, and sipped the beverage. Agh, still hot? He sucked in air through his teeth, startling Martin, who he’d forgotten was beside him.

“Tim?” He snapped his eyes up from where they had been resting on the book, lips moving to form words Tim hadn’t been listening to. “You alright?”

“Hmm? Oh. Yeah, burnt my tongue.” Tim’s words sounded like a shrug, slumped and uninterested, now out of his reverie.

Silence stretched between him and Martin. Or, Tim wished it was silence. The only sound was the low static of the EEG, a rainbow of wires between the machine and Jonathan Sims’ scalp, shaved to accommodate the electrodes. What Tim wouldn’t give for any level of sound other than what they experienced right now. Any less, and there would be an answer to the question, “Will Jon ever wake up?”, and more would mean his heart was working, or lungs, or any other number of body parts to which machines were attached, waiting for any sign of response.

It’s your fault he’s like this.

It should have been you.

Tim exhaled and sipped the tea again, more careful this time. It was still hot—he was pretty sure the burn on his tongue made it feel even hotter—but he tempered his expectations and swallowed a sip of the bitter liquid, letting the raw flavor coat his throat.

“-there’s not much point to this, huh?” Martin asked, slipping a tattered bookmark between the pages of the book he had been reading—he was hoping to annoy Jon with poetry into waking up with Tennyson’s Ulysses—and letting it slip from his lap to the bed, green cover stark against the yellowish-white of the thin blanket.

“I don’t know, Marto, doctors said he might be able to hear us. Maybe dear Alfie will bore Jon back to life,” but Tim’s words lacked the bite and humor that was meant to be there.

“Don’t-” Martin warned softly, shaking his head and pushing his reading glasses through his fringe of curls. “He’s not…he’s still alive. He’s just lost.”

“You’re right,” Tim nodded, placing a hand on Martin’s shoulder lightly before pulling it away as he felt the round of Martin’s shoulder twinge under his touch. “You know what I mean.” He rubbed at the bandages that wound around his abdomen, letting himself indulge in the ache of raw skin and muscle and fat, the hiss of pain atonement for his sins.

Martin sighed, a slow, burdensome sound. “Yeah, I do.” At his words, Martin’s phone rang, and he looked at the caller ID before shoving the phone deep in his pocket, ignoring the call as he did so. “Listen, Tim, you know I’d stay longer if I could-”

“No, I get it, Martin.” Tim stood as Martin did, grabbing the IV bag by his chair for support. “Duty calls. I must away, my love.”

Martin scoffed, the pale sound muffled and diminished by the emptiness of the room. “I’ll be back tomorrow. Try to go on without me.” His voice dropped the light in it as he placed a hand on Tim’s. His hands were freezing, Jesus. “Seriously, Tim, if you need me…”

“I’ll call.” Tim waggled the phone in the pockets of the linen pants the hospital had provided. “Promise.”

--

“I hear the Great Grimaldi’s in town.”

“That’s not funny.”

“I know.”

He wished the moments after were fuzzy. He wished he could chalk his memories up to delirium or carbon monoxide poisoning. There was the detonator, small and squat in his hands. There was Grimaldi, or Nikola, or whatever that thing was. And there was Jon, kneeling, eyes piercing him in a way he had never experienced before. A moment of true lucidity amongst the madness of the Unknowing.

Tim had pressed the button, resigning this to be his final image, his final memory. The things in the world he hated most, all splayed out in front of him, with the promise of all the things he loved waiting for him. A win-win, really. Go out with a bang, leave a mark on the Stranger, cause some errant destruction, and finally see Danny again. The Stranger would never forget the Stoker brothers, that would have been for sure.

But the combustion and the flames had swept over him like a hot wind. He felt the flames lick the sides of his face, felt smoke choke his lungs, felt impossibly hot ash and air swirl around him in a tango. The building had crumbled around him and Tim had been unable to move, forced to witness every last nanosecond of the chaos he had caused.

And he reveled in it. He had won; he had beaten the Stranger. To know he had avenged the deaths of Danny and Sasha was prize enough.

None of it made any sense. He shouldn’t have survived.

How had he survived?

-

5 Days After Great Yarmouth

“Tim.”

Basira was in Tim’s room, wheelchair parked in the corner and sitting in a visitor’s chair. Her body was tense and still, reminiscent of a panther in some documentary he had watched with Jon. Ready to strike? Or run?

“Basira.” Tim’s voice was careful. “Martin said you weren’t up for visitors today. Glad to see you’re okay.”

“Save it.” Basira’s hands were fisted in her robe, the white and yellow one matching Tim’s, declaring them both as patients under observation. Tim frowned, pulling his IV behind him to sit on his bed, wincing as he bent and adjusted himself. “Daisy’s gone, Jon is…whatever he is. I survived because I was smart.”

Her voice was low and sharp, accusing him of…something. Tim felt blood boiling under his skin, as he waffled somewhere between furious and confused. “Excuse me?” He said pointedly, voice measured, squeezing tight the paper cup of tea in his hand.

“Tim, how are you not dead?” Basira gestured with her hand. “Your burns were all superficial. You broke your arm in the collapse, but you managed to survive the fire.” She shook her head and smoothed the fabric that lay there with her hand. “You and I both know you shouldn’t be alive right now.”

Tim took a steadying breath, though it did little to conceal his frustration. “So what, you think I’m fucking magical or something?” He could feel the heat and pitch rise in his voice. “You think I’m like...like those freaks we read about in the statements? Like-like Jon or Elias or like fucking Nikola?”

Basira opened her mouth to speak but Tim cut her off. “You know why I was there, Basira. For Danny. For Sasha. You bloody well know none of this was supposed to happen.” He gestured in the general direction of where Jon lay, dead to the world. “The audacity to assume I-”

“Tim!” Basira cut in, interrupting his increasingly desperate tone. “Look!” She pointed down. Following her gaze, Tim saw the paper cup he was holding. The cup of tea was steaming. No, it was boiling. He could hear the roil of the water, see the bubbles blossoming on the surface. On instinct, he yelped, tossing the cup of bitter black tea across the room, hitting the sink on the far side of the wall squarely. He winced as the liquid splashed across the mirror, the cup rolling to a stop in the basin.

“What the fuck?” He wiped his hands on his robe. “How the hell did that happen?”

“Did it burn you?” Basira asked, eyes passing over him studiously.

“Ah…” Tim turned his right hand over, checking for any splash marks or blisters on his palm. “No.”

“Are you sure?” Basira asked, raising her eyebrow. At Tim’s irritated roll of his eyes, she folded her fingers together.

“You know that’s not normal, right?” It wasn’t a question.

Tim nodded, voice stolen from him as he processed her words. “Are you trying to say I’m fireproof or something?”

Basira shrugged. “I dunno. Sounds weird enough to be right. I’d say ask Jon about it, but obviously…that’s not happening quite yet.”

“This is so fucked,” Tim mumbled, scrubbing a hand down his face in exhaustion. “I hate this job.”

--

Tim was walking in a black room. Kind of. It wasn’t black, really, nor a room—just the concept of space, devoid of color or light.

Tim was somewhere and it was dark.

He picked a direction and walked. The space he was in was hot, a dry stale heat pressing in on him from all sides. It was like that prickling heat from being too close to a campfire, where the heat should singe your leg hairs. It should have been painful. He should have been sweating. But he felt…good. Great, even. He felt alive and awake and ready.

He walked for what felt like hours in this dreamscape, not knowing where he was going. He had realized he was dreaming around the point where he noticed he was more floating than walking, being guided like a character in a low-res video game. There was something in the back of his mind nudging him forward, coaxing him along some predetermined route.

Suddenly, he stopped. There was something in front of him, maybe four meters away. He couldn’t see it, but he could sense it. This spot in space was the source of all the heat in this room, the warmth surrounding him that was more accosting than comforting. The feeling surrounding him was all-consuming and it made him feel…all sorts of things. Righteousness, anger, betrayal, pain. They were all the emotions he had been feeling at Great Yarmouth, built up upon each other, each idolized in their own way. They were the feelings he had chosen to worship when Jon had stopped being his friend and started being his enemy, when Sasha had been discovered to have never been, when he had looked Nikola in its eyeless face and pressed the detonator. It all felt good to feel.

All of a sudden Tim was struck with a sudden knowledge. If he accepted this heat, this painful destruction, he would never need to worry about being hurt again. He could protect himself, the loved ones he had left (if he still had any), and burn the hearts out of anyone who dared hurt him or his ilk. No one would ever leave him again except on his terms. He understood what the Lightless Flame meant, what it promised, what it could give him in return. He would be able to live on the destruction of those he deemed unworthy of the love of the pyre, those who had so much to lose. Like he had had, once. Like Danny had had. Like Sasha. They had had the world before them, and it was stripped away. The Stranger had the potential to take over the world and he had destroyed every last bit of success it had. And it felt good. He could chase that feeling again and again and again with a family that knew what it was like to love and lose and destroy.

All he had to do was take it in.

-

7 Days After Great Yarmouth

Tim woke up gasping for air. He could feel an icy hand on the back of his neck, colder than anything he knew, dragging him back into reality. He opened his eyes, wincing at the harsh light of his hospital room and yes, he was in his hospital room, not a great expanse of nothing nothing nothing, searching for answers. He reached a hand to the back of his head and felt a frozen rag, dripping icy water down the back of his neck, down his spine.

A nurse was at his bedside, a thin woman with dark blonde hair, checking his vitals with a delicate hand. “Welcome back, Mr. Stoker. You gave us a scare, there.”

“Wha-”

“Your monitor was beeping like mad last night. Said you had a fever of 42, but the machine was probably broken. Thermometer put you more at 40, but still, concerningly high. Gave you some fever reducers and a cool rag, kept an eye on you. Are you feeling any better?”

Tim rolled his neck, hearing his joints crack as he did so. “Uh-” He took stock of his faculties. He felt great, actually. No pain, no stiffness, just a tingling warmth spread throughout his body. Something about that felt...right. But he wasn’t sure why. “Yeah, fine.” He pulled the rag out from under his neck and noticed, for the first time, he was naked.

“Sorry,” she smiled apologetically at the flush that spread across his face and neck. “First rule of fevers: tight clothing comes off. It seemed to have done its job though. You were out for a whole day. According to our thermometers, your temperature’s gone back to normal, but we’d like to keep an eye on you a bit longer, especially with your injuries. They don't seem to be infected, so the fever might have been a latent trauma response to the explosion.” The woman shrugged, her smile light. “Our bodies do crazy things to keep us safe. Even when it hurts.”

“A-apparently so,” Tim nodded softly, squeezing his hands into fists, feeling the nails dig into his palms. At least this wasn’t a dream. He rested his head against the pillows propped behind him and sighed heavily.

The nurse left eventually, when there were no more monitors to check and Tim had promised eight ways to Sunday to press his call button if he needed anything. He settled back into his pillow, listening to the steady beep of his heart amplified on the monitor. The TV droned low in the background, newscasters revisiting today’s tragedies. Had they been on the news when it happened? Tim huffed and shook his head. Not if Elias had a say in it. Probably chalked it up to a gas main.

He grabbed the remote strapped to his bed, and flipped through the channels aimlessly, looking for something interesting…or at least to lull him back to sleep. Kids programming, soap operas, more news, interior design—wait. Tim flipped back to the news channel. Demolition of an old primary school. The reporter spoke to a heated young woman, round cheeks framed by wild curls, who spoke to the camera about the memories and traditions the school represented, how unfair it was to lose such an important monument to the history of her town.

“A shame, isn’t it?”

Tim started at the voice, whipping his head to the door, gripping the remote tight in his hand. The woman standing in the doorway of his room was short and wide, hair cropped close. She wore a grey tank top and black shorts, revealing tattoos of flames licking up the backs and sides of her calves. Something about her face was odd. A little too smooth? The grin on her face seemed wider than normal smiles were meant to be, drooping a little too low.

“Pardon?” Tim managed, grip on the call button tight, even if there was…something keeping him from pressing it.

“About the school.” She pointed to the television as she crossed the threshold, crossing her legs as she sat in the cushy visitor’s chair next to his bed. “So many childhood memories, so many job opportunities, so many opportunities for self-improvement-” She spat the word with malice. “Truly some of my favorite forms of destruction.”

Tim stared at her dumbly. “Do…am I supposed to know who you are?” Her returned chuckle burned him from the inside.

“Oh,” she crooned, more to herself than to Tim. “For keepers of the Eye, you are all so stupid. I am Jude Perry and I serve the Lightless Flame. And, if I’m right, you do too.”

[cheri-translates]

Supper (a translated one-shot)

This work, 宵夜, was originally written by 君兮耶君兮 on Weibo, and she has given me permission to translate it 🌸

“If you want to sleep, then sleep. Why are you tossing and turning?” Victor shuts the book in his hands, lifting his arm and removing his spectacles. He tosses a resigned glance at you while you’re wrapped up in a blanket, resembling a silkworm.

“Victor, I’m so hungry. So hungry that I can’t fall asleep.” 

Seeing that he’s no longer reading, you immediately squirm closer, burrowing next to him.

A certain someone digs you out from underneath the covers, then smoothens the blanket. “If you fall sleep, you won’t be hungry.”

??

Is this what Victor, the person who rears you, should be saying?

“Didn’t you know that little kids have to eat supper? Otherwise, they’d get hungry dreams!”

[Note] In Chinese, this is a pun! “Hungry dreams” (饿梦）and “nightmares” (恶梦) share the same pronunciation, “e meng”!

Having gotten used to the illogical antics you employ in order to reach your goals, Victor pretends he didn’t hear what you just said.

You release a “hmph” as a display of your dissatisfaction. Straightening up, you reach over him to grab the phone that he’s kept at the bedside table. “Don’t assume that there aren’t men who are willing to bring me good food at night. As long as I want it, I have a fleet to choose from!”

Victor narrows his eyes dangerously, staring at you like a mighty lion glaring at its struggling prey. “Hm?”

His frightening gaze leaves you trembling. Panicking, you grip your phone and hide underneath the blanket. “If the delivery fee wasn’t so expensive, I’d have placed orders with a few deliverymen.”

Barely accepting your attempt to salvage the situation, he chuckles softly. “What were you planning to order?”

Does this mean he’s agreeing to let you have supper? Excitedly scrolling through the list of restaurants you’ve saved in your collection, you raise your phone up to his face. “Barbecue! Victor, do you want it too?”

He doesn’t even spare it a glance, answering lightly. “I recall someone mentioning that something would appear on her face if she ate barbecue too often?”

“A... a smile?”

“...”

Refusing to let him off, you lay yourself onto him. “I’m really very hungry. Your darling is going to deflate from hunger, and needs to be fed with love~”

Perhaps persuaded, or perhaps due to his favouritism towards you, Victor suddenly tousles your hair, then puts on his night coat at the side. “What do you want to eat?”

Truly, Victor loves you the most.

“If it’s made by you, anything’s fine with me~” You grin as you fall back onto the bed. Based on the cooking skills of Souvenir’s manager, everything he makes never fails to suit your palate. So you decide to leave the choice to him, and at the time leave yourself a pleasant surprise.

He nods, turning to walk into the kitchen. You hurriedly don a matching nightgown, slip on your furry slippers, and eagerly follow behind him. 

-

As though the two of you are opposite sides of a magnet, you press yourself onto Victor’s back. “What are you preparing tonight?”

“A waffle.” The flat-bottomed electronic baking pan is sufficiently warmed up, and he pours the stirred paste into the square-shaped mould.

“Want to add...”

“We’re not adding ice-cream.”

“...”

As expected of Victor. The moment you open your mouth, he already knows what you’re going to say, and would mercilessly shatter your ideas. Pouting, you wrap your arms around his neck, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Okay then.”

The waffle doesn’t take too long to be done. Very quickly, it’s laid on a plate and brought over to the table. After blowing it cool, you take an enthusiastic bite out of it, sweetness spreading from the tip of your tongue. Satisfied, your eyes crinkle into a smile.

Victor brings over a cup of warm milk and places it in front of you. “Someone doesn’t have a large appetite. But when there’s food she likes, she always leaves me amazed.”

Having been fed, you’re feeling magnanimous and decide not to fuss over it. You even give him a compliment. “Someone is accomplished and good in everything, unlike me. As long as it’s something Victor makes, I’ll eat it, whether it’s fried or boiled!”

He’s evidently pleased with this. While his eyebrows are arched with tenderness, his mouth remains merciless. “I don’t consider a compliment from a little pig who eats everything worthy to be happy about.”

Tch, he’s so dishonest.

“Victor!”

“Mm.”

“Report - Just as always, I love you incredibly much today~”

“I know, dummy.”

-

More translated and original works: here

–

[ Permission to translate ]

君兮耶君兮: You can - just note the source of the author

[stephthenewgirl]

AGTAW — I: Twila Gilbert

���Twila, did you take my dark blue leather jacket?!” Elena Gilbert strides into her sister's bedroom without a simple thing as a kick. She halts upon laying her doe brown eyes on her sister; her mouth parted and her thin brows furrowing. There her sister stood in only a bra and panties but that's not what shocked her, it was the fact that Twila was in her underwear with a boy in her room. He sat at the edge of her queen-sized bed that was covered in gray and black sheets and heavy blankets. His elbows pressing down on his lap and his back hunched over. His deep brown eyes moved to the elder Gilbert twin.

The later twin — Twila — with celerity wheeled her body around, her large hazel brown eyes aimed at her sister sharply. Her body hiding the boy behind her midway. And the somewhat naked girl's medium brown hair that fell into a sepia reddish-brown moved sweetly and nimbly stroke her neck. A rainbow stripe shirt held between her fingers — a shirt she was about to put on before Elena intruded her bedroom.

Twila briskly put the rainbow shirt on, after she tugged the shirt down, stretching out slight folds on the fabric and she stomped her way towards the elder Gilbert. Elena's doe eyes stayed fixed on the boy that sits peacefully on her little sister's bed. She disliked this — and she disliked it even more that the boy who looked so peaceful and unbothered had no shirt on.

Why doesn't he have a shirt on? Elena query herself.

“Don't you know how to kick?” Twila asked heatedly. Elena's eyes fluttered to the younger twin.

“I-I. . .” The words just wouldn't come out. Her eyes wandered to the boy on her sister's bed. Elena wanted to say ''no boys allowed in the bedroom'', she wanted to ask why Twila had no clothing on and why was he shirtless, what was happening. Elena gasped as the boy known as Clarkson sent a wink to her then frowned.

Twila pushed Elena out of her room, slamming the door in her face.

“No boys in the room, Twila!” Elena finally found her voice.

“You're not my fucking mother, Elena!!” Twila waits to hear the footsteps of her sister walking away. It did not take long. Today, Elena had no energy to lecture her. Twila was grateful. She twirled back around, walking towards the end of her bed.

“Will, that was a show.” Clarkson Forsyth spoke, a lopsided smirk on his soft pink lips. Twila mocked smiled at the boy, picked up his black tee off her bed then threw it at him, hitting his face.

“Yeah, you would think that.” Their giggles bounded off the four walls. “Hurry up. Martin and Vera are picking us up in sixteen.” Twila told the boy as she made her way into her closet and yanked a pair of pants off the hanger.

“So should I hop out the window and wait for you outside?” Clarkson said, standing from the bed, the black shirt in his hold as he goes. He flipped the shirt over and slid his arms in the sleeves then pulled the shirt over his head and pulled it down over his body. Twila stepped out of the closet wearing dark blue loose jeans and held two pairs of black sneakers in her hand. She walked towards her bed, displaying a frown on her face.

“What? No.” Twila sits down at the end of her bed and pulls out the socks she tucked into her sneakers. “I'm fucking hungry, and I know you are too.” Twila slipped the sneakers on her feet and tied them up.

“I just don't want to start—” Clarkson started, taking small steps towards the Gilbert girl.

“Clark, you've been my best friend since kindergarten. My family knows you and Aunt Jenna is cool, and she likes you. You're not going to start anything. . .” Once she finished tying her shoelaces, Twila looked over to the obsidian hair strong-jawed boy. “. . . Okay.”

Clarkson chortle. “Yeah, okay.”

Twila nods slightly with a smile. “Okay.” She pushed herself off the bed. “Don't mind Elena, she's just being a prude. Elena's been all big-sister ever since mom and dad passed. The girl is only four minutes older than me but that is a mile for her.”

Clarkson cracks a tiny smile. “How are you feeling, anyway?”

Twila was quiet for a second, thinking of what to say. She looked up at her best friend and greeted him with a sad smile.

“Getting better. Can't do anything but get better. The world goes on.” Twila gives him a longer smile that forcefully reaches her cheeks. Clarkson pulls her into a hug. It took a while for Twila to react back, but she did; wrapping her arms around him tightly.

“Thanks — for being here for me. I didn't know what I would have done without you last night.”

It was late at night when the boy called, gasping with sobs and in need of his best friend. Twila immediately told him to come over. She sat up on her bed and rubbed her sleep away, awaiting his arrival. Finally arriving at the Gilbert home, Twila hugged him and listened to his recent problems with his father as he cried on her shoulder. Twila did not mind — Clarkson was there for her when her parents passed; even invited her to crash in his room when she did not feel like being at Caroline's. After his tears dried out, they watched Buffy together on her baby-blue-covered laptop — forgetting about the sadness as they laughed away.

“Of course, Clark. I will always be here for you.” Twila pulled from the hug, her hands clasping his biceps tenderly then she gave him a fast smile. “Now get off of me,” She pushed him jocosely. “C'mon, I'm starved.” Clarkson chortled with a head shake; the two grab their belongings and head downstairs.

Twila and Clarkson dumped their belongings on the sofa before passing the threshold into the kitchen. The gold sunlight streamed through the square window; the silhouette of the window slept on the kitchen Island and kissed Jeremy's naked arm.

“Good morning, Gilbert family!!.” Twila smiled wide at her family that was diffuse around the kitchen area.

“Morning, Twila,” Aunt Jenna says softly, tipping her head back from the refrigerator door, welcoming Twila back with a duplicate smile. Her eyesight moved to the boy beside her niece. “Oh, hey Clark. I didn't know you were here.”

“Yeah, I hope you don't mind. Just needed my best friend last night.”

“Oh, nonsense,” Jenna waves him off. “You are welcome anytime. Would you like some toast?”

Twila's eyes instantly widened, jerking her head from side to side, “Oh, no. I'm making waffles. Don't need you having us eating rocks, Aunt Jenna.”

“Not rocks, Twila. Just burnt toast.” The kitchen erupted with laughter for everyone's lips — even Jeremy's. The boy who had been in the dump all summer, spending his time with Vicki Donovan and drug heads. Both Gilbert twins were happy to hear him laugh again; they haven't heard it in a while. Elena shook her head in the corner with a smile and a mug in her hands. After, she pulled it closer to her lips, taking a sip. “Who needs lunch money?”

“Here!” Both Twila and Jeremy raised their hands, shouting.

“Elena?” Jenna walked to her bag that sits on the chair at the dinner table.

“No thanks, Aunt Jenna.”

“Okay.” The strawberry blond rummaged through her bag, pulling out three twenty-dollar bills. “Here you go.” Jenna handed Jeremy and Clarkson each a twenty.

“Oh no Jenna, you don't have to,” Clarkson says, declining the money.

“I know, I want to. So take the money.”

“Take the money!” Twila yelled, not sparing a glance over her shoulders. Her eyes were fixed on the waffles, she didn't want them to burn like Aunt Jenna does every time she cooks something.

“Yeah, or I'll take it.” Jeremy playfully stood up acting as if he was honestly going to, Aunt Jenna pushed him back on his seat.

“Sit down.” She told the boy. “Take it.” She utters to Clarkson, pushing it at his crest.

“Okay, okay. . . Thanks, Jenna.”

“No problem. Twila, yours is on the table.”

“Thanks, Jenna.”

“Don't you have a big presentation today?” Elena reminds the young caretaker.

“I'm meeting with my thesis advisor at. . .” Jenna glanced down at her watch and freaked, “Now. Crap!”

“Then go. We'll be fine.” Jenna nodded at Elena, she quickly put her hair up in a ponytail with a rubber band then grabbed her bag, and dashed out the side door.

Twila plopped the last waffle on top of the rest. Elena walked towards her sister, standing beside her.

“Why was Clarkson in your room?” Elena inquired.

The sepia brunette twisted her neck to her twin. “Because he came over last night.”

“Why?”

“Because he needed a friend, Elena. You know, like how Bonnie comes over when she needs you.”

“Bonnie's not a boy.”

Twila's brows narrowed down and her eyelids batted. She can't believe what Elena was saying to her right now. She angles her body, facing her sister.

“Elena, you know Clark for as long I've been friends with him.”

“Doesn't mean he's not a boy.”

Twila turned away from Elena; grabbing the pleat of waffles, she was done with this exchange. Before she walked off she targeted her big brown hazel eyes at her sister once more.

“I don't know when you've become such a wet blanket but stop with the mothering act. I can have whoever I want in my room.”Twila let Elena know, leaving her there speechless.

Twila was wordless while she ate her waffles, Jeremy and Clarkson on the other hand talked as if they were in a club meeting. The conversation with Elena left a sour taste in her mouth, she still enjoyed her waffles of course, but she was upset. Her big brown hazel eyes glared at her twin as she asked Jeremy a simple question: if he was okay. She snickers at Jeremy's response and rolled her eyes when Elena glanced at her with a confused pouty face.

Elena folds her arms and walks off from the three teens, not soon later Twila's phone buzzes. A text from Vera telling Twila she and Martin were outside. A small smile pulls at her perfect lips as she stares at the screen. Twila slides the phone back into her pocket and sights her eyes on her brother and best friend.

“Vera and Martin's outside.” Clarkson got the hint. He hopped off the stool, grabbing his pleat and then Twila's. She gave him a soft thank you. “Need a ride, Jer?”

“Sure.” Jeremy got off the stool taking his dish, going towards the sink. Clark and Jeremy end up in a —you go first, I go first— situation. Jeremy stepped aside letting Clarkson pass. Clark smiled up at him shyly. Twila looked at him with a knowing smile, and he ignored her smug look while he walked to the living room area grabbing his book bag on the sofa.

Twila walked up behind Clarkson, playfully bumping into him. “Oh, I'm sorry. You first. No, you go first. I go left, you go right? Oh, um. . . okay.” Twila laughed at her dramatic imitation of Jeremy and Clarkson's exchange in the kitchen.

“Ssh, shut up. He could hear you.” He whispered to the girl over his shoulder.

Twila rolls her eyes, “Oh, please.” She grins and moves from behind him, going to grab her book bag also. Clarkson shook his head, letting out a stressful sigh. Hoping Jeremy didn't hear his sister mocking.

“Come on, Jer!”

“Coming!” He placed the wet dish on the dish rack and rushed his way out of the kitchen grabbing his book bag on the chair head. “Hey Vera, Martin.” Jeremy greets his sister's two best friends. Vera is a square face, soft beige skin brunette with deep-set dark brown eyes. Her brows were black-filled and straight. Her hair was black and short in a pixie rat tail cut, her bangs were cut right above her eyebrows, and two long strips of black hair fell just under her chin on each side of her face.

“Hey, Jeremy.” Vera greeted back.

Martin was an almond skin boy with long brown hair and a handsome diamond-shaped face. His eyes are hooded, small, and brown. Martin is Vera's half-brother and was Twila's boyfriend of two years, now ex-boyfriend but still great friends.

“S'up, Jeremy. How's it been?” Martin made conversation.

“Okay. How about you?”

“Fan-fuckin-tastic. I got this new skateboard from my dad. It—”

“Please, stop talking about the skateboard. No one cares, Martin.” Vera twists her head briskly at her brother before aiming her sights back at the road.

“You're just mad I'm better than you.” Martin retorted.

“Ha! Better than me? Jokes. . . That was a funny joke.”

“You—”

“Please, can you turn on the radio? Don't need to hear your brother-sister bickering.” Jeremy and Clarkson chuckle at Twila's insult. Vera rolled her eyes yet she did what was told and made a turn; passing The Mystic Grill. The song WANNABE by Spice Girls blasted throughout the dark blue color car.

Vera, Clarkson, and Twila belled along with the song. Martin and Jeremy had no choice but to tolerate the ordeal of their boisterous singing.

“So, here's a story from A to Z. You wanna get with me, you gotta listen carefully. We got Em in the place who likes it in your face.” Twila bells.

“You got G like MC who likes it on a. Easy V doesn't come for free, she's a real lady. And as for me?” Vera follows.

“HA, YOU'LL SEE.” The three teens yell from the top of their lungs like a banshee's cry.

“C'mon guys.” An annoyed Jeremy wailed.

Martin's eyes traveled from the backseat to his sister. “Yeah, guys cut it off.”

“Slam your body down and wind it all around! Slam your body down and zig-a-zig ah!” They laughed at how irked the two boys were.

Twila pushed herself off her seat, her lips went to Martin's ear. “If you wanna be my lover!” Twila ear-splittingly sings.

Martin slapped his hand against his ear, “Twila, what the fuck!”

“You gotta get with my friend!” Vera sings.

“Friendships last forever!” Clarkson followed along.

“Friendship never eennnnds!” The three belled.

“That's not how it goes.”

“I don't give a shit, Martin. Now, get out of my car. We're here.” The long-haired boy rolled his eyes and pushed the car door open; he stepped out. The four other kids in the car followed shortly after.

“So — the boy had to sleep with her friends to be considered her lover?” Jeremy queried his eldest sister.

“That's not the message of the song, Jer.”

“Well, that's what it said.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Hey, Jeremy.” Vicki Donovan smiled making her way to Jeremy.

Jeremy copies and greets her back. “Hey, V.”

“Twila.” She uttered, moving her eyes to Twila.

“Victoria.” Twila gave a faint smile. Vicki and Twila were once good friends. They got especially close when Elena and Matt started dating but had a fallout this summer when she started to use her baby brother for his prescription pills and sleeping with him to avoid her own screwed-up life.

“Okay, let's go bitc—” Vera stops when her eyes set on Vicki Donovan. “Speaking of bitch.” Her hip cocked out, her fingers tucked into the back of her blue denim jeans pockets.

Vicki's mouth agape and her brows knitted. Her lips hastily retrieve with a curl and a scoff. Vera took hold of Twila's wrist, pulling the girl away from Vicki.

“See ya, Jeremy.” She said as the group of friends part ways from the young boy and ex-friend. “I still can't believe you allow him to be around her.”

“There are certain things I can tell Jeremy to do and certain things I could. He's hard-headed like that.” Twila explained with a shrug.

Lunch came fast for Twila. She had six-period lunch and had Mr. Tanner after. She was tired and glad the school day was almost over. Then she remembered she had to help Caroline with picking out some fresh faces for the new year try-outs after school. Great. She sighed.

“You look exhausted,” Vera slid, sitting down on the curved seat. She set her tray on the round cafeteria table. Today's lunch is a ham sandwich, chicken nuggets, apple, and a side of salads with a dressing of your choice and beverage. The food at Mystic Falls High wasn't so bad.

“I am.” Twila pushes her hair back, fingers gripping her hair softly. “I just wanted to go home after school and have a nice bubble bath, but I have try-out picking to do after school.” She wailed and pouted. Twila felt like sobbing, she truly needed and wanted that bubble bath.

“Aww, don't be so down, Twila. I'm sure you'll be fine.” Vera grabs a hold of her sandwich, taking a big bite.

“Let me detail it for you.” Twila leans forward, her hair falling as she moves her fingers and locks her big eyes with Vera's deep-set ones. “I'm try-out picking after school — with Caroline.”

“Ohh. . .” Vera sees the problem now.

Twila smiled tightly and her eyes squinted a bit and a little hum leaving her lips. Her smile says: now you get it. “It's going to be hell.”

“Aww, Twila. I'll be there for you.” Vera's mouth was occupied by food, she kept her teeth locked while her lips moved. The words came out muffled. Twila smiled anyway.

“You will?” Twila's lower lip pushes out.

Vera nods and speaks after swallowing. “If you need me, of course.”

“Aww, thanks,” The short-haired brunette joined her palm on top of Vera's hand. “But I can't do that to you.” She removed her hand, stealing Vera's apple. “I'll go through the belly of the beast on my own.” She takes a bit of the apple. Vera laughed.

“The belly of what beast?” Clarkson arrives, taking a spot next to Vera; Martin follows beside him.

Vera's eyes travel to the raven-haired boy. “Caroline.” She informed him.

“What about Caroline?” Martin questioned.

“I've got some fresh cheerleaders to pick out with Caroline after school.”

“Oh.” Clarkson and Martin mumble. Twila nods at the boys, chewing through the green apple.

Martin swallows down his food with water before speaking. “Aren't you co-captain? Can't you just do it another time?”

“No.” She placed the apple down on the table. “I'll just get it over with.”

“Clarkson, where were you last night?!” Barbie Forsyth asked, approaching the small group. Clarkson eyed up his sister. She stood with her hands at her hips.

“At Twila's.” He answered honestly. Barbie's eyes went to Twila; they had a squint to them.

“Of course.” She scoffed, shifting her eyes back at her brother.

The bottled blonde — Barbie Forsyth — never had a good relationship with Twila Josephine Gilbert. Ever since Twila ruined Barbie's gingerbread house in elementary school; just because she wanted a piece. And the other time they were partnered up in a history project. Barbie had done all the work and Twila just plastered her name on the paper. But those weren't the reasons why Barbie didn't like the big-eyed Gilbert all that well. For as long as she could remember, Clarkson and Twila were inseparable. She always felt like Twila was more of Clarkson's sister than she ever was.

“Why were you at her house?”

“I, uh. . . I needed someone to talk to.”

Barbie's head jerked forward. Unbelievable, she thought. “You could have talked to me.” Her light green eyes stayed on her brother; it made Clarkson feel guilty the way they were intensely piercing at him. Her eyelids blinked and she rolled her eyes. “Whatever. I wanted to speak to you last night.”

“Okay. . . What?”

Barbie glanced at Twila, who like everyone else at the table was focused on them. Barbie looked back at her brother. “Not here in front of her.” She yanked the boy, pulling him off his seat and away from the group.

Vera chortle, aiming her sight on Twila. “I'm guessing she still hates you for not doing the history project in middle school.”

“Ha, guessing?” Martin uttered. “It's a known fact she does.”

Twila laughed along with her friends, brushing down the fact that deep down she felt awful that her best friend's sister hated her for something she did in middle school. Not knowing that Barbie didn't dislike her because of some petty school project issue, the bottled blonde felt like Twila took her brother from her.

“Once our home state of Virginia joined the confederacy in 1861, it created a tremendous amount of tension within the state. People in Virginia's northwest region had different ideals than those from the traditional deep south. Then Virginia divided in 1863 with the northwest region joining the union.”

In the back corner of the room, Twila sat near the large windows. Mr. Tanner's voice was inaudible to her ears as she doodled in her history book. Through the windows, the evening sun rays hit the desk of students and the classroom floor. One golden glint shimmers comfortably on Twila's hair. A rainbow hues sat at her open history book, making Twila stop her hand movement. She admired the reflection of the colorful lights. Rainbows are one of Twila's favorable things about nature. Rainbows and heavy rain on a lazy afternoon, but she always hated the after smell. It always smelled of wet soil and moist greens.

Her large eyes wandered to the windows, it landed on the tree just outside Ms. Tanner's classroom. A crow sitting perfectly inanimate, as if it was a statue.

It was larger than most. Its feathers pitch as black but the little sunlight that hits its feathers shine a rainbow on it. It was sleek and had greedy dark claws and a sharp beak. Its black eyes glittered, and they were fixed on Elena; the brunette that sits two rolls down from Twila.

Twila watched the crow leer at her twin with this inclination in its eyes. Like how boys' eyes linger on a girl wearing tight clothes; those tops that pop out their cleavage or dresses that outline their bodies.

It was creepy, to say the least.

Then its dark eyes blink at Twila. The girl flinched back a bit, her eyes got broader, but they stayed on the bird. It was like the bird was challenging her; playing with her. A game of who would look away first.

The school bell boom, Twila flinched once more. Her eyes flutter to the front of the classroom seeing everyone packing up.

She lost.

Twila stood up, grabbing her book bag along, and followed her way out the room behind the crowd of teenagers. The short brunette sauntered her way through the crowded hall; she made a right, passing four classroom doors before reaching the staircase. She walked four flights of stairs down, landing on the first floor she went to her locker, putting and taking some of her things then — to Caroline she went.

Twila walked through the football field towards the concern the school gave the cheerleaders to practice. Her eyes gazed at the wannabe cheerleaders of all ages and sizes perfecting their moves. It brought a smile to her face.

Until Caroline spoke.

“Ugh, there you are.” The blonde's voice reached Gilbert's. Twila rolled her eyes. Always Caroline, the extra control Queen.

“Hello to you too, Care.” Twila drops her bag on the green cut grass. “Let's get this over with, shall we?” Some in the flock of wannabe cheerleaders chortle.

Caroline narrows her light bluish-green eyes before throwing Twila a mocked cheesy grin. The blonde pulled the sheet of paper to her eyesight. “Okay, first off you are going to be asked some questions — okay.” The group nods. “Okay, any of you guys have experience with cheerleading? Like gymnastics, dance, or have ever cheered before? If you have, raise your hand.” Caroline nods and marks it down. Caroline glanced to her side, “You want to say something, or are just going to stand there. Co-captain.”

Twila steps forward with a smirk. “All who have experienced step forward, those who don't. Please take a seat at the bleachers.” They followed their orders and Twila continued. “Now I want you all to show me what you've got. Jump, tumble, split, dance? Whatever you've got.”

The fourteen that step forward show Caroline and Twila what they could bring to the team. Both girls watched with sharp eyes. Twila had nicely commented on one girl who intended to do a cartwheel backflip after Caroline rudely told her she shouldn't try it again.

Twila told her she should. She did and succeeded. It was much better the second time around.

Throughout the try-out, Caroline rolled her eyes, scoffed, and scored the wannabe cheerleaders. Twila on the other hand praised and nicely Judged their performance. But she had snickered here and there with the blonde.

“Okay, we are done.” Twila was glad. “Those who made the team will be getting an email in two days and those who didn't,” Caroline sucked air through her teeth. “Too bad.” She shines her big smile, “Okay, bye.”

It was late afternoon and the sun cast a golden shadow upon the sky and Twila didn't care that it was four something when she got home, she was just happy she got her bubble bath. Her arms rest on the top edge of the tub and her hair held up by a black hair claw. She relaxed peacefully in the warm water and the smell of cinnamon, she bathed in the quietness. That was until Elena ruined it.

“Elena!” Twila shouts at her sister that breaks into the bathroom.

“Sorry,” Elena says. “Bleeding.” She put her foot on top of the toilet cover and rolled the bottom of her jeans up.

Twila looked down seeing the dry blood, “What happened?”

“I fell in the cemetery when I was running from a crow.

“Running from a crow?” It's brought a chill down Twila back. Her mind wondered if it could be the same crow watching her from the tree outside Ms. Tanner's window. No, she's just being paranoid.

“Yes.” Elena rolled down the leg of her jeans after cleaning the scraps on her leg and putting on a bandage.

“What were you doing at the cemetery?”

Elena put her foot down on the bathroom ground, sighed, and sat down on the bath cover. “I went to see mom and dad.”

Twila rolled her pretty eyes. “But you didn't see them, did you? You went to see a stone with their names plastered on it.” Twila's fingers wave in the bubble, playing with them. It was stupid for Elena to go see a piece of rock with their parent's names on it. It wasn't gonna bring them back, She thought, nothing was gonna bring them back.

Elena sighs and brushes her hair back. “I'm going to the grill, you want to come?”

“No thanks,” Twila looks over her shoulder. “I had a long day, I'm just gonna relax at home.”

The elder's twin nods, “Okay.” Elena left the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. Twila fell back to the bath and relaxed once again.

A.N— Maine focus characters & Twila's outfit

[doc-pickles]

oh baby

hmmm definitely was not procrastinating when I found this in my drafts. I actually wrote this for another fandom so I tweaked it and BAM! More jolex content. I have no excuses, just this fic. Enjoy!

Saturday mornings were always slow in the Karev household. When Jo and Alex first moved into their cozy loft, Saturday’s were their mutual day off from their stressful lives at the hospital. Jo and Alex would sleep in, wake up and make waffles, and then the two of them would sit on the couch to eat and catch up. Even now that they had moved out of the loft and into an actual house, Saturdays were still for sleeping in and doing nothing all day.

For Alex, his Saturday routine now meant waking up before Jo to have a cup of coffee on the porch by himself. The quiet of their secluded Seattle suburb soothed any of his worries from the week and he felt like starting his weekend this way helped him to focus more on his wife and their time together.

It was a freezing Saturday in January when Alex woke up to find that he was alone in bed. He looked around for Jo, but didn’t see any sign of her in their bedroom. With a slight panic, Alex got out of bed and walked down the hallway of their home. Peeking into each room as he went, his heart began to beat unsteadily when he found no sign of his wife anywhere.

When Alex came out to the living room, he let out a relieved breath. Jo was fast asleep on the couch with the throw blanket wrapped around her and one of their kitchen pots on the floor next to her. Alex figured she was probably sick, so he quietly walked to the kitchen to brew some tea. He moved deftly as he grabbed the things he needed for tea and ingredients for waffles just in case she found an appetite.

“Alex.”

Alex turned his head to look towards the couch. Jo was still laying down with her eyes closed, but she had moved since he checked on her. He walked over to the couch and knelt down so he and Jo could see eye to eye.

“Hey babes, you feeling okay?”

“No, I woke up at 5 AM puking my guts out,” Jo opened her eyes and looked at Alex briefly before leaning over and vomiting into the pot next to her. “Can you walk away? Your body wash smells awful.”

Alex nodded and walked back to the kitchen. He was a little hurt that Jo didn’t want him around, in fact he was a bit confused because Jo had bought this body wash for him a few weeks earlier for Christmas. But he didn’t want to make her feel worse than she already did. He grabbed a tray and put the mug of green tea and a water bottle on it, along with saltine crackers.

“I made you tea, I’m going to go shower real quick and I’ll be back,” Alex put the tray on the coffee table and walked out of the room as fast as he could so Jo wouldn’t complain about his smell.

After Alex was done with his shower, having used Jo’s lavender scented wash instead of his own, he towelled off his hair and searched for his comb in the bathroom cabinet. He found it quickly and pulled it out, but not without knocking over everything in the cabinet. While he started to put everything back in, Alex grabbed a bright pink piece of plastic that had fallen on the floor. He looked at it with confusion until he saw what it said.

Pregnant.

Alex forgot about everything else that was still laying on the floor and walked out to the living room. He kneeled next to Jo again and tapped her shoulder lightly. Jo rubbed her eyes and then looked at Alex with a smile on her face.

“You smell nice, did you use my body wash?”

“Yeah,” Alex laughed as Jo sniffed his hair. “You have anything you wanna tell me Jo? Like why you think I smell awful?”

Jo furrowed her brows at Alex’s questioning, then gasped when he pulled out the pregnancy test he had found. She sat up and grabbed it from him, staring for a moment before turning back to him. Alex watched her carefully, waiting for the confusion on her face to morph into happiness or shock or even anger. But Jo’s face remained confused as she looked at her husband.

“This isn’t mine.”

+

Alex and Jo sat in their favorite booth at Ed’s Diner a week later, Scout Lincoln sitting between them happily slurping a chocolate milkshake with his parents sitting across from them. The day was just the same as any other, but there was a glint in both Karev’s eyes as they watched Amelia and Link

Alex and Jo both watched with piqued interest as Amelia ordered a full breakfast, hold the bacon and extra eggs. Her insatiable sweet tooth usually led to her ordering some sort of sugar filled pancake concoction, so her change of order didn’t go unnoticed by her friends.

“Hey Amelia, did you perhaps leave something at our house on New Year’s,” Jo grabbed her purse from beside her and pulled out a Ziploc bag, handing it to Amelia. “Maybe… this?”

Link looked down at the bag before his eyes widened comically. He dropped his fork and turned to Amelia who was staring at the plastic bag with a look of shock. Alex and Jo looked to each other, then back to their friends, both brimming with excitement.

“Amelia, is that yours,” Link whispered as he pointed to the pregnancy test between them, Amelia nodding slowly. Link pulled his wife into a hug, a short laugh falling from his lips as he did so. “Holy shit.”

“Language! There are children here,” Alex smirked, covering Scout’s ears playfully. “More than one apparently.”

But Link couldn’t hear Alex. He was wrapped up in Amelia, hugging her, kissing her, telling her how happy he was.

“Daddy, don’t you know girls have cooties?”

“I don’t think he cares buddy, that’s what got him here in the first place,” a hand quickly flew up to smack the back of Alex’s head. “Ow Jo!”

+

“What are you thinking about?”

Alex was already laying in bed when Jo came into their room, crawling under the covers and snuggling up next to him. Her favorite thing in the world were the moments they shared together every night before bed.

“Just about Amelia and Link,” Alex looked down at Jo and ran his fingers through her hair. “Do you ever think about that?”

“What? How weird it is that Atticus Lincoln procreated more than once?”

“No, I mean about having a baby,” Alex paused his fingers in Jo’s hair to look down at her, eyes searching her face for a reaction.

Jo raised her eyebrows at Alex, pulling his hand into hers. They had never talked about having children, mainly she thinks because their childhoods hadn’t been a walk in the park. They’d been through a lot, even before they’d tied the knot, and they’d never been in a ’perfect’ spot to have them. But both Alex and Jo knew that when they’d bought their house five months ago, it was an unspoken agreement that kids would be in their future sometime.

But if Jo were really honest with herself, she was scared. She hadn’t planned to get pregnant the first time she had been and she had never let her mind go to a place where bringing a child into the world intentionally was ever a good option. But things were different now, she had Alex a safe and stable home to bring a baby into. Despite her troubles with her own mother and her crappy childhood, Jo thought she might finally be ready to be a mom.

“Of course I do, there’s nothing I want more in the world than to have a baby with you,” Jo grinned at Alex and kissed his hand. “How long have you been waiting to ask me that?”

“Doesn’t matter, I was just waiting for you to be ready,” Alex wound his arm tighter around Jo and pressed his forehead against her. “After everything that happened with your mom, I knew that you had to recover before you even thought of having a baby.”

“What in the world did I do to deserve such an amazing husband,” Jo kissed Alex square on the lips and then smiled brightly at him. “I think that you and I are at the perfect spot in our lives to have a baby. What do you think?”

“I agree, but only if we can start right now,” Alex trailed kisses all over Jo’s face as she laughed at him, the two staying in the other’s embrace all night long.

[incorrectprodigalsonquotes]

Carved in the Cradle Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Dani bit back an amused smile at the sight of Malcolm Bright fidgeting like a shy preschooler talking in front of the class for the first time. She had a feeling that if Jessica ever showed Bright’s childhood photos, she would find that he had that exact same look since he was a kid. All fidgeting with the sleeves of his uniform and luminous eyes too big for his face.

“Something you wanted to say, Bright?” 

Normally Dani would cringe at the thought of using the almost singsong lilt her voice had taken on, but he was ridiculously easy to tease.

“U-um...” Malcolm cleared his throat. His face like it was on fire and he knew it wasn’t because of the tea he’d just had. “So my mother sort of--well, demanded that I show up at her gala in a couple of days.”

Dani raised an eyebrow, unsurprised. Jessica Whitly was a societal force to be reckoned with and it was little wonder that even her son, who dealt with killers on a daily basis, was unable to say no to her. 

“So I gathered.” 

Bright being jittery was normal. The constant fidgeting, the mundane rambling, the sheer awkwardness was wired into him from a young age if Gil’s stories of a young Bright were all true, but he seemed almost… nervous? 

It didn’t make sense to her. Sure, he normally said some weird things and he had an unfortunate habit of sticking his foot in his mouth, but it was benign for the most part. It should’ve alarmed her about how comfortable she was around him, but the warmth of the tea she had still lingered, making everything about the already odd night pleasantly hazy. 

“She also wanted me to bring a date.” Malcolm let out a wry chuckle, his hand rubbing the back of his neck almost sheepishly. “I mean I’m already bringing Isabella as a sort of fun-sized baby date given that Mother's so taken with her, but it’d be nice to have a friend there a-and--”

“Bright.” 

Dani’s voice slowed into a low drawl as she took a step closer, her face inscrutable save for the glimmer of laughter in her eyes. She had to admit, it was pretty cute to see him so flustered.

“Are you asking me to be your date?”

“W-well, I--” 

The instant he cleared his throat, she could see a change in his demeanour. The determined set of his jaw, the squared shoulders as he drew himself to his full height, the clarity in his eyes. It briefly reminded her of something that Edrisa had said about the change that came with Clark Kent taking off his glasses. 

“I just thought it would be nice to take you to a fancy party where you wouldn’t have to arrest somebody and just enjoy yourself.”

“So it has nothing to do with you wanting to see me in a dress again?”

A teasing grin spread across Dani’s face as she tipped her head to the side. The sight of it made Malcolm’s confidence practically fly out the window, leaving him rambling so fast that he almost bit his tongue a few times. 

“Of course, there’s no obligation for you to say yes.” He nervously ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. “It’s just that you’re the only person I could think of when Mother said to bring a date. I know it’s probably not your thing, but--”

“Okay.”

“W-wait, what?” If his eyes got any wider, he could pass for a Disney Princess, all round and uncertain and saccharine sweet.

“Okay,” Dani’s eyes sparkled, the corners of them crinkling as she beamed at him. “I’ll go with you.”

“Really?” Malcolm’s anxiety practically melted away as he let out a relieved chuckle. “You don’t have to.”

“I know.” Dani nodded, “But a girl needs a night off for dancing every now and then--”

She nearly took a step back as he beamed at her, nearly as bright as the sun itself, the livewire tension in his body just melting away and it wasn’t until she caught the scent of bergamot and old leather that she realized what was happening.

Was Bright… hugging her? 

“Okay,” His voice was muffled, his face buried into her shoulder, “that’s amazing!” 

Dani couldn’t help but burst out laughing as she absently patted his back, feeling more like she had an armful of excitable puppy rather than gangly profiler. 

"Well, what are friends for, right?"

“Seriously,” Malcolm pulled away just enough so he could look at her, his arms still around her, “I owe you big time!”

“Bright--”

“No, I mean it,” he insisted with a shake of his head, still grinning ear to ear as if she had just given him the secret to all of life’s mysteries. “Anything you want, I’m yours for the week.”

Dani knew he would probably say something like that. Malcolm Bright was the kind of man who would go to the moon and back for the people he cared about, but she was still trying to wrap her head around the fact that she had become one of those people.

She briefly considered having him buy her fancy tea blends every day for a year or getting tickets to a sold out performance at the New York Ballet, but he seemed so genuinely happy that she accepted that she could only think of one thing that seemed right.

“You can start with those waffles you promised in the morning.”

(~**~)                 (~**~)                  (~**~)                  (~**~)

The bed was comfortable. Too comfortable. 

Everything in the room was too tidy, too organized. The high end furniture gave Dani flashbacks of playing Tetris at the local arcade with her cousins, all neat blocks fitting together. The only things in the room that looked out of place were Dani’s clothes on a nearby loveseat and her duffle bag of extra clothes on the vanity. There was no real character to the room she was in, no personal touch. 

Bright was right. These rooms were just like hotel rooms. At least there were silk pillowcases so she didn’t have to worry about her hair. Dani tossed and turned before she took her phone off the nightstand next to her and checked the time.

4:42 AM.

She stared up at the ceiling, deep in thought with a slight frown. When she was a kid, she would jump out of bed in the middle of the night to see what was on TV so early in the morning, curled up on the couch with her blanket wrapped around her like a cape. But it wasn’t like she could do that now. 

This not being her home aside, Bright’s TV was way too big to subtly turn on and just watch with the captions. The high definition alone would be enough to wake both him and Isabella.

Then again…

Bright could be awake right now. Maybe he could use some company. She could just sneak downstairs and check in on--

Before she could make her decision, she faintly heard a high pitched squeal coming from downstairs. She absently let her hair down from her pineapple updo and made use of the fluffy white robe that was hanging in the closet before heading down. No one needed to see her in short shorts and a thin nightshirt.

What she saw made her stop at the foot of the stairs. 

She found Bright on the ground with his legs tucked under him, a wide awake Isabella lying on a fuzzy blanket with numerous toys strewn about around them.

Wait.

Was he wearing glasses?

Dark thick frames that were so close to slipping down Malcolm’s nose as he sat with Isabella with a bunch of toys and blankets around her. It was unexpectedly cute. Something about those glasses stirred up a bit of fascination for stripped down, barebones Bright in the early hours of the morning-- 

She mentally shook her head. It was probably just her groggy mind that was thinking that though. Bright wasn’t even her type anyways, no matter how mesmerizing his eyes were.

Malcolm tried lulling Isabella to sleep again, but the little girl just kept smacking plushies in his face and blowing raspberries, her face crinkled into a happy grin. Dani bit back a laugh when she saw how Malcolm couldn’t help but smile at the baby girl as he gently grasped a chubby fist. Bright made a front about being strict with Isabella about bedtime, but he really was just a big old marshmallow when it came to babies. 

“Come on, Izzy.” Dani heard Malcolm cajole the baby as the little one batted at his face. “You need to get some sleep or you’ll be cranky. And I don’t think either of us wants to see that.” 

Izzy. 

The nickname was enough to make Dani smile. She was too half asleep to consider that maybe forming a bond with the baby may not be the best idea. Isabella continued to gurgle as her tiny starlike hands patted Malcolm’s face, letting out a high pitch giggle when she managed to grab his nose. 

“Izzy,” he whined, inciting even more giggling from the little girl, “Could you let go of my nose please? I kind of need to breathe and contrary to what lolo Gil thinks, I’d like to keep breathing.”

His nasally voice did nothing to stop the laughter coming from the baby.

Malcolm was removing Isabella’s hand when he heard a tiny laugh from behind him. He turned to see Dani on the stairs, wrapped in a fluffy robe with her arms crossed, watching in amusement. 

“Sorry,” she murmured, giving him a sheepish smile. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.” 

“No, no,” Malcolm shook his head as he picked up Isabella, “Did we wake you?”

“Hardly. I just couldn’t sleep.”

Dani’s footsteps were steady as she padded her way towards them, making Isabella turn her wide eyes to her with a coo. It still amazed her how much the little girl’s eyes were just like Bright’s, all guileless and moonlike in that shade that wasn’t quite blue or green. 

A smirk took over Malcolm’s face, a playful spark in his eyes as he made room for her to sit.  

“I thought we agreed you should avoid picking up my bad habits.” 

“Pot calling the kettle black, Bright,” she shot back as she took Isabella from him, the little girl wrapped her tiny arms around the detective’s neck, letting out a tiny kitten-like yawn as she rested her head on Dani’s shoulder. 

“For real, have you slept at all?” 

Malcolm shrugged. 

“Bright...” 

Dani narrowed her eyes at him as he simply shrugged, shaking her head as she felt Isabella tangle her hands in her curls. Her face fell into a familiar expression, what JT had affectionately named her ‘why you always lying’ face during the first case they worked together. 

“Got about four hours before I woke up,” he said, giving her a wry grin in return before nodding towards Isabella. “Then little miss night owl got up a few minutes later and I haven’t been able to get her back to sleep.”

Dani couldn’t blame him. She’d heard horror stories of sleepless nights from her oldest sister, but she could already sense Isabella starting to relax in her arms, absently rubbing the little girl’s back. Isabella was already much easier to handle than Dani’s niece and nephew. 

“Well, we’ve already exhausted all your options. Let me try something.”

She didn’t think his eyes could get any bigger, but leave it to Bright to prove people wrong. 

“You don’t have to--”

“You need to rest.” Her tone brokered no room for discussion. “We need to be up at six. Try to sleep for another hour. Make it an even five hours,” she added with a smirk.

“Five isn’t an even number.” Malcolm chuckled as Dani shot him a playful glare, holding his hands up in surrender. “Alright, but if you need help--”

“I’ll wake you, now go to sleep.” She gazed at him with stern eyes, practically daring him to ignore her. “Please.” 

“Well, since you asked so nicely…”

Dani shooed him to bed with a roll of her eyes, her smile tender as she looked back down at Isabella.

Malcolm felt sore and exhausted, barely remembering to take off his glasses as his head hit his pillow. He could hear Dani softly speaking to Izzy as his eyes fell shut.

Wait.

That wasn’t it. She was singing.

“Moon river… Wider than a mile...” 

Dani crooned as she rocked the baby, who seemed to settle down the more she was sung to. Her voice was--

Malcolm already found her voice steadying for his nerves, honeyed contralto with the slightest hint of gravel to it, but her singing?

“I’m crossing you in style someday... Oh dream maker, you heart breaker...” 

He let out a content sigh, having no words for once. He didn’t realize he was smiling as he let Dani’s singing lull him to a gentle sleep. 

“Wherever you’re goin’, I’m goin’ your way...”

And for once, he felt nothing but peace.

(~**~)                 (~**~)                  (~**~)                  (~**~)

“Our prime suspect is Evan Huntington.” 

Malcolm went straight into never-miss-a-detail profiler mode as he fed Isabella her bottle. The baby was kicking one leg with glee as she drank her milk. 

“He had a previous relationship with our victim, who’s vastly different personality-wise from his usual flings and even his own wife. The fact that Arianna doesn’t look like any of them is another inconsistency in his behaviour.”

“So let me get this straight.” JT interrupted with a grimace that Edrisa liked to refer to as his ‘turtle face’. “This guy sleeps with the women at his office…” his nose scrunched up as he tried to process what he heard, “and then to get revenge, his wife sleeps with them too?”

“Yup.” Dani had an identical look on her face and for a second, Malcolm mistook them for siblings. “Gwendolyn even tried to get me and Bright to sleep with her when we interviewed her.”

Gil let out a laugh of disbelief as JT looked like he swallowed a crateful of lemons. 

“Tell me you’re kidding, Powell.”

“I really wish I was,” she snorted before shooting a sly look at Bright. “You should’ve seen Bright's face. You could pinpoint the exact moment his brain started imploding.” 

Malcolm just narrowed his eyes at Dani playfully as she teasingly narrowed her eyes back at him. 

“Does Evan even know about Isabella?” Gil questioned, frowning at the idea of such a bright little girl being raised by someone as flippant and dismissive as a Huntington. 

Malcolm pursed his mouth as he looked down at the baby, who had abandoned her bottle in favour of playing with the grey silk pocket square tucked into his blazer. 

“He knows she exists, but he refuses to acknowledge that he’s her birth father. Arianna was already pretty adamant about keeping him out of Izzy’s life.” 

If he was being honest, he was hoping this little girl couldn’t be taken away by that man. He couldn’t imagine what would happen to Isabella if she were to grow up with that so-called family. Would she be loved? Would she even be taken care of or would she end up neglected like the characters in one of Ainsley’s historical romance novels?

“Who are the Huntingtons anyways?” JT cut in, his arms crossed. “‘Cause all I’m getting from this is bleach blonde one percenters who moonlight as cartoon villains and make deals with the devil.” 

Malcolm and Gil paused at this, giving JT identical sidelong looks in near perfect synchrony. JT rolled his eyes. Gil isn't my dad, my ass.

“Miri and Noa have been really into Gravity Falls lately. The Huntingtons sound just like the Northwests.”

“I'll take your word for it.” Malcolm adjusted Isabella in his arms, letting her sit on his hip as he set aside her bottle. “Let’s just say the Huntingtons are richer than most of New York combined--”

“Which means they get away with murder all the time. That’s why we need to find something concrete that could connect them to Arianna’s murder,” Dani added, “And I don't think Evan Huntington’s willing to take a paternity test.”

Isabella interrupted with a small shriek before playing with Malcolm’s pocket square again. The team let out a laugh at her outburst, Malcolm especially. 

“Exactly. See guys, she gets what we’re saying.” 

As he continued with his profile, Malcolm didn’t notice that Isabella started trying to copy the swift way he gesticulated whenever he talked, nearly in time with him. The sight of her waving her chubby little arms with the same wide, unblinking expression mirrored on Malcolm’s face was adorable. 

Gil couldn’t help but chuckle as he was paying more attention to the baby than the man she was imitating. Just as Malcolm was going to explain more about Evan Huntington, his face suddenly twisted. The older man raised an eyebrow in concern. 

“You okay, Bright? And don’t just brush it off with an ‘I’m fine’.”

“I’m fine. Really,” Malcolm insisted after getting a look from Gil before letting out a chuckle, “It’s more to do with Isabella here and the fact that she needs a change.” Isabella giggled as Malcolm shouldered her diaper bag with practiced ease, “I’ll be right back.”

“Just be glad you’re not dealing with two of them at once!” 

JT called out as Malcolm left the room, much to Dani and Gil’s amusement.  

“You think you’re done, but then the other one needs changing,” he grumbled. “And it doesn’t help when they look the same so you don't remember which one you just changed.”

“At least yours are both girls,” Dani quipped, the corner of her mouth tilting up as she remembered. “Mona kept confusing her kids for months and she had one of each.” 

 (~**~)                (~**~)                  (~**~)                  (~**~)

When Malcolm returned, he was surprised to find that Edrisa had joined them. 

“Bright!” She lit the second she saw him. “Right on time!”

He chuckled as he placed Isabella in her stroller and gave her a few toys to distract her. He glanced at Dani for a second before doing a double take, his eyes comically wide.

“Wait,” he managed to choke out, his mouth suddenly dry. “What’s happening here?”

Jessica might have drilled the idea of being a gentleman into him, but even that didn’t stop him from staring at the corset that was hugging Dani’s slim frame. It was a more subtle design than most, but the champagne silk and delicate gold embroidery against her deep blue shirt highlighted her dark hair and made her olive skin practically glow. 

The only thing jarring this image was the gaping hole in the corset just below Dani’s sternum. 

“We found Arianna’s corset in the dumpster outside her building,” JT cut in, looking almost amused at the way Bright was looking at Dani. “Seems our killer didn’t account for the garbage not being collected until the weekend.”

“And according to the shop owners where Arianna would buy her corsets, this is one of their designs, but this isn’t their corset,” Dani explained before she let out a hum of appreciation, looking down at the corset in consideration.

Malcolm furrowed his brows, still not taking his eyes off her. 

“How could they tell?”

“That’s the best part,” Edrisa grinned in excitement, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “If you take a close look at the stitching, you’ll see that this corset was machine stitched when they exclusively sell hand-sewn corsets only.” 

The coroner nodded in approval as she added, "Plus they pride themselves on being cruelty-free and using eco-friendly materials.” She paused at the incredulous looks everyone was giving her. “What? My stepdad talks about them all the time. He did a collaboration with them for his last fashion line." 

Malcolm’s eyes were sharp with focus as his hand hovered over at the stitching of the corset, ignoring the hole left from a knife having gone through it. 

“Amazing.”

His fingers barely brushed over the curved seam above the hip when he faintly heard someone clear their throat. Gil, most likely.

“Bright?”

Malcolm was startled out of his thoughts, looking up to see Dani staring down at him with her eyebrows raised and her nose scrunched in confusion and he was suddenly very aware of just how close he was to her. 

“Right, sorry.” He cleared his throat, a high flush stark against his pale skin. “So why’s Dani wearing it?”

“So glad you asked,” Edrisa piped up, clapping her hands in excitement. “Since we need to figure out what about it killed Arianna, Dani volunteered to try it out...” 

Her smile turned into a pout, “So far no luck. We’ve laced it up as tight as possible, but it’s not like Dani’s squashed like a tin of sardines. It doesn’t seem like it’s difficult to breathe in it.”

Dani was reminded of a confused puppy at the bewildered expression that overtook Malcolm’s face.

“You’re fine?”

She nodded, her brow wrinkled in thought. 

“Yeah,” she muttered, her hands smoothing down the front panel of the corset. “It doesn’t even feel like I’m wearing it, honestly.”

Just then Isabella let out a very loud cry, startling everyone. Everyone turned to see her plush owl on the floor, the little girl’s face scrunched up when her stubby little arms couldn’t reach it. Malcolm was quick to grab it and hand it back to her, earning him a toothless grin that matched his answering one. 

He wasn’t expecting to hear someone suddenly collapse behind him.

They all turned and their eyes widened in horror at the sight before them. Dani was sprawled across the floor, eyes wide and lips turning pale as she gasped for air.

“Dani!” 

Malcolm charged towards her in a panic, ignoring the near scrapes as he fell to his knees next to her. He couldn’t help but curse as his fingers fumbled, desperately trying to undo the corset which seemed to be getting tighter and tighter by the second. Gritting his teeth in frustration when he couldn’t get the knot out, he whipped out a pocket knife from his suit jacket and slashed through the laces before ripping it off her.

He was so going to hear it from Gil later, a scolding about unauthorized weapons already ringing in his ears, but at the moment Malcolm could focus on nothing but Dani. 

He nearly slumped over her in relief as Dani started gasping as air began to flow through her lungs once again. She weakly grabbed Malcolm’s arms as he cradled her to him, keeping her upright against his chest. He barely registered flinging the damn corset away from her, now a pitiful crumpled mess on the floor. 

“I-I couldn’t breathe…” Dani finally managed to choke out, her knuckles white from her grip on him. “I couldn’t breathe!”

Malcolm’s heart thundered almost violently as he stroked her hair, not letting her go as cool air started to fill her lungs again. Dani could practically feel it from where she had her head resting on his chest, the rhythm soothing her as she closed her eyes in exhaustion. 

Malcolm briefly looked up at Gil, his expression grim, a spark of fury making his eyes electric. 

“I think we know how this thing is our murder weapon.”

(~**~)                 (~**~)                  (~**~)                  (~**~)

"JT just texted, they’re on their way back." Gil reported as he pocketed his phone.

His expression was grim as he saw the man he considered a son freeze in the middle of his frantic pacing back and forth with a clingy Isabella on his hip. Malcolm hadn't been able to go to the hospital with Dani because the little girl saw him trying to leave the room and he wasn't able to do it in face of her tears.

“Is…” he hesitated, swallowing thickly. “Is Dani going to be okay?” 

If Gil noticed that his eyes were a little red, he had the sense not to say anything. 

“He said that both Edrisa and the hospital doctor confirmed that Dani only has some mild bruising. You managed to get the corset off her before any permanent damage was done.” 

Malcolm didn’t seem to take any comfort in that. The almost pout on his face was enough to make Gil smirk. 

“Kid, she’s gonna be okay. She’s from the Bronx, tougher than both of us combined, remember?” He unconsciously relaxed as he saw Malcolm let out a tiny smile. “Quick thinking with the knife, by the way,” he added, his tone almost smug.

He barely managed to keep his expression stern as the pout on Malcolm’s face dissolved into a deer-caught-in-the-headlights expression. It was the same face he had made the time the then officer had caught a twelve year old Bright attempting to smuggle a cageful of budgies--which Gil had later learned he ‘liberated’ from a neglectful owner--into his room, he couldn’t help but note. 

“I justified it at the time,” he admitted sheepishly as Izzy patted his stubble, “but in hindsight, probably not the best idea to have a knife on me if I’m taking care of a baby.”

“Common sense kicks in at last,” Gil chuckled as Malcolm’s face flushed with rare embarrassment, “At least I don't have to make that my next point.”

At least, he hoped he didn’t have to. Had the kid even kept his wall of weapons out of the baby’s line of sight? He kept a straight face, but he was practically screaming internally at the thought. 

“By the way,” Malcolm added as he placed Izzy back in her stroller, “my mother’s going to be stopping by to pick up Isabella while I go take care of something.”

“Where you off to, kid?” 

“I, uh, I’m gonna see Ainsley.” He glanced away, still fidgeting with the stroller’s handles, “I haven’t talked to her for a few days, though I’d check up on her.”

“And Isabella?”

“Don’t worry,” Malcolm let out a tense chuckle, “That’s why I already called Mother, she’s more than happy to watch her for a few hours.”

Gil gave an understanding smile. 

“I can keep an eye on Isabella until Jess gets here. Can’t be much different than babysitting Tala. Go see Ainsley.”

Malcolm’s smile was solemn as he knelt down to face Isabella. The baby just grinned at him and reached out to pat his face. 

“I’m only going to be gone for a little while, okay? Mother’s going to take you on another adventure, that’ll be fun, right?” 

Isabella gurgled as she hugged her owl, the plush toy squished against a chubby cheek. 

“I’ll be back soon, Izzy.” As he stood up to leave, he turned to Gil once more. “Thanks for doing this, Gil.”

“Anytime, kid.”

As Malcolm walked away, Gil knelt down and gave Isabella a smile. The baby let out a light squeal as she reached out to him, the tips of her tiny fingers barely grazing his beard. She reminded him of Tala, his only grandchild when she was that age, wide eyed and curious and grabbing anything that caught her eye. 

Once he took her back to his office, Isabella started to get fussy. He picked her up, immediately realizing what she wanted as he took the bottle of formula she hadn't finished yet. Gil couldn’t help the fond smile that overtook his face as her big blue eyes stared up at him, gurgling as a chubby fist stroked his chin. She started kicking a leg as if to say she was enjoying her snack. 

“You just wanna do everything at once, don’t you?” He would firmly deny that he cooed at Isabella if one of his officers saw him like this. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you took after Bright.”

He didn’t get a response nor did he expect one, but the gummy smile that lit up her face as she reached for her bottle gave him a sense of understanding.

Then a wave of regret hit him. If Evan Huntington knew about Isabella now, why hadn’t he taken her away? 

The lieutenant decided then and there that that sorry excuse for a man wouldn’t have a chance at ruining this little girl’s life. 

Not if he had anything to say about.

(~**~)                 (~**~)                  (~**~)                  (~**~)

After the rollercoaster that had been the blackout and Endicott’s stabbing, Malcolm and Jessica somehow managed to keep Ainsley from being sent to prison by the skin of their teeth. Malcolm was the first to admit that it wouldn’t have been possible without the help of Gil, Dani, and Edrisa. Even JT, much to the surprise of both mother and son.

But it didn’t stop Jessica from finding it fit to send Ainsley to a rehabilitation facility of sorts. Phoenix Rehab, which the Milton matriarch had said had glowing reviews was a facility usually housed teenage heirs to fortunes with so-called attitude problems and wealthy housewives who found that something about their life just wasn’t enough and needed supposed space to breathe. 

Very rarely were there people like Ainsley, who genuinely needed help and needed to understand themselves and their actions.

Malcolm had been against the idea at first. It was already public knowledge that Ainsley was The Surgeon’s daughter, but if the staff were to find out what had really happened that night... 

He shuddered at the thought of Ainsley being raked over hot coals by the fallout. 

Jessica, still reeling from what happened, had suggested Ainsley stay there for at least six months. She was reluctant to cut Ainsley off from society, but she felt that her daughter definitely needed to be somewhere where she didn’t have to deal with media vultures. Especially when Ainsley couldn’t call herself the well-adjusted Whitly anymore. 

But from the start, their mother had made it clear that if Ainsley ever wanted to come back home, whether it be for the weekend or forever, she would welcome her with what Gil dubbed as the Whitly equivalent of arms wide open. 

His sister had ended up making a deal with Jessica. If she could find even one thing she liked about the place--whether it was the food, the meditation classes, even just the comfy mattresses and the freedom to decorate her room as she saw fit--within a week... 

Then she would concede to stay the six months Jessica had recommended.

Soon six months had come and gone, Jessica and Malcolm making various efforts to visit her at least once a week and Ainsley making quite a few visits back to the Whitly family home. Though she always stubbornly insisted that she didn’t need them to check up on her so much, especially considering the long drive. 

But for reasons no one seemed to understand, the youngest Whitly always seemed eager to go back. 

Ainsley clearly seemed to be improving. She half-begrudgingly admitted to Malcolm that she may have been ignoring her own mental health and she managed to come to terms with what she had done, making peace with it more or less. 

But it still didn’t stop the guilt that she felt every time she saw a crime news report. Nicholas Endicott was nothing short of a monster for all the trauma he had put them through and she wasn’t sorry he was dead. But what worried her the most was that something in her--something twisted, something she could have inherited from the dark underbelly of Martin Whitly’s psyche--had snapped and she just couldn’t stand by and watch scum like him get what he wanted. 

Whether it was him lusting after their mother or having Malcolm and Gil at his mercy, she couldn’t let him get away with murder. 

Not again. 

Not anymore. 

She was only sorry for how it had made her notorious, serial killer father downright giddy.

Even more sorry that her mother and brother had been left to deal with the consequences. 

And before long, six months turned to seven, to eight, then nine, but as time ticked on, Ainsley Whitly seemed to have no intention of coming home for good. 

Malcolm was brought over to where Ainsley was lounging on an open patio. She looked comfortable in a flowy white tunic top and matching leggings, her hair fabulous and effortlessly styled as always. 

She seemed at an easel painting... something? 

He couldn’t tell if she was trying for peacock feathers or she accidentally started channeling Klimt with all the greens and golds. 

“Before you say anything, I’m just playing around with this,” Ainsley said without looking up. “I will smear green paint in your hair.” 

And that was Ainsley all over. She always seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to her big brother trying to tease her. He simply grinned as he walked over to her, meeting her halfway for a bear hug before he sat next to her. 

“Hey bro,” she grinned, “it’s been eighty four years. Please tell me you brought truffle cupcakes instead of just your sorry mug.”

Malcolm couldn’t help but snort as he shook his head. 

“Hi Ains. Good to see you’re still you.”

She blew a raspberry, wagging her paintbrush at him in a way that reminded him of the way great-aunt Martha Antoinette would wag her finger, seafoam green manicure almost blinding whenever she scolded him or their mother. 

“Your last visit was over a week ago. You finally coming to terms that you don’t need to be checking up on me so much?”

“It’s not that. I’ve just been…” His mouth twisted as he tried to figure out how to even begin to explain everything, “busy the last few days. How’ve you been?”

“Pretty good. I’ve taken up painting obviously,” she smirked, stroking her chin thoughtfully. “You think if I grew facial hair, I could be Bob Ross?”

“Ains,” Malcolm barely got out, his shoulders shaking with laughter, “I think it takes more than mere facial hair to even pass for Bob Ross.” 

“Rude,” she scoffed playfully before trailing off. “I dunno,” she added with a shrug, “I’ve been painting a lot of happy trees lately and I could do with another hobby.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” A relieved smile spread across his face. “How’ve you been doing?” 

“Okay for the most part. I’ve been binge-watching The Good Place the past couple of days. I don’t get all the hype, but it was actually pretty good. Though the philosophy bits just confuse the hell out of me.” 

“Well, it’s an acquired taste for some.”

Malcolm chuckled, remembering how JT’s face had scrunched up when he and Tally were debating about ethics in the latest episode during their last group outing. JT preferred everything straightforward while Tally liked diving into symbolism and the intricacies of foreshadowing.

And yet the two opposites had just celebrated their tenth wedding anniversary. 

The siblings shared a moment of comfortable silence before Ainsley spoke up. 

“You came here to ask me something.” She crossed her arms over the table and leaned forward, her knowing eyes befitting of her passion for journalism. “And don’t deny it, you know you can’t hide anything from Whitly women, bro. What is it?” 

For once, he carefully thought over his words. 

“You gave Mom the six months she wanted. Your doctors say you’re more than equipped to return to your job and your regular life.” He frowned in confusion as Ainsley looked down at the table, almost curled into herself. “You don’t have an insatiable bloodlust, you don’t take pleasure in hurting people. I can’t imagine what must have been going through your head at the time--” 

His eyes softened when he saw her look so small, so unlike her confident self. As much as he initially thought otherwise, he hadn’t been the only one affected by their father.

“But I do understand being afraid of what you could be capable of. And I know that it was a result of trauma and stress, but what happened obviously came from a very logical and rational urge to protect our family.”

“I know,” Ainsley mumbled before looking back up at her big brother, “I’m usually good at getting that through my head--I’m still scared that something will happen again. I’ll suddenly get this pang in my chest at the realization that yes, maybe I did kill to protect my family. Maybe his death helped to save the lives of innocent people who would have died because of him...”

Her voice wobbled, her eyes suspiciously bright and it was like she was five years old again, confused and hanging onto the hem of her big brother’s sweater. 

“But none of that changes the fact that I did kill him. I killed him and I don’t even remember doing it.” 

Malcolm placed a hand on her shoulder as he noticed her eyes glaze over, giving it a reassuring squeeze. 

“I’m not saying that I’m worse off than you or you can’t understand what it’s like--but you’ve had this stigma of being Martin Whitly’s son for twenty years. It sucks, but at least it’s a constant for you. Imagine feeling like you’re doing fine and then all of a sudden, you’re hit with the guilt of something you actually did and can’t take back. Something you can never change.”

Malcolm held out his other hand and Ainsley was quick to take it, much like when they had been kids and she had held her brother’s hand because she was afraid of the high dive at the pool at Grandma Liz’s house.  

“I feel that less here, but I’m still reminded.”

“You’re not a bad person, Ains. Single minded maybe, but that’s hardly the worst trait for a journalist to have.”

She let out a wry laugh. 

“But I still killed a man and that changes things.” She pursed her lips as she let out a sharp exhale. “I don’t know if I can ever feel normal again.”

Malcolm nodded. Didn’t he have so many sleepless nights over that during the past twenty years? Maybe it was something only family could understand. 

“Welcome to my world,” he jested, the beginnings of a teasing smile unfurling. 

“I guess it was only a matter of time.” Ainsley let go of his hand, her laughter given way to a resigned sigh. “And I know Mom misses me, but now she’s asking me to either come back for this gala or give great-grandma Catherine ‘the Great’ something to roll over in her grave about.”

“Well, she was the life of the party back in her day,” he shrugged. 

He vaguely remembered a larger than life old woman in an Audrey Hepburn style black dress and opera gloves, laugh lines around Milton blue eyes and streaks of silver in her chestnut hair. Malcolm had been four when she passed away, but he could still recall his young self balancing on her ruby red shoes as she led him in wide sweeping circles across the dance floor. 

“And let’s face it, you definitely take after her ‘cause you’re much better at the whole gala thing than I am. I wouldn’t even know how to talk to anyone, really.”

“Wait,” Ainsley turned to him in disbelief. “You, Professor Foot-in-Mouth Syndrome, are actually going? Willingly?”

“Yeah, and here’s the kicker. Mother wanted me to bring a date.”

Ainsley let out a snort, her expression sly. 

“Because you’re so clearly fighting them off with a stick?”

“Oh, ha, ha. Very funny,” he retorted with a roll of his eyes. 

“What are you going to do when you show up without a date?” 

Malcolm went quiet, fiddling with the cuffs of his sleeves and looking at anything but her. Ainsley’s eyes went wide with shock and delight, her reporter mind quickly connecting the dots.

“No. Way. Malcolm Alexander Bright! You actually have a date?”

Malcolm squirmed in embarrassment, his ears turning red. 

“I wouldn’t exactly call it a date exactly--”

“It’s Dani, huh?”

“Wha--” Malcolm just blinked at her in bemusement, “I just--how’d you even--”

“Figure it out? Oh please,” Ainsley rolled her eyes, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “You couldn’t be more obvious. I mean, you literally talk about her every time you come visit.”

He froze at that, eyes so wide that she thought they’d pop out at any given second. Malcolm briefly wondered how his sister could read him so easily now. It had to have been the result of her almost year long stay here. 

 “I do?” 

He winced at the way his voice almost cracked. 

“Yup,” she nodded, practically preening with unholy glee. “It’s always the same thing. You tell me about a case, update me on Gil, guess the JT name of the week, and you end on some hilarious joke Dani made, usually at your expense. Which confirms you being a masochist because you find those the funniest,” she added in afterthought. 

Ainsley settled back in her seat, grinning like the cat that caught the canary. 

“So tell me, big brother. How’d you manage to trick her into saying yes?” 

(~**~)                 (~**~)                  (~**~)                  (~**~)

Dani wasn’t normally one to simply stay at her desk, but she couldn’t help the soft smile on her face as she watched Gil and Isabella through the window of his office, the baby laughing as Gil made funny faces. It had been a while since she saw him like this, but lolo Gil was definitely a good look on him.

“Oh, Detective Powell!”

She snapped out of her thoughts a posh voice called out to her, accompanied by the crisp sound of heels clicking with each step across the floor.

“Hello, Mrs Whitly.” 

Dani looked up at the older woman with a polite smile. Jessica Whitly reminded her of the high society ladies from the reruns of Dynasty that her Granmè used to watch when she was little. Affably dramatic with those close to her, but scrappy enough to get down and dirty when she needed to if breaking an antique vase over Watkins’ head was any indication. 

Dani nearly had to cover her eyes when she spotted the bright, friendly smile on the other woman’s face, a sharp contrast with the navy suede trench coat and muted silver heels she wore. Well, at least she knew where Bright got it from now. 

“Oh no, dear, Mrs Whitly was my former mother-in-law,” Jessica chuckled airily, waving off the formality. “Given how attached my son is to you, you simply must call me Jessica. It’s lovely to see you again.” 

“It’s nice to see you too.” 

It should’ve been awkward, talking to Bright’s mother like this as if her relationship with her son was something more profound than friendship, but honestly? 

Jessica wasn’t as bad as some of the other high society mothers she had come across since meeting Bright. She was a lot of things; nosy, opinionated, a little judgemental at times when it came to Gil or her children’s choices. But she didn’t let her shortcomings stop her from trying to do right by the people she cared about. 

The subtle smile on Dani’s face was genuine, even as the detective cleared her throat upon recalling last night’s invitation. 

“Oh, by the way, I thought you should know that Bright invited me along.” 

“Invited you along...?” The older woman feigned ignorance with a quizzical tilt of her head, a rare moment of mischief for her. 

“Uh,” Dani hesitated for a second, absently biting her lower lip before she just came out with it. “Just that he extended the invitation for your gala... thing. He wasn’t really specific about what it was.”

“Oh,” Jessica lit up, clasping her hands together in delight, “So Malcolm did ask you after all! Finally. I knew that boy had a bit of the Milton persistence in him if I gave him a little nudge in the right direction, so to speak.”

Dani swallowed a chuckle, remembering the little family history lesson Bright had given them during the impromptu tour of the Whitly family home. 

“Uh, yeah.”

“Oh, this is wonderful, dear! So tell me, what do you plan on wearing?”

Oh.

Dani hadn’t really thought about what she would wear to an upscale event like that. Her family was comfortably middle class and the Powells’ idea of fancy was a night at the New York ballet and a late dinner at the Havana Café. 

“Um, I don’t really have a lot of options. Just that dress Bright bought me for a case a while back.”

“That fabulous oxblood gown you wore to the Taylor wedding?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Dani let out a laugh, simply shrugging a shoulder. “I thought about having my mom upcycle it and add some sheer lace sleeves, maybe a peekaboo collar.”

“As inventive as that may be and I will be asking for your mother’s number later,” Jessica looked momentarily intrigued by the idea before she shook her head, “I cannot let you be seen in that.”

Dani was nearly taken back, her brows raised in disbelief. 

“I’m sorry?” 

“Don’t get me wrong,” Jessica started, “That dress is gorgeous and you looked stunning as always. I've lost count of how many times people have come up to me and asked who you were after you flawlessly took down the Countess of Monte Cristo, not even a hair out of place.”

Jessica’s expression turned sly as she recalled how her son would start to frown in annoyance whenever he overheard a wealthy scion ask if the lovely detective was single. It may have led to a few ice cold glares whenever Dani wasn’t looking and the occasional possessive hand cupping the small of her back as he guided her through yet another dance, but the Milton matriarch would let Malcolm have his dignity. 

For now, at least. 

“But it’s practically an unwritten rule in the upper echelon, you simply cannot be seen in something you’ve already worn, especially when it comes to these sort of events.” 

"I guess you have a point…" Dani conceded. 

She might have had a brief glimpse of high society at the Taylor wedding, but she could tell from a glance that there was a lot of cutthroat viciousness hidden behind polite veneers. She was not about to go to the gala like a country bumpkin put on display at the-- 

Dani mentally shook her head. She must have listened to Mona talk about historical Cinderella style novels one too many times. How did Bright even grow up in that kind of environment? 

“Oh, I know!” Jessica's face lit up once again, “Why don’t I take you shopping? I still need to get my dress as well and I’m sure we could find something that suits your taste. We can make a lady’s day out of it.”

“I don’t know, Mrs Whitly--Jessica,” Dani corrected after a pointed look from the older woman. “I can’t exactly take off work--”

“Actually, you don’t need to continue your shift. Given that it ended a little while ago.” Gil interrupted, his face smug as he walked out of his office, bouncing a very happy Isabella in his arms. “Powell’s just a dedicated worker.”

Isabella kicked her legs in excitement, squealing when she saw Jessica hold her arms out. 

“Oh, my little bluebell!” Jessica gushed as she took the baby from Gil, looking every inch a doting grandmother as she turned back to Dani. “Now then, if your work day is over, I would love to take you dress shopping.” 

Dani opened and closed her mouth, unsure how to answer. Jessica was nice enough in small doses, but even she didn’t know if she could handle the entire day with Bright’s mom. 

“Powell,” Gil interjected, fatherly assurance bleeding into his usual no-nonsense lieutenant persona. “After all the hullabaloo, you’ve definitely earned a break today. Don’t let me catch you back here until tomorrow.”

“Then I guess…” Dani paused, looking at Jessica with a tiny smile. “Why not? I could use a day off right about now.”

“Wonderful!” 

Isabella started to clap and giggle as Dani stood up, the little girl’s enthusiasm making the grin on Jessica’s face grow even wider. 

“See, even Bluebell’s excited for you to join us.”

Gil chuckled with a fond expression, offering to get Isabella’s stroller when his phone suddenly rang. He hurried back to his office when he saw just who was calling. 

“Gil, I think I figured out how to get Evan Huntington to talk.”

“Bright,” Gil pinched the bridge of his nose. “We still don’t have enough evidence to bring him in. There’s still a possibility that he’s not our killer.”

“Killer or not, he knows something. He’s just not telling us.”

“Don’t I know it,” he groaned, a feeling of dread already starting to bubble up, just waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Do I even want to know what you have in mind?”

“Probably not,” he joked before his voice turned serious. “We may have to talk to Evan Huntington’s father, Edgar. But in order for it to work--” 

He could practically hear Malcolm’s Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly. 

“--I may need to pay my father a visit.” 

Hey guys!

I’m sorry this took so long... again, writer’s block plus online summer courses have not been a good combination. I’m hoping that chapter 8 doesn’t take this long to write but no worries, I’m not gonna abandon the story... if anyone’s still interested in the story lol

I hope you guys are doing well and staying safe, I’ll see you next time XP

P.S. extra special thank you to @s4karuna because I could not have posted these past few chapters without her edits

[alounuitte]

cactus blossoms

(or, some can only bloom with water from the desert sky)

Adam needs some support while he recovers from a surgery, and Shiro volunteers to be his best friend's roommate for the summer after their first year in the Garrison. Somehow, it turns out he's not the only one Adam gets a chance to get closer to, and an operation isn't the only thing he's recovering from. (pre-relationship, but no romance will be in this.) [Updates Wednesdays!]

chapter 9.

(chapter warnings: medical drugs throughout and brief emeto warning towards the end.)

--

Shiro frowns and checks his phone again, kicking his foot anxiously against the edge of his chair, and sighs when he sees no new messages. He’d expected a text sooner than this, but he’s determined not to worry too much until it’s been at least an hour. Probably nothing’s actually wrong, just a minor delay.

As he goes to put his phone away, the intercom clicks on, and a woman’s voice on the speaker says politely, “Commander Montgomery to infirmary, please, Commander Montgomery please report to the infirmary.”

His heart jumps into his throat, and in a second he’s on his feet, running down the hall towards the medical wing. Since Montgomery’s name is on Adam’s medical assistance form, technically she’s the one responsible for him right now, and that means the call is probably about him. He knows he’s not going to be allowed to see Adam if something’s actually wrong, but he wants to be there to find out what’s going on as soon as Montgomery knows.

“What’s going on?” he asks as soon as he gets to the waiting room and sees Montgomery standing by the counter. “Is he okay?”

To his relief, she laughs, and gestures with her head to the back row of seats. “See for yourself,” she says.

He looks over and sees, on second glance, that Adam is there already, sprawled awkwardly on his back across three seats and apparently asleep. Shiro bites his tongue to keep from laughing too. “What, they give him too much anaesthetic?” he asks.

“Apparently he got fighty when he woke up,” she says. “They had to give him another shot of anxiolytic to calm him down, so he might be pretty out of it for a bit.”

Shiro crosses the room to crouch down in front of him, grinning as he pulls his phone out to film. “Hey, man,” he says. “You up?”

“Why’re you yelling…?” Adam asks, cracking one eye open. “‘m right here.”

“Sorry,” Shiro says, more quietly, though he hadn’t really been speaking all that loudly. “You comfortable there?”

“Mm…” Adam muses, frowning. “No, this is terrible.”

“Yeah, these chairs aren’t really meant for laying down,” Shiro agrees, fighting not to laugh as he turns his phone camera to show the row of hard seats. “You wanna get up and go back upstairs?”

“That sounds like a lot of work,” Adam complains. “Mm…’na...just...sleep on the couch.”

Shiro can’t help snorting at that, as much as he’s trying not to lose his composure. “What couch, buddy?” he asks. “You gotta get back to our quarters for that.”

“No,” Adam says, looking sullen.

“Sorry,” he says, shrugging. “What do you think about some lunch?”

That makes Adam sit up, though he sways as soon as he does, his eyes unfocusing for a second. “I haven’t eaten in…” he says, and trails off, thinking hard. “Four… days.”

“Don’t think that’s right,” Shiro tells him, standing and offering a hand to help him up. “But it’s been a bit. Let’s get some food in you to offset the drugs, huh?”

“Oh, they gave me a lot of drugs,” Adam says, stumbling as he gets to his feet. “So… so many drugs. I think… seven...teen.” Shiro shakes his head, flipping to the front camera to film them both as Adam leans on his shoulder.

“I’m gonna let you handle him,” Montgomery says dryly, straightening her glasses. “Seems like you’ve got the situation under control.”

“Situation normal, Commander,” Adam assures her, and clumsily tries to salute, which makes him overbalance and fall into Shiro’s side. “Whoa, shit, not normal, we’re en...countering some, uh, some… weather.”

Shiro quickly switches to film her as she covers her mouth with one hand and closes her eyes in an excellent attempt to hide her amusement. “Very good, Cadet,” she says. “Shirogane, get him something to eat and get him to bed. I’ll send you the post-surgical notes to look over while he sleeps.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, grinning, and turns the camera back on himself and Adam. “Come on, let’s go,” he adds as he guides Adam out of the waiting room. “Any idea what you want for lunch?”

“Hm,” Adam hums, frowning, but doesn’t offer any actual answer.

“There’s leftover pizza still,” he offers. “Or cafeteria has, uh, chicken today, I think, or soup.”

“Too early for soup,” Adam says, shaking his head. It’s nearly noon, but Shiro decides he’s not likely to get anywhere by pointing that out. “I want...um…” Adam continues, staring hard at his hand as he slowly runs his thumb across his fingertips. “Pan...cakes. Eggs and pancakes.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t make either of those,” Shiro tells him, “and the cafeteria stopped serving breakfast three hours ago.”

“I can make them,” Adam says. “I’m a good cook, gonna make pancakes and… eggs. Toast. Eggs and toast. And pancakes.”

“Mm, no, you’re not gonna make anything right now,” Shiro says, trying to hide his smile. “You’re still doped up, remember?”

“But,” Adam protests, a whine creeping into his voice.

“I can get you frozen waffles?” Shiro suggests. “That’s sort of like pancakes.”

“Waffles are nothing like pancakes,” he argues. “They… they’re…” He falters, stops walking as he tries to figure out the difference. Shiro turns towards him to film his expression as he finally manages to explain,  “They’ve got...squares.”

Shiro has to take a few seconds to compose himself before he can speak without laughing. “Uh, yeah, that’s pretty much the thing that makes them different,” he agrees. “But they’re made of the same stuff, and they taste just as good.”

“I guess,” Adam says.

“Tell you what,” Shiro says. “I’ll get you frozen waffles and a smoothie from the smoothie machine.”

“Fuck, yes, I want orange juice,” Adam says, his eyes lighting up, and despite his best intentions, Shiro really can’t help laughing out loud at that.

They stop at the commissary snack shop on the way back to their quarters to get Adam breakfast, and Shiro shakes his head, grinning, as he watches Adam wander around the shop in a daze while they wait for the smoothie machine. His hands hover in front of him, fidgeting aimlessly, his fingers curling and uncurling as he examines the cooler with a kind of bewildered intensity.

“Whatcha looking at?” Shiro asks, zooming the camera in on his pensive expression.

“There’s so many fruits in here,” Adam replies, looking over at him with a frown.

Shiro laughs. “What are you doing, counting them?”

“No, they’re all… all different… in different…” Adam tries to explain, gesturing vaguely with one hand while the other tugs at the zipper of his hoodie. “There’s not the same, pineapples and grapes and… and… what are they called? They’ve got all different numbers of all the fruits.”

The smoothie machine whirs to a stop and Shiro grabs the cup when the door opens, still filming with one hand. “You want your smoothie?” he asks, snapping the lid on.

“For me?” Adam asks as he comes over with it. “What kind?”

“You said you wanted orange,” he says. “Did you forget because you were trying to count the fruit in the fruit cups?”

“Yeah, I want…” Adam says. “Uh, I want a fruit… this one, it’s got...milk in it.”

It’s a parfait cup and has yogurt in it, which Shiro makes sure to get a close-up of on his phone. “You want that instead of waffles?” he asks.

“I want… I don’t like waffles,” Adam says. “I wanna… put it on them.”

Shiro raises an eyebrow. “You’re gonna put the parfait on your waffles?”

“Yeah,” Adam says, nodding.

“Alright, whatever you say,” Shiro agrees, shaking his head. “Here, I’ll take that, you drink some of this smoothie, okay?”

“You’re giving it to me?” Adam asks again, and grins. “Oh, that’s… that’s really nice of you, thanks. Thank you.”

“No problem?” Shiro offers, putting a hand on Adam’s shoulder and guiding him to the counter so he can pay.

They take the elevator up to the officers’ quarters, Adam clutching his cup in both hands as he quietly sips his smoothie. “Hey, Shiro,” he says as they reach the door. “You’re a really great friend, you know that?”

“Don’t get all sappy on me,” Shiro teases, grinning. “You know I have you on camera.”

He laughs, covering his eyes with one hand as he takes another sip of his smoothie.

“You sit down,” Shiro tells him. “I’ll throw some of your waffles in the toaster.”

“Okay,” Adam agrees, and sits down. “It’s fucking cold in here, though.”

It’s really not, Shiro is pretty sure, since he’s perfectly comfortable in a t-shirt compared to Adam’s hoodie, but then, he’s not the one drinking a smoothie. “You want a blanket or something?” he offers.

“Mmmmmmmmmmmyeah,” Adam decides after a moment, and wraps one arm around himself while he sips his smoothie.

Shiro nods and goes to get one from his bed, bringing it over along with the parfait cup and a spoon. “Waffles will still be a minute, but if you wanna eat that while you wait go ahead,” he says, leaning against the counter to wait.

The idea of eating the parfait with a spoon seems like it’s a hard one to grasp, because Adam picks up both and sets them down again a moment later, looking confused. Shiro tries not to laugh again as he pulls up his camera to take some more video, watching him examine the parfait cup carefully. By the time the waffles are ready, he’s only managed a few bites and still doesn’t seem to have quite figured it out, so Shiro decides he better not complicate things further with more silverware, and brings them out with just a plate and a napkin.

“You need a hand with that?” he asks after a moment as Adam fumbles to scoop yogurt and strawberries onto his waffles.

“I got it,” Adam says. “I think the smoothie’s helping, my head’s not so… not so… like the drugs aren’t...in there. The smoothie’s, um… absorbing them, so now they’re in… the smoothie, in my… stomach…”

He puts his spoon down, frowning, one hand pulling absently at his sweatshirt. Shiro raises an eyebrow and sets his phone down on the counter. “Are you gonna puke?” he asks, already moving to help him up.

“Mmm,” Adam hums, thinking. “Maybe.”

“Alright, come on,” Shiro tells him, pulling him to his feet and leading him over to the sink. He sways on his feet, leaning heavily against the counter. Barely a moment later, he hiccups and slumps forward to vomit smoothie and chunks of strawberries into the bottom of the sink. Shiro winces.

“Sorry,” he says thickly, lifting his head.

“You’re fine,” Shiro says, turning on the tap and offering him a napkin to wipe his mouth. “You want some water?”

“Wanna go to bed,” Adam mumbles, his eyes fluttering closed.

“Okay,” Shiro agrees, grabbing a glass from the cabinet and filling it halfway. “Rinse your mouth first, you don’t have to drink any if you don’t want.”

Adam nods and takes the glass, spitting out his first mouthful into the sink before drinking the rest. “Tired,” he manages. “‘M gonna sleep.”

“Yeah, let’s get you to bed,” Shiro says, putting an arm around his shoulders to guide him to his part of their partitioned quarters. “I’ll put your food away for later, alright?”

He nods. “Too much drugs,” he mumbles, collapsing into bed and struggling briefly to get under the comforter. “Night, Shiro.”

“Night, Adam,” Shiro tells him, amused, and waits a few moments by the edge of the partition until he’s asleep, before retreating to the living room to read up on the paperwork Montgomery sent. 

[uzumaki-rebellion]

“Wet Sugar” [Part 17 of 30]

Summary: Erik considers a different life...

NSFW. Mature Audience. Smut.

"Twistin', kissin', lifted off of your vision Got me on my knees, you're my religion Speakin' tongues all on your body, no one's listenin' Tap out on you, that's a submission, know you give in? Can't let no time go wasted This moment, can't replace it Sittin' around so lazy Comfortably, we'll fade away…"

Lucky Daye- "Roll Some Mo"

He saw her come home.

With Zachary.

The tension in his face and the accusatory tone in his voice upset her. The high she was on from having him back, having him in her arms again crashed down around her as she saw a glint of anger in his eyes.

"Don't be vex."

"I'm not. I’m asking a simple question."

"You saw he gave me a ride home. I was upset about you being gone. He probably wanted to make sure I was—"

"Nah, he was tryna take advantage of the situation."

Sydette toddled around them both, swinging her doll baby and grabbing for Erik's leg then Yani's. She tossed the doll into the air.

"Mama..Baba…look!"

Yani watched her daughter move around them. She felt the binding of small knots forming in her stomach. The same type of knots she would get when Chez used to accuse her of cheating or flirting or doing anything he deemed inappropriate.

The more niggas changed the more they stayed the same.

She normally checked the security feeds first thing in the morning, and totally forgot about it once she was in Erik's arms again. Zachary meant no harm. She was sure of that. But she also got the feeling that Zachary had grown a pair since their last encounter because he didn't act intimidated by Erik.

"I thought you were dead."

"I know I was gone long. But you just jumped to me being dead so quick?"

He inched closer to her. Sydette's hand held onto his leg.

"I didn't know what to think. Klaue…I've heard him talk of his men being killed after they leave here. You told me bad things happen."

His eyes softened.

"Zachary listened to me. I told him how I was feeling…he listened to me. That's all. I was in a bad way and he listened to me express my fears. I didn't ask him to come back here."

"He should've called you. I don't want him coming up here like that. Shit ain't cool. Why you shaking your head?"

"Mi no child. You talkin' to me like mi Sweet Pea or Bam…like I'm not a grown-ass woman. Acting like you scared of him. Like him come up here and steal mi away—"

Yani tilted her neck.

"Yuh think that, Killmonger?"

Her voice went up an octave and Erik's eyes shifted away from hers and his lips formed a serious pout.

"Serious?"

Yani sucked her teeth and reached out to stroke his cheek. He pulled back from her and glanced down at Sydette who kept patting his leg to get his attention.

For true.

He was worried.

"I ever give you cause for concern?"

His eyes finally settled back on her face.

"Nah. But you didn't have to kiss him."

"It was nothing. A simple thank you. For listenin'. For gettin' mi home safe."

She stepped closer to him and lifted her head up. Her lips touched his, light as a feather.

"That's all it was."

His eyes were closed when she pulled back.

"But mi kiss you like this."

Yani touched his cheek again, then ran her fingers through his hair before she pulled his face down close to hers.

Searing. Wet. Open-mouthed. Tongues dancing.

Yani felt her daughter's hand touch her knee. She pulled back from Erik and his body leaned forward to follow her when she did. His hands cradled her face as he dove back into her mouth.

Shit.

He lifted her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist. Dragging her nails softly along the nape of his neck, Erik's lips enchanted her. Enticed her. Made her push back on the red flags she was feeling when he questioned her at the front gate.

She leaned back from his face and his eyes were still closed.

"Mama, up!"

Yani glanced down at her baby and Sydette had her arms reaching for the sky.

"I got you baby girl," Erik said.

He let Yani drop back down to her bare feet and he leaned down to raise Sydette up.

"Hungry?" he asked Sydette.

"Yes!"

"C'mon, let's make your Mama breakfast and then we can go swim. Okay?"

Head nodding vigorously, Sydette pointed to the floor.

"Bring baby," she said.

"You want your baby to cook with us?"

"Yes!"

Yani picked it up from the floor and handed it to Sydette. She watched Erik waltz away with her daughter and for a moment she thought of joining them. But she wanted to get to her phone first.

Slipping into the master bedroom, Yani snatched her phone from the nightstand. Swiped quickly.

"Yani—"

"What were you doing back here?"

She could hear Zachary still driving in his car.

"Checking on you. That man staying there with you?"

"He works for my boss."

"That's the dude from that night. The one you drove home with—"

"Yeah—"

"He's your man?"

Silence.

"He's the one you were cryin' about? The one who ghosted you?"

"He came home last night."

"Came home?"

Yani rubbed her forehead.

"You moved on fast then. I didn't have a chance."

"You left me, Zachary. I wanted to be with you."

"I was stupid. I should've had you stay."

"You can't come over here again."

"He tell you that?"

Yani couldn't answer. She stared at her reflection in the wall mirror.

"If it don't work out, I want another chance."

"Zachary—"

"I'll wait for you, Yani."

Him so sweet. Still.

Had he been that way on that night, taken his lumps and let her nurse him back, maybe they would've been a real couple.

She could smell frying meat and the rich aroma of fresh-brewed coffee. Her stomach growled. Famished.

"I gotta go."

"Call me sometime. Just to talk or whatever. No pressure."

"Okay."

She hung up.

The walk into the kitchen had her feeling antsy, but when she saw Sydette sitting on the kitchen island watching Erik make the waffle batter, her little doll baby cradled in her chunky arm, Yani felt like the choice had been made for her as to who she was supposed to be with.

"What is this?" Erik asked Sydette.

"Ah egg."

"Where do we put it?"

Sydette pointed to her belly and Erik laughed.

"How we gonna make the waffles without the egg, Sweet Pea?"

Erik cracked several eggs against the mixing bowl and quickly stirred in milk and cinnamon with a touch of vanilla extract. Sydette watched him whip up the batter and he let her stick her finger in and taste the concoction.

"Good?" he asked.

She wiggled her hips.

"Good," she answered.

"Alright, we are ready to pour this on the griddle…hey, baby."

His eyes took Yani in.

"Hey. Smells good in here."

"Bacon and sausage…do me a favor, take that coffee off for me…hold on Sweet Pea, you'll be eating soon."

"Ova there," Sydette said reaching for him.

Yani picked up Sydette and carried her over to the griddle so she could watch Erik pour in the batter and close the waffle maker lid. Her daughter's eyes were fascinated with the liquid pouring over the deep squares, and there was a look of delight when Erik lifted it back up to reveal thick fluffy waffles and not wet batter.

Erik heard Yani's stomach grumble. He grinned.

"Almost done."

"I'm not rushing you."

Yani put Sydette on the floor and handed her a few napkins to carry.

"Take that to the table outside."

Yani grabbed the plates and silverware Erik had on the island and followed her daughter out onto the porch.

She set the small table that they used to eat on and helped Sydette put the napkins next to each plate.

"Get you in your chair, c'mon…"

Erik brought out a serving tray for the meat and a platter of waffles. Yani retrieved butter and syrup.

Their breakfast was pleasant and she couldn't stop staring at Erik. His eyes were bright and playful and he carried on a full conversation with Sydette who kept trying to out-talk him. He was so focused on Sweet Pea that she was able to take in his dangerous beauty. His smiles made her tingle all over, especially when his dimples popped in and out. He had trimmed his beard and mustache giving his face a polished look. When he looked at her there was a sense of peace in his eyes. He was home. With them. She could breathe again.

Yani reached out and touched his hair.

"Lemme, do this for you later," she said. He nodded.

They cleaned up breakfast, changed into swimwear, and walked down to the cove together. Yani carried a book bag, blankets and some coverage for Sydette.

"Bustin' outta that shit girl."

He caressed her breasts inside her bikini top and she slapped at his hands.

Sydette walked in front of them, stopping every few feet to pick up rocks and then broken shells.

"Take that out of your mouth. Not candy," Yani said pushing away a tiny corkscrew shell that Sydette held up to her mouth.

Water in sight, Sydette took off running with Erik right behind her. She fell in the water and Erik helped her back up, while Yani smoothed out two big blankets and the small pop up tent on the sand in a shaded spot.

"Hold on," Erik said.

"'kay," Sydette responded.

Erik held Sydette and waded out to his chest before he let her go. Yani felt proud at how well her daughter could tread before she was dog-paddling to hold onto Erik's neck again. She joined them and they frolicked in the water a long time until Sydette grew weary.

Back on land she and Erik watched the baby play in the sand until it got too warm and she grew sleepy. Yani placed Sydette inside the pop-up tent in the shade and zipped it shut to keep mosquitoes away from her.

Sprawled out next to Erik, Yani stared up at the sky with him, the sun hot but not scorching yet. His hand reached over and held hers.

"I'm sorry."

Erik's voice was small.

"Sorry for what?"

"Sorry I couldn't contact you. Sorry for questioning you about Zachary. I wish I could tell you everything about my life, but it isn't safe. At least not now. I wish we could stay like this forever—"

"But we could. Leave Klaue."

"I can't. Not yet…"

Yani watched a slow cloud drift in a lazy swirl across the sky before she closed her eyes. She wished he could stay with them forever. He was there with them for a little longer. That would have to be enough.

###

Erik turned his head on the blanket to stare at Yani. Her eyes were closed and her face was relaxed. Her skin was sun-bronzed to a rich hue.

This could be his life.

Erik imagined them getting their own little house on another hill somewhere. He could work on the island while she became a nurse. They could raise Sydette together. He could bring them to Oakland to meet his grandpop, or take them to D.C. to see his play Uncle Bakari and Aunt Shavonne. There was London and his play Aunt Serah and Uncle Addae. He could take them to Brazil, teach Sydette capoeira with his play cousin Marisol…

He could live a life. A real one. He could have what his parents never had.

He shocked his own mind with his other thoughts.

A child.

He could have a child with her. His very own. He could give Sydette a sibling.

His eyes trailed up and down Yani's body.

The idea sprouted.

Yani carrying his child.

Their lovemaking was already intense and often beyond wild, but what would it feel like to intentionally want to place his seed in her womb to take root?

Blood rushed to his manhood.

What would she look like with a swollen belly that he caused?

He could taste his own baby's milk first.

He could cook for her and his child.

He could make Sydette his.

A family.

He could have it.

"Whew..getting hot now. I'm going in the water…what?" she said.

Yani sat up rubbing her arm, her skin darker. She moved to get off of the blanket but he pulled her arm toward him.

He sought out her mouth and when they connected, he pushed her back onto the blanket. His lips burned with the need to keep her close, and when he heard her groaning, his tongue went deeper. He shifted above her and her legs opened allowing him to rest his erection on her mound. He held his weight up with his hands as he continued ravishing her mouth, his full lips overpowering her into submission.

His fingers slid to untie her bikini bottom. He wasted little time plucking off her top and letting her heavy breasts go free.

Releasing her lips, he sat back on his knees and looked down at her vulva.

So fat. So juicy. Her inner labia wings plump and wide open for him.

He pulled off his trunks and her eyes flicked over to the baby's beach tent.

"She's fine," he said.

Pushing her thighs wide open he felt his mouth water. Her eyes gazed down at his thick shaft and he stroked it for her. Her lips quirked.

"Killmonger."

His eyes blinked hard, her voice bending him. He prayed to God that she would never say his name like that when she begged him to quit his life with Klaue. All his years of preparation and sacrifice could go up in smoke. It almost happened once, but he forged ahead, never thinking another woman could ever put him in that position again.

He squeezed the tip of his dick, let her see how hard he was for her. His body was on fire and it took little time for his pre-cum to spill out. He slid it up and down his rigid cock, and when he had it fat and glistening, he tapped it gently on her clit.

"Oh!"

Her gasp made his balls jump.

He sank down and pressed his lips into her folds, her legs reaching up to the blue sky. Smacking his lips, he spit on her clit and traced an infinity sign with his tongue up and down her wet pussy. Moaning her name while he drank from her center, he felt the growing need to enter her. He raised above her again and nibbled on her earlobes, running the tip of his tongue along the shell. "Yani," he whispered.

Her moans of pleasure tickled his ears and made his dick bob with desperate anticipation.

"Still love me?" he asked.

Yani's fingers reached up and gripped his erection and they both watched the pooling of pre-sum seep from his slit. Her touch was electric and Erik lined himself up with her throbbing opening and rested his glans there. All her juicy pink flowered open with sticky abandon.

A life with her.

Putting life in her.

"Ooohh…." she moaned.

Yani's hips buckled when he pressed into her, stretching her opening, his girth pushing in slow inch by inch. His hands caressed her breasts and when his dick bottomed out, he gave slow deep thrusts.

Big thighs slick with sweat, breasts pliant in his hands, her hips winding and her pussy surrounding his shaft tight, Erik couldn't help but moan and groan as he pumped into her with a purpose.

"Damn, Yani…fuck me baby…fuck me…"

His eyes felt like liquid as his strokes were hitting their mark, Yani's head whipping back and forth from the sensations he gave her. Rich gushy sounds came from their joining, and when his fingers pinched her nipples, thoughts of impregnating her ran wild in his head again.

"Oh shit!" he cried out when she lifted her legs higher and held them with her hands.

They could hear his balls smacking her cheeks and her pussy was creaming on his dick. Looking down he could see her juices coating his long shaft, the glossy slickness making him slip and hit the side of her walls. He was working her pussy hard and her back was jammed down onto the blanket and on the sand underneath. Her fingernails raked at a few keloids on his arms, and the sensation was both pleasurable and a little painful.

Her eyes held his in a powerful gaze when he locked her legs around him. He wanted to flood her womb. Swiveling his hips, he hit another side of her tight walls and she yelped with surprise when he sank further in. He was hitting her cervix and he pressed deeper to get his spongy tip right against it.

"Killmonger…God…my pussy," she whimpered.

Her arms wrapped around his neck and his eyes traced the horizon of the sea before him.

How was this possible?

To be here like that with her and wanting to make a baby?

Him.

A baby.

His fucked up life and past. His brutal work and destruction across the globe. His burning rage for revenge and putting King T'Chaka and Prince T'Challa deep in the dirt of his father's homeland. He was going to be a King one day soon. He was going to shake up the world.

Now was not the time to make a child. It was time for plotting. A time for taking. Not making.

But her eyes were on him, those eyes that made him weak every time he looked at her damn face. Fucking Yani.

Why the fuck did she have to be swimming naked in the sea that day? Why did she have to be here? She twisted up everything, spun him out of control. Made him question his whole life trajectory.

"Shit!" he yelled.

He pumped harder into her, a tinge of anger heating his thrusts. She was fucking up his mental state. She was fucking up his legacy. He had gotten past it with Disa, but this beautiful bitch taking his thick dick right under him was dragging him back into uncertainty.

"You take this fucking dick, baby…look at you taking this big dick!" he shouted.

He lifted up and pinned his fists onto the blanket and slammed his erection into her. Her breasts bounced wildly and her thick cheeks smacked so loud against him. She was uttering sounds that had him on edge and ready to spill his cum so deep inside of her.

"Yeah…yeah…I know you missed Daddy's dick…I see how you acting wit it. Pussy swallowing my shit…"

He wanted to create something precious with her.

For once give life instead of snatching it away.

Yani's arms clutched him tight, her body submitting to his desire for her.

"Baby…got my balls soaked!"

Blood thundered in his ears and face. He felt his nuts tighten, along with the cords in his neck.

"I missed you so much Killmonger…"

Her face was angelic, her plump lips parted and so ready for more sloppy wet kisses.

"I'ma nut so deep in your pussy, Yani…so fucking deep."

His groin was soaked with her fluid and more sticky juices flowed out from her pussy. He couldn't keep his eyes from watching his shaft sink in and out of her with wet sounds erupting with each pump. How was this girl getting wetter? His throat grew tight and his moans were more drawn out until he sounded like a child whining for more candy. It made Yani squeeze her eyes shut and her pussy tightened around him more.

"Oh, fucking take it…take it…oh yeah…take this fucking dick…give it to me baby. Give me that pussy…fuck…you so good…open those fucking legs wider for me…just like that…I want you to cum on this dick. Cum on your dick, baby."

Yani's eyes were open and staring at his cock ramming into her. Three goddamn weeks away from her. He made her cry and think he was dead. He opened up a door that Zachary thought he could slip into.

Zachary.

Erik rested his eyes on Yani's face.

What if he had been gone longer? Would she have let Zachary back into her life? Moved on and he'd be left to mourn another failed love?

The look in Zachary's eyes let Erik know that he would be on the sidelines waiting for his chance to be with Yani. He was bold enough to tell Yani to call him in front of Erik's face.

The thought of that young pup being on top of Yani irked the shit out of him. He'd been that way once himself-wanting a girl who was with someone—and letting her know he was there when she got tired of the bullshit.

"This my pussy, right?"

He flexed his back muscles and shifted his weight to bear down on her. Her soft sighs made the hair on his neck raise.

"Tell me," he pleaded.

"It's yours…"

The arch in his back dipped more as he plunged to the root of his dick and held her hands down against her sides with his own. His thighs held her legs wide open. He was ready to cum. But he wanted her to climax first so he could witness her pleasure before his own.

"Erik…"

Fuck.

She said his name like it was a supplication, an entreaty to his soul. The lump in his throat made him bite his lip as he felt the small prick of tears form in his eyes. The weight of his dick tugged on her clit and he saw it pulling the hood down. She was so swollen around him. His woman.

A wave crashed on the beach and Erik watched a wide swathe of water snake its way closer to their blankets. The mid-day tide moved in fast around the cove.

He moved slow but pressed hard inside of her.

Lips touched and he slathered her mouth with slow wet kisses that punctuated the slow deep thrusts he gave her engorged folds. He vacillated between kissing and plunging balls deep into her until Yani's heated body catapulted him beyond what he could handle.

"Shit…oh shit…girl…"

The first hot spurts of his semen released and he gasped along with her as he felt her walls spasm along his brick-hard length. It felt like a tight rippling of several soft wet lips sucking him off in an even rhythm along his shaft.

"Yani!"

He clutched her hands tight and pushed his glans deeper so he could get against her cervix…wanting to drench her womb with all of his seed.

Have my child.

Yani's breasts heaved against his hot sweaty chest and a splash of seawater hit the back of her head. She lifted up by clinging to his shoulders, the drops of water trickling down from her scalp, and for a single moment of time, Erik thought she knew what he was trying to do. Her legs squeezed around his ass and her sweet shouts of his name made him release even more semen.

Panting and holding her against him, so deep down in her pussy, Erik watched the sea once more.

He thought of his father.

His mother.

Was this what it was like for them when they made him?

Did they just decide to create him even if they knew that things might not be the way they wanted it to be?

Did they even suspect the ending that befell them was a possibility?

Erik wiped the tears from his eyes before Yani saw them.

To want something and know you couldn't have it was killing him.

He rested easy inside of her body until he felt his penis become flaccid and he pulled out from her. Yani laid back onto the damp blanket, not caring about water rushing around her head.

His Black mermaid.

Sated.

Her pussy full of his hot essence.

Her thighs fell open and he could see how much he put in her. Thick pearly white cum sat in the entrance of her wet pink slit. When he thumbed her opening, she took her fingers and held it open for him to see.

"Fuck, girl."

Dipping two fingers into her, he felt how much he put in Yani. She was full of him. He bent over her and kissed every inch of her, stopping at her soft round belly, his lips hesitant to release her.

She played with her breasts for him until the water got to be too much. She jumped up and peed near a shrub, then moved over to Sydette's tent.

Erik slipped on his trunks and folded up the soaked blankets. Sydette fretted from being woken up.

"Hold her for me," Yani said.

He watched her pack up the tent and her bookbag, and he handed her the baby in exchange for the bag and blankets. He felt his dick thicken again as he watched her walk back up to the main house naked, big hips swaying, cheeks jiggling, tits bouncing…

Sydette fell back to sleep, her head rested on Yani's shoulder.

His throat grew tight again following them.

His beautiful woman. His precious little girl.

Mine.

###

Four times.

He fucked her four times that day.

His return and his encounter with Zachary changed Erik.

Yani felt it on the beach when he made love to her. The sex was way different. Like he had something to prove. As the tide rolled in for the afternoon, his release triggered an intense climax from her. Cumming together was always a special treat, but the way he growled her name in her ear after his loud shouts made her heart skip.

She read a new book while he surfed the net, and after they ate a late lunch and Yani fed the baby, they showered together and she dropped to her knees to suck him off before he had her up against the glass shower door taking her hard and fast from behind. She washed his hair with her cherry herbal shampoo and they sat out on the porch with him sitting between her legs as she palm rolled his locs.

Sydette came running out with her doll baby and sat down in front of him watching Yani separate new growth and conjoined locs.

Fingers dipping into the homemade loc butter she made, Yani was gentle with Erik's scalp.

"Hold this Sweat Pea," Yani said allowing her daughter to hold the container of loc butter.

Erik's hair was soft at the root and course at the tips. She gently pushed his head down and dipped a finger into the jar Sydette held. When she separated some new growth, she noticed a patch of hair that was lighter in color. A coppery reddish-brown. Almost auburn.

"Did you dye your hair before?"

"Nah."

"You have a patch of red hair."

"Birthmark. From my Mom. She had red hair. Black ginger."

Yani coated the hair with loc butter and let her soft palms roll over the strands until the new growth was twisted in neat against his scalp. The muscles in his back flexed as he held his head down for her. Sydette stuck her fingers in the hair cream and stood to wipe it on Erik's hair.

"Not too much," Yani said.

She took the jar from her daughter and placed it on the table near them and cornrowed the hair she had already tended to.

"Look at this girl," Yani said, still holding onto a loc.

She watched Erik lift his head up and look to his side.

Sydette had pulled aside her bikini top and was sucking on her nipple.

"Sweet Pea, let your Mama finish my hair first," he said.

Yani continued rolling the strands of Erik's hair as her daughter ignored her work and fed from her.

"What was your Mom like?"

Yani finished the last two locs on his scalp and Erik tilted his head back up. She lifted Sydette onto her lap and tucked her bikini top back over her breast.

Erik never said much about his family. Just that his parents were dead. He shared one picture of his mother with him when he was about three and that was it. He looked like her.

His eyes focused out on the water.

"She was…hmmm…my whole world. Had my Pops wrapped around her finger. Me too. She was powerful…loving. Funny. She used to make me and my father laugh so hard. She liked to cuss. She was a dancer in college. She taught me to fight and to dance. She was beautiful. Really beautiful. She had this big ass 'fro that looked like…fire. I wanted to be her so bad. We used to dance together a lot—"

"Oh yeah?"

"My father loved to watch my mother dance. I guess it was an aphrodisiac for him, but she always had music on in the house and once she got to rocking her hips…it was on. She was larger than life. Sharp tongue. Independent. You remind me of her sometimes."

His eyes glanced at her.

"I miss her. But that little patch of red in my hair, it's like she's with me, y'know? For always."

His eyes darted back to the sea.

She stroked the small patch of red in his hair and he took her fingers and kissed them.

"They would've loved this…my parents. This view is amazing."

He said no more about his mother. Or father. And Yani felt like she had pried open something too tender for him to talk about much further.

She rocked Sydette and watched the sea with him.

###

The two weeks after his return were the best times of Yani's life. They had a routine once more. She did whatever she wanted while he worked on whatever new project Klaue had him on. They spent time with her family, and even her parents came around to tolerating him.

Zachary still checked on her through social media and an occasional text message. She said nothing to Erik about it. He was happy. She was happy. Sydette blossomed with them both together.

All was well until her period didn't come on time.

Two days after her due date, Yani panicked.

Erik became so caught up in his work that he didn't really notice her falling apart.

She snuck away from the compound and bought a pregnancy kit, the most expensive kind on the market. She hid it in her purse and once she arrived at the compound, she stashed it in the middle house bathroom.

This couldn't be happening.

Again.

###

Chp. 18 Here

Tag List:

@fd-writes​ @soufcakmistress  @cherrystainedlipsbaby @tclaybon  @thadelightfulone

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@tyees @eye-raq @writerbee-ffs

[smallpotatoknitwear]

2021 Blanket #7: Raised Squared Waffle

Basically, once I went back to work, there was no way I was going to hit my goal of 12 blankets made in 2021, and that’s okay. The last blanket I finished last year was #7, my Raised Squared Waffle. I finished it just a few weeks before the new year, in mid-December, and it has quickly become one of my favorite finished objects from the past few years. It’s super cozy and squishy, and my cat also loves it! I keep forgetting to weave the last two ends, though, so if you see them peeping out from where I hid them for these photos… no, you don’t.

This blanket is on the bigger side of my projects from the past two years. I used 10.5 skeins of Caron Chunky Cakes in Bumbleberry with a size L, and the blanket is absolutely massive—not that I’m complaining about that!!! It’s at least 6x6 feet, and is perfect to wrap up in like a burrito on the freezing cold (a.k.a. near-zero) nights we’ve had here in central PA, peppered over the past few weeks. Another thing I love about this blanket is how heavy it is. I have anxiety, but I’m also a very restless sleeper, so I sometimes find my weighted blanket too cumbersome to actually sleep under. However, this blanket in particular out of the ones I made has a really nice weight and drape to it that I find very comforting.

[meganshinsou-tm]

Sugarcoated. (m)

↳ chapter nine: ready or not

❧ genre: pro-hero hitoshi, adoptive siblings, happy ending

❧ chapter warnings: none

[multi-chap masterlist] [previous chapter - next chapter]

Hitoshi's violet hues fluttered open to see his living room filled with shaded sunlight. He groaned stretching out his neck and rubbed the sleep from his tired eyes. The hero could feel a weight on his arm making him look over to see you snuggled up in his side with the couch blanket pulled up to your nose, your (h/c) locks had practically fallen from the hair clip you wore rendering it useless. Hitoshi took it out for you and tossed it onto the coffee table, wincing when it made a slightly loud noise, you seemed un-bothered by it though and only snuggled closer, your face burying into his chest deeper as you hummed softly and wrapped your arms around him.

The hero smiled and felt his heart dancing in his chest. You were so fucking cute to him in your sleepy state. His arm around your head played with your hair and it caused an unconscious smile to form on your plump lips as you hummed happily. His other arm wrapped around you and rubbed your back as he placed a kiss to your head. Hitoshi didn't mind laying awake with you in his arms for a while longer, he didn't dare bother you and wanted you to sleep for as long as you needed. 

After settling down on the couch together with pizza the night before, the two of you watched The Office together. You had passed out before he did, slowly falling over until you were in his lap, but as he did now he didn't bother waking you up and figured he'd just give you a few minutes before moving you to a bed. Somewhere between then he must've passed out as well.

The hero reached over and grabbed his phone from the arm of the couch and scrolled through it. He text his boss at the agency letting him know that he wouldn't be coming in at all that day, there was no use in going in for only a couple hours, plus you two had a lot to do that day. He spent a few more minutes just mindlessly browsing the internet until he had the idea to snap a candid picture of you. Raising his arm and turning on the selfie camera he caught you and himself in the frame. Unknown to him you were somewhat awake and slyly smiling. Right when he pressed the button on the side of his phone, your head lifted and placed a kiss to his cheek. Hitoshi froze for a second, his purple brows rising in shock. 

Turning his head he was met with (e/c) eyes looking back at him, sleepy but still bright as ever. You giggled and buried you face back into his chest mumbling incoherent words.

"What are you saying halfling?"

"I was asking how it turned out," you said turning your face.

Hitoshi lowered the phone and scrolled through his pictures and let out a hearty laugh. He placed it before your own eyes and you awed. It was a legit cute picture. You were smiling as your lips kissed his skin, his own lips formed into a toothless smile, one of his cheeks perked higher than the other and his purple brows raised in surprise.

"Look how adorable we are! You'll have to send that to me!"

"And sent!"

Only a second after he said that, your phone on the kitchen counter pinged, making you giggle. Hitoshi put his phone back up and cuddled your closer into his arms, rocking you back and forth. Your legs stretched out, one wrapped around him and you buried your face back into his chest with a sleepy groan.

"Sorry your first night was spent on the couch."

"No Toshi, it's fine. Believe it or not I slept great."

"Hmm, so did I. How are you feeling," he asked as you looked up to him. His hand brushed your hair back and his thumb traced your brow.

"I feel alright, I'm just sore as hell honestly but I'll be fine once you feed me?"

Shinsou laughed and kissed your forehead, trailing even more sweet and goofy kisses along your temple and across your cheeks, making sure to be careful of your wounded one. Your face twisted and turned as his lazy bed hair tickled your face coaxing giggles from your lips. At the moment Hitoshi's heart was so full from hearing your happy sounds and seeing your cheeks blush from smiling so much. If he got to spend every morning like this he would be able to die happy.

"I guess I'll feed you, it's time for second breakfast huh? You wanna cook something or go get some food?"

You smiled through your mess of hair up at him, a hand resting on his cheek. "Let's cook, what do you got?"

After finally peeling yourselves from the couch you got up to raid Hitoshi's fridge and pantry. You were feeling extra hungry so you left him in charge of making the eggs and bacon while you made waffles with a special topping. Your hands pulled out some ricotta, blueberries, lemons, confectioners sugar and honey. The hero quirked a brow at the ingredients but didn't question, you were the pro in this department.

In one bowl you quickly whipped up something up that consisted of just the ricotta, lemon juice and zest and sugar, then you covered it and put it in the fridge. Next you dumped the blueberries into a saucepan with some water and honey. Hitoshi watched as he used the opposite burner to cook the eggs. You looked over at him with a proud smile. To be beat to hell, covered in a few bruises and scars you didn't seem to let it affect your spirit at all. Maybe it was just because you were cooking and in your element, or maybe it was because of Hitoshi himself. Either way he was happy to see you happy. His hand reached over and pinched your cheek and you nudge him in the side.

Minutes later Hitoshi had finished the eggs and bacon just as you wrapped up making the waffles. He grabbed plates, placing a good amount of the scrambled eggs and bacon on two of them and placing them at the counter. You took the other two plates he got down and placed two waffles on each. Next you topped the golden and fluffy items with the blueberry and the ricotta stuff you made.

Shinsou watched as you stuck out the tip of your tongue, concentrating as you topped everything with lemon zest. The presentation didn't have to be perfect of course but he could tell you couldn't help yourself, you took pride in what you had prepared. His eyes finally looked back down to the food and widened, his mouth salivating. The blueberry and ricotta melted and blended together in swirls cascading into the small squares of the waffles and down the sides. The purple of the berries were bright and beautiful. The food period was beautiful!

"And voila! Waffles with blueberry compote and ricotta cream," you cheered placing a plate in front of him with a smile.

"Wow, I don't know what any of that is but it looks good! Hold on a second!"

The hero got up from his stool and jogged down the hall and out of the kitchen. You stood in your place, lips pursed as you waited for him to return, somewhat confused. Not long after, his feet were heard padding down the wood floors and back towards you, looking in his direction your brows rose as he held a camera in his hands. 

The camera looked extremely expensive and professional. He asked you to pick up one of the plates and bring it over to the actual dining table that was in front of a massive window. As you did so he opened the blinds just a bit and stood back, placing the camera window to his eye. The sound of shutters clicking started and you watched in awe as Hitoshi took pictures of the food in different angles and messed with the blinds here and there. Soon all you could focus on were his hands and how they held the camera. They were slender yet muscular, his fingers long. The device sat in his palms as if it were the most precious thing he could hold, sort of like the way he held your own hands. His violet hues glanced up at you watching him with your mouth agape. A lazy smile crossed his lips and he took a few more shots.

"Alright, now let's eat!"

You nodded and grabbed the plate and brought it back to the kitchen counter. Hitoshi sat next to you with his own plates and rested his elbows on the flat surface as he scanned through the multiple pictures he just took until he seemed to come to one that made him awe. You looked over and he showed you. To be just a picture of food it was stunning and it was your food that made it stunning.

"Toshi, you didn't tell me that you were into photography!"

"You didn't ask," he replied and looked at you the smuggest of grins as he stole your line.

"Touché!"

As you ate together, Hitoshi told you about how photography is a hobby of his, in fact the pictures hanging around his home were pictures he took himself. You were really amazed at this interest of his, it never crossed your mind he'd be into something like it but as you thought about it more it did seem to suit him. 

Hitoshi went on and on about his love for the hobby and it made you smile to see him so happy and gleaming, it was like how baking was for you. Looking around at the photos adorning his walls you realized just how good he really was.

"You'll have to let me do a shoot of you one day."

You choked on your waffles at his suggestion and quickly downed some water as he pat your back.

"Uh – sorry, why would you want to do that?"

Hitoshi smiled and leaned over to kiss your cheek, fingers softly pinching it, making it turn pink. 

"Why wouldn't I? You're beautiful and would look amazing in the lens of my camera. I'm always wanting to shoot different styles of photography and you'd be the perfect model."

Your eyes narrowed at him, not exactly sure if what he was thinking was pure or not. He widened his own violet hues and held up his hands with a laugh.

"No, no, no, nothing like that! I mean – not like I wouldn't like to do 'those' types of shoots with you, but of course I'd like to build your trust first!"

You hummed raising and lowering a brow, jaws aggressively munching on a piece of bacon making Hitoshi chuckle and go back to drinking his coffee.

"Maybe I'll consider it."

You dropped your apartment key on the counter and picked up the last small box that sat next to it and walked towards the door. Turning around you looked over everything and took in how empty the place was. Most people would be sentimental over leaving their first real place, but you were more than ready to leave the apartment in the dust. You walked out and shut the door behind you, making your way down the stairs, smiling when Hitoshi walked through the lobby door shaking out his purple locks as a thin sleet started to fall.

His own eyes fell upon your sweet and patched up face, a red beanie dressing your (h/c) locks that spilled out from below it and one of his coats swallowing your body. When the two of you arrived you were still in his clothes with an added coat since you didn't have any from the night before. Once getting to your place to start packing up your stuff, you dressed into a long sleeve shirt, jeans, boots and your own light hoodie and Hitoshi's coat. The hero didn't complain or ask for the coat back, he lived for how adorable you looked in his clothes.

"Last box sweetness?" Shinsou asked and you nodded and walked over to him.

He blew warm air into his hands and rubbed them together, "Alright, I got the jeep warming up. Ready to blow this popsicle stand?"

"Oh yeah Toshi, it's lunch time!"

Rolling his eyes Hitoshi slung an arm around your shoulder and kissed the top of your head. You were getting so used to his small and tender kisses to your hair and face, each time they warmed your heart and brought a smile to you. 

You and the hero walked out of the apartment building side by side and into the blistering cold wind. Your paces quickened to get to the vehicle faster. Hitoshi told you to go ahead and hop into the jeep while he took the box from you and put it in the backseat with the other boxes and bags. You didn't have a whole lot, mainly clothes, your collectible, and a few dishes. The groceries were running low as they usually do after paying off your bills so you didn't have to worry about emptying the fridge or pantry.

Hitoshi shut the backseat door and went to hurry and run to his side until he noticed you struggling to get into the vehicle. Pulling up the collar of his jacket and shaking his head he came up behind you and grabbed your hips to basically chunk you into the seat and closed the door. Once he got in on the drivers side you were still slumped over, face in the middle console in a fit of giggles.

"Sorry I just tossed you like trash but it's fucking cold out there!"

"It's fine Hitoshi. Your jeep is just so damn high off the ground and the cold just kind of paralyzed me," you giggled and finally sat up straight rubbing your hands together.

Hitoshi smiled and turned to face you, taking your hands in his and blowing warm air into them, rubbing them between his, just as he did outside of Aizawa's house. You smiled and let him do his thing, until your hands were nice and toasty. He kissed the insides of both palms then brushed up your sleeves with his thumbs and kissed your bruised wrists. His violet eyes looked up at you from under his curly lashes and your breathing hitched in your throat and your heart stopped.

"You ready cutie?"

"Ready for what exactly? For you to just swoop in and steal my heart with your fucking gorgeous perfect self and your adorable sister? Am I ready for that?" You asked yourself internally. 

He tilted his head awaiting your reply as he flashed you a lazy yet gorgeous smile that always made your heart melt and you knew in that moment that once that jeep had left from its spot that you'd be doomed to fall in love with this cabbage patch hero whether you were ready or not. 

With a sigh and smile you removed one of your hands from Hitoshi's and ran it through his purple locks for the first time ever, it was something you had been dying to do since the first day you met him. They were crazy soft and seemed to make the man smile even bigger.

"I'm more than ready Toshi!"

[steves-on-a-plane]

Day Off

Title: Day Off Words:1265 Content Creator: @steves-on-a-plane Square Filled: “Pillow Forts”  Rating: G Pairing: Bruce Banner x Reader Warnings/triggers: None,  No strong language or topics just fluff! Summary: Reader is feeling tired and overworked so Bruce decides to use their one day off that week to make sure they are getting the rest and relaxation they deserve.  Link: @brucebannerbingo

“Ugggggh.” You groaned continuously from your apartment door to the couch, dragging your purse along the floor as you did. You threw yourself down, face first, into the cushions. “Uggggghhhhh.” You complained into the cushions.

“Rough day at work?” Bruce asked. He was sitting on the other end of the couch with a book in his hand. Presumably he’d been reading said book before you came loafing in.

“Every day is a rough day.” You complained. You rolled over so you were laying on your back. This way your face wasn’t totally shoved into a pillow while you tried to talk to him. “Follow your dreams they said. Open a restaurant they said. Why would you encourage me to follow my dreams?” You glared down at him.

“I’m sorry I believed in you.” He chuckled, setting his book aside. He started massaging your feet while you complained about your workday.  

“Well you’re forgiven then.” You replied seriously. “I’m just so tired. I just need a vacation, but instead tomorrow is my only day off this week. I’m so tired.”

“You said that already.” Brue sighed sympathetically. “Would you like me to carry you to bed?”

“I’d love you forever if you did.” You vowed.

“You already promised to do that, remember.” He indicated the wedding band on his left hand.

“Oh yeah. How’d I ever get so lucky to be married to you?” You questioned him dreamily as he rose to his feet.

“Believe me, Honey I’m the lucky one.” Bruce scooped you up into his strong arms. You were too tired to even raise your own arms and wrap them around his neck. Instead nestled up to Bruce, laying your head on his shoulder.

“You’re the best.” You yawned in his ear. You couldn’t see the smile of admiration on his face as Bruce carried you down the hall. You didn’t know that all he wanted to do for the next twenty-four hours was hold you in his arms. You couldn’t see the miniscule hairs on the back of his neck rise to attention as you continued to sleepily mumble words of affection in his ears. In his opinion, you were the best.

You had intended to sleep in extremely late the next morning. You never got to sleep in on workdays. You always had to be at the restaurant early in the morning for deliveries, payroll or any of the other number of things that always seemed to go wrong through the course of the previous night. So, sleeping until roughly noon time had been the plan.

Instead you woke at 10 am to the sound of sizzling bacon and the smell of something buttery sweet, probably waffles. Waffles and bacon were your favorite. You debated going back to sleep but knew that Bruce would call you into the kitchen for breakfast soon. You decided to reach for your phone and scroll through social media until the food was ready. As predicted, Bruce returned to the bedroom a little while later.

“Oh, good you’re up!” He smiled. “We don’t really have any trays so this will have to do.” From out in the hall he produced a single rung step stool that you kept in the bathroom to reach the top shelf of the linen closet. The step stool was decorated with a plate of bacon, eggs and waffles piled high, a bowl of fresh fruit, and a glass of orange juice.

“Breakfast in bed!” You noted excitedly.

“Well you’ve been working so hard at the restaurant lately, I thought you might like it if someone else cooked for you for once.” He explained, setting the step stool over your legs.

“You’re gonna eat with me, right?” You ask, looking up from the spectacular spread.

“No, ah…” His face twisted uncomfortably the way it always did when he had a secret. “I’ve got one more surprise for you and it’s not quite ready yet so…you stay here, eat your breakfast and I’ll come get you when it’s ready.” He kissed you on the forehead and turned to leave, but you caught his wrist in time. With a gentle tug he understood that you wanted him to lower his face towards yours.

“I love you.” You whispered, your lips a breath away from his. You then pressed your lips to his and held them for a moment. Enjoying the soft touch. “Thanks for breakfast, Love.”  You said once you released him from your gasp.

You ate your breakfast alone, but you didn’t mind because it had been prepared with love. There was love in the bacon that was slightly too crispy. There was love in the waffles that hadn’t been formed correctly in the waffle iron. Some pieces of waffle were oversized, with singed portions that had overflowed in the machine and other wafflers were slightly doughy and undercooked. But there was a lot of butter, enough had been spread so that each square on the waffle had been covered, and there was a lot of love. Love was the best flavor of all.

“How was it?” Bruce poked his head in the bedroom roughly a half an hour later.

“It was wonderful.” You vouched. “Best breakfast I’ve ever had.”

“Better than the time we had crêpes in Paris?” He questioned skeptically.

“Yes, a hundred times better.” You promised. “I can’t imagine what surprise you could possibly have to follow this up with. Let me just get dressed.”

“Not necessary. The surprise is in living room and the dress code is pajamas.” He held a hand out to you. You moved the step stool out of your way and accepted his hand. “Alright, cover your eyes and just let me guide you, alright?”

“What kind of surprise is this, Bruce?” You giggled, already covering your eyes with your hands. You felt a hand on either of your shoulders and let your husband guide you out of the bedroom, down the hall and into the living room.

“Okay, stay there for one second.” You did as you were instructed and waited patiently with your hands covering your eyes. You heard Bruce’s footsteps walk away and the return quickly.

“Alright, you can open your eyes.” With your sight disarmed, you could hear the nervousness in his voice.

“Love, I’m sure whatever the surprise is I’ll love it.” You assured him as you lowered your hands. Your heart melted the second you took in your living room.

Bruce had gathered every single sheet, blanket and pillow in your apartment and transformed the living room into one giant pillow fort. The couch had been stripped of its cushions and they’d been used as walls and supports in the fort. You could hardly see your carpet under the scatter of pillows and occasional bean bag. There were bowls of snacks inside the fort too. You quickly spotted popcorn and red licorice and mini candy bars, everything that made great movie snacks.

“I thought maybe we could use your one day off to really relax.” He explained, holding your favorite pillow that he must have retrieved form the bedroom in his arms. “The smart TV is all set up, I made sure all our streaming services are downloaded on it and I ran to the store this morning for snacks and extra pillows and…you haven’t said anything. Is this too much?”

“Never!” You promised. “It’s absolutely spectacular!” You launched yourself at Bruce and practically tackled him to the floor. Luckily there was a plethora of pillows to break his fall. “This is going to be the best day off ever!”

[enchantedxrose]

Eye of the Beholder

When Belle contracts an illness that leaves her badly disfigured, the Beast is the only one who really understands how she feels.  One-shot, 2.5k words.  

The illness came on suddenly.

One afternoon, while Belle was perched in one of the windowseats in her library, reading a swashbuckling romance in a patch of winter sunlight, she began to feel a headache and chills coming on. She tried to brush it off as just a cold, but by evening she was feverish, and a crimson rash spread across her arms and neck.

By the next morning, the staff began to truly worry. They exchanged grim looks and discussed her condition in hushed voices.

But whenever the Beast came near, or demanded an update, they all gave him forced smiles and optimism. “You know Mademoiselle Belle, she is a determined girl! She will pull through in no time,” Lumiére assured him, a little too heartily.

They urged him to stay out of the sickroom. There was no danger for the enchanted servants, they insisted, because objects couldn’t catch a disease. But the Beast was still flesh and blood. Her illness, they feared, was very infectious.

For a few days, the Beast tried to content himself with standing guard outside Belle’s door. He needed to be near her, but he didn’t want to intrude. Their friendship—once a feeble spring seedling poking through the snow, now blossoming into something stronger—was a delicate balance of distance and closeness, and he hated the thought of disrupting that. She might not appreciate him seeing her so vulnerable, might be annoyed with him when she got better.

But she must be so bored lying in bed all day, he grumbled to himself. Does she have enough books in there to keep her company?

Tired of pacing the hall and wringing his hands, the Beast retrieved a new stack of books from the library for her.  

He debated with himself for a moment, then tore off a scrap piece of paper to leave her a note between the pages of Gawain and the Green Knight. His handwriting was barely legible—his oversized paws were awkward for holding a quill—so he kept the message concise.

Belle: Sorry you are sick. I miss you. Please get well.

Staring at the wobbly letters, the Beast felt his ears flatten in shame at how inadequate they were for expressing all he wanted to say. If only he were an ordinary man, if only he had the power of eloquent language, if only he had the courage to lay his heart completely bare to her…

Those three simple sentences would have to suffice for now. He could only hope that Belle would understand the depth of feeling behind them.

“Mrs. Potts,” he said, when he reached the door with a stack of book under his arm, “I know you won’t let me into Belle’s room, but would you at least let her have these?”

Her eyes softened into something like pity, and the Beast’s stomach sank in dread.

“I know what we said to you, sir,” she said gently, “but now I think it’s best if you go to her.”

Somehow her kindly tone made him all the more anxious, for it seemed as if she were trying to prepare him for bad news. The books dropped to the floor in a heap. The Beast tore into the sickroom without another word.

Smallpox. No one had used the word aloud, but from the moment he saw the sores on her face and arms, he knew what they meant. Her fever must have been high, for her brow shone with sweat, and she tossed and turned in her uneasy sleep.

Cogsworth was perched on her bedside table amongst the bottles of herbs and tinctures, looking just as lost and useless as the Beast felt. Nevertheless, the Beast demanded, “What can I do?”

“Speak to her, Master,” Cogsworth said in a small voice. “Perhaps she can hear you.”

The Beast knelt at her bedside and held her limp hand in both of his paws. His mind was reeling. He couldn’t quite process what was happening.

“Belle, you have to keep fighting,” he whispered, his deep, gruff voice hitching. “You’re the strongest person I know. Please, you can’t give up.”

She still did not open her eyes, but the crease on her forehead smoothed a little. As if the sound of his voice brought her some comfort.

The Beast stayed by her side after that, reading aloud to her though he stumbled over unfamiliar words, laying a cool cloth over her forehead and stroking her hair to soothe her when she grew restless. He still did not know if she was truly aware of his presence, for she was still delirious with fever. Once or twice, her eyelids fluttered and she murmured under her breath.

“Papa?” she croaked.

“No, he’s…I’m sorry, he’s not here right now, Belle,” he told her, wincing in guilt. “But he’s safe at home, I promise.”

She sank back into her stupor with a sigh that seemed both disappointed and relieved.

Maybe I should try to get in contact with her father, he thought. Maybe she would feel better with him nearby.

But the Beast couldn’t exactly waltz into the village square looking for the old inventor. And why should Maurice believe anything he said, and not suspect it was some kind of trick or trap to lure him back to the dungeons?

Enchantress be damned, curse be damned, the Beast didn’t much care what happened to himself anymore. All he knew in that moment was that he could barely breathe. He wanted to see her eyes open again, those warm brown eyes that sparkled bright when she teased him, that flashed fierce when she argued with him.

“Belle,” he said, leaning closer to her so that he could almost whisper in her ear. “I’ll make another bargain with you, alright? If you get well, you’ll go home to your father again. All you have to do is get better. I give you my word.”

 Belle did not give up. Her fever finally broke, and the servants assured their master that she was through the danger. By the next morning, she was well enough to sit up in bed—propped up by pillows—and drink some of the tea Mrs. Potts brought her.

“I’m sorry for causing you all so much trouble,” she said with a weak smile, for most of the servants had gathered around her bed. “I can’t thank you enough for taking such good care of me.”

“We’re just relieved to see your eyes open once again, Mademoiselle. We were afraid…” Lumiére trailed off.

Belle met the Beast’s eyes from across the room, where he sat in an armchair trying to be unobtrusive.

“Thank you,” she said again, with such feeling that the Beast suspected she did remember his presence in her sickroom. His stomach fluttered nervously.

Then she sighed and turned her attention back to Mrs. Potts on her bedside table. “It’s time I stopped putting it off. Be honest, Mrs. Potts, how bad is it?”

Lumiére cut in, “What on earth do you mean, Mademoiselle?”

She raised her eyebrows. “You know what I mean. My face. How bad is it?”

The disease had left its telltale marks on her face, neck, and arms—round red scabs that would eventually become scars. Lumiére and the others waffled for a moment, insisting that it was barely noticeable, but Belle clearly did not believe them.

Cogsworth silently dragged over a small mirror. Belle winced at the reflection it showed her, then set it facedown dismissively.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, taking a deep, shaky breath in. “The important thing is that I’m alive.”

“That’s the spirit, child,” Mrs. Potts said.

“Just a touch of powder and you’ll never notice the difference,” Belle’s wardrobe added encouragingly.

The Beast felt his heart ache with sympathy as he listened to the others chiming in with words of comfort and encouragement. He had heard it all before, ten years ago, when they had all tried to cheer him up by saying his monstrous form wasn’t that bad, really, once you got used to it.

But the Beast did not need to get used to her. She was still Belle, still the brilliant, clever, funny, stubborn woman he adored, and to him she could never be anything but beautiful.

 Several days passed, and Belle grew strong enough to get out of bed. The Beast was still dizzy with relief that she was alright, but some of his lightheaded joy was wearing off enough for him to comprehend that something was different. Belle wouldn’t quite meet his gaze properly, and even when she smiled, it didn’t reach her eyes.

Did I do something to upset her? He couldn’t help wondering. Or maybe…has she guessed that I’m in love with her, and now she feels uncomfortable around me? His heart twisted painfully at the possibility.

He suggested that they take a walk through the still-frozen castle grounds, emphasizing that the sunshine and fresh air would do her good. And at first, that seemed to be the case. The gardens were beautiful even in winter, hedges blanketed in soft snow, icicles clinging to the sculptures and fountains.

She grinned, admiring the sparkle of the snowflakes that caught the sunlight. His heart swelled a little—that was the Belle he recognized.

He slipped on a patch of ice on the path and went sprawling back into a snowbank, but the pain and indignity were completely worth it to hear her laugh again.

“You’re lucky you’ve just been sick, or else I would be burying you in snowballs right now,” he growled, dusting snow off his cloak.

“Oh, is that so?” she taunted, raising her eyebrows archly. “Are you sure it’s not because you’re scared of being defeated again?”

“Defeated? That’s definitely not how I remember it happening, Belle.”

“Whatever makes you feel better.”

They were falling back into their old playful rapport, and the Beast began to feel like maybe things were going back to normal. Yet every time there was a lull in the conversation, a sadness crept into her eyes again.

They stopped to rest for a moment on a bench near a frozen pond, Belle rubbing her hands together to warm them. But then she paused in the action, her body grew stiff, and she buried her hands in the folds of her fur-lined cloak.

She must’ve noticed the scabs on the backs of her hands, and it reminded her, the Beast realized with a pang. The same thing had happened to him countless times—whenever he started to forget the curse, forget how vicious and hideous he appeared, a glance at a mirror or down at his monstrous claws would bring it all back.

Gently, as gently as he could manage, he put a paw on her shoulder and said, “Is everything alright, Belle? Do you want to talk about anything?”

She closed her eyes and exhaled heavily. “It’s not important. I know it’s not important.”

“The scars do bother you.”

“I know they shouldn’t. I’m fortunate to be alive, and I should just be grateful for that. I guess I’m…vainer than I realized, after all.”

There was an unfamiliar weariness and self-deprecation in her tone, as if she were confessing some great weakness.

“It’s not wrong to be upset,” he said quietly. “I certainly was when I—” His sentence cut off, just as it always did when he tried to talk about the curse.

“I just feel like such a hypocrite. I’ve always said appearances aren’t important, but right now I can’t stand the sight of my own face. And I feel horrible admitting that to you, because I don’t want you to lose all respect for me—”

“Me lose respect for you?” he repeated, incredulous. “Belle, that’s not going to happen.”

Tears fell onto her cheeks in silent shame.

“Belle, we’re friends, aren’t we?”

She nodded.

“And you aren’t…terribly bothered anymore. That I am what I am.”

Her eyes widened. “No, of course not. There’s nothing wrong with the way you are.” Her voice held firm conviction, almost anger on his behalf, and it made him smile. But then she buried her face in her hands. “That must sound pretty hollow coming from me right now.”

“No, it doesn’t,” he said. He cupped a hand under her chin so that she would look up at him. “What I’m trying to say is, I think you should show the same kindness to yourself as you show toward me.”

She managed a watery smile.

“And I want you to know,” he continued, his voice quavering slightly with repressed emotion, “that to those who truly”—(love you)—“know you, the scars don’t matter. Not even a bit.”

Her eyes searched his face carefully. “You really mean it, don’t you?” she said, shaking her head in amazement.

“Yes, I do.”

The Beast had not noticed until this moment how close their faces were. He could see every tear clinging to her eyelashes. He could feel the warmth of her breath, visible like little clouds of smoke in the chilly air.

In a sudden fit of boldness, or recklessness, he reached over and carefully brushed aside a stray lock of hair that had fallen across her forehead. She didn’t flinch away from his touch.

Her voice was unexpectedly husky when she broke the silence. “You know it goes both ways, don’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You want me to be kinder and more accepting of myself. To admit that I still deserve love, even though I’m disfigured. But you realize that applies just as much to you.”

She reached a slender hand up to touch his cheek—hesitantly, as if unsure he would welcome it. They had never been so unguarded or so openly tender with each other, and the Beast was afraid if he opened his mouth, all the unspoken declarations of love would come tumbling out without his permission.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to steel himself. What he had to say, he knew wouldn’t be easy.

“Belle, I want you to go home.”

“What?”

“When you were sick, I made a deal with you. And you’ve kept your end of the promise. So it’s time to fulfill my part. Go home to your father, Belle. Go explore the world like you always wanted. You don’t belong cooped up in here like we do.”

Her eyebrows furrowed. “But I…but I gave you my word…”

“I know. I release you from your first promise, Belle.”

She didn’t look as happy as he expected her to. “Why? What’s changed?”

Everything, he couldn’t say. I have.

He turned away from her, troubled by the pleading look in her eyes.

“You’re no longer my prisoner, Belle. You haven’t been for a long time.”

“I know.”

[writerlydays]

excerpt from chapter 1 of silence falls

So i’m editing Silence Falls and that, of course, comes with much re-writing. Have an excerpt from the newest version of chapter 1! Tell me what you think! If you’ve read the original version, you should tell me which one you like better. 

In the depths of the forest, deep beyond human eyes and ears, something stirs. A dark something, full of animalistic rage. Unseeing eyes and toothy maw buzz with flies and the stench of decay.

Slowly, it climbs to its feet. It’s awake, and it’s hungry.

-o-

Kari

Kari stares up at the thing in front of her. It looks a bit like a house, built by someone who had, perhaps, never actually seen one. At once it is too small, too tall, and leaning a bit to one side. There are turrets where there should be none, oddly placed windows, and a wraparound porch that seems to rise and fall as it pleases.

It doesn’t look terribly sturdy, and Kari gets the vague feeling that the house shouldn’t really be possible at all.

From behind her, a deep voice says, “Ah, the ancestral home.”

Kari grins, and turns back to her brother. He’s leaning against her old mustard yellow car with his head tilted back, looking up at the house.

“What do you think?”

He shakes his head. “Looks like it’s about to collapse.”

“But…”

“But what?”

Kari raises her arms to the sky. “But it’s ours.”

Liam raises an eyebrow. “Technically it’s yours.”

“If you live here, it’s yours too.”

“I’m not sure I want it.”

“Where else are you going to go?”

Liam thinks, then sighs. “Yeah, fair.”

Kari pulls the house keys out of her pocket with a flourish. They still have the little yellow tag from where she got them at the lawyer's office. She says, “Let’s look inside.”

Kari’s first impression is dust. Lots of dust, on every surface and thickening the air. It makes sense, but she begins to feel, finally, the enormity of what she’s done. The last few weeks have been something of a whirlwind. She’s been moving purely on instinct and fumes and now she’s run out of both. Now she’s just standing in this empty old house thousands of miles from home, with no furniture, no job, and no idea what to do next.

“Shit.” She says.

Liam waves dust out from in front of his face. He sneezes once. He says, “Goddamn.”

“What did I get us into?”

Liam gives her a sharp look. “You’re not freaking out, are you? That’s my job.”

Kari takes a deep breath which, given the state of the air, leads to a prolonged coughing fit. When she’s done, though, she draws herself up. “It’ll be fine. We just need to open some windows, get some fans on. Maybe there’s a shop vac here somewhere.”

Liam shakes his head, but dutifully follows her further into the house. The wood-paneled walls give a strange sense of stepping backward in time. It’s so strong that Kari imagines she can almost feel it slow and reverse, then start back up again.

The little round living room is shaped almost like a bubble, with windows that seem almost convex but can’t be, really. The dust has taken quite a liking to the shag carpeting, it puffs up in plumes with every step they take.

Kari struggles to open the ancient windows while Liam paces around the room, peering at the artwork on the walls.

“Can we take these down? They’re kinda creepy.”

Kari, having only gotten one window halfway up, huffs, “I don’t know, Liam. Can you help me, please?”

Liam bobs in front of the old photograph. “I feel like it’s, like, watching me. Like it’s eyes are following me, you know? Scooby-doo style.”

“Liam!”

“Yeah, i’m coming.”

“Help me with this- no, you get that side. Alright, on three.”

Fully opening the window has a strange affect on the house. Everything seems instantly lighter, and the air begins to move. The dust drifts towards this portal to the outside world and, with it, Kari’s worries begin to fade. They can do this, she’s certain. It’s only a house, after all.

“What in the hell is that?” Liam’s voice trips down the steep stairs.

Kari is standing between the two rooms on the second floor, having had time to explore neither of them. Liam has already ascended to the top, and now she follows quickly.

The top floor is only one small room, round as can be with a high pointed ceiling. The floor is old wood, with four light squares where bed posts once were. Next to each one of these four squares is a metal plate with a sturdy ring attached. Liam gestures to them.

“What is that?”

“Looks like… I don’t know. Secures something to the floor, I guess.”

“Yeah thanks for that genius insight, Sherlock.”

“How should I know, Liam?”

Liam shrugs and huffs. “Creeps me out. Does the other room have this?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t get a chance to check before you decided to have a fit up here.”

“Let’s go see.”

The bedroom on the second floor has the same strange metal rings in the floor, albeit further apart to accommodate for the bigger bed.

“I don’t like it.” Says Liam.

“You know, it’s a really old house. I bet we’ll find other stuff you’ll like even less.”

“You’re on.”

They do, in fact, find something that Liam likes even less.

“That is the ugliest thing i’ve ever seen in my life.” Says Liam.

“It’s… not great.”

“I don’t- I don’t even know how to describe what emotion i’m feeling. Is it disgust? Anger?”

“That’s a little harsh.”

“How. How does someone look at a blank kitchen wall and think ‘You know what would be great here? A mural of a gigantic chicken.’?”

“I know it must have been one of our ancestors, but I really thought our family had better taste than this.”

“Sorry, did we see different versions of the living room?”

“Alright, good point.”

“I’m- I’m not gonna look at this every day, Kari. I can’t do it. I’m just not strong enough, emotionally.” Liam presses his hand to his forehead, “I feel lightheaded already.”

“Oh stop.”

“But seriously, can we do something about it? It’s… really ugly.”

Kari looks around the room, chewing thoughtfully on the inside of her cheek. “We could just go ahead and re-paint? I’m not really digging this off-white anyway.”

“We could do blue. No, lavender. Wait no, sage green.”

“Final answer?”

“Sage green, final answer.”

They sleep on the living room floor. They have blankets and pillows and not much else. Everything that could not fit into Kari’s little mustard yellow car was unceremoniously abandoned along with their old lives in California.

The car itself should have been left alongside their furniture on the curb in front of Kari’s apartment, but she’d been unable to let go. The Mustard Contraption was the first car she ever bought on her own; she knows how to change its oil, how fast she can go before it starts to sputter, and if she turns the radio up loud enough the car sings along. She’d been able to leave people, books and chairs and her bed, her waffle iron, and most of her dishes, but the car was just too much.

Liam hadn’t seemed to mind the drive in the Mustard Contraption anyway, he has almost as many memories in it as she does. She let him borrow it when he moved from their parents’ house to a college dorm, he’s taken it on dates, she’s picked him up from house parties, and there have been more than a couple 2 a.m. runs to get tacos and let him cry about stress and feelings. They drove home together from the funeral in that car. No, the car was much too important to leave, even if turning on the heat makes everything smell like popcorn.

Now, as she looks across the room at her brother, Kari wonders once again if this was the right decision. With nothing left to occupy her mind, doubts begin to creep up out of the shadows. Their whole lives are across the country, jobs and school, family and friends. All the security of knowing a place, of belonging to it and having it belong to you, that’s all gone. Should she have dragged Liam into this? Should she have convinced her brother to move thousands of miles away with her on little more than a whim?

Maybe, maybe not. But what’s done is done, and she remembers vividly the state he was in mere weeks before their departure. She couldn’t have left him like that, and she couldn’t have stayed. At least here he seems a little more like his old self, for now at least.

There is no food in the house. Well, there is a package of sliced ham and a jar of peanut butter from where they made sandwiches during the trip, but the bread is long gone. Kari stuffs a couple slices of ham into her mouth and chews thoughtfully as she walks back into the living room.

“Time to get up.” She says to the pile of blankets on the living room floor.

“No.” Says the pile, and the top of a head of wiry hair ducks further under a blanket.

“I’m hungry, let’s go get something to eat.”

“But i’m tired.” The pile whines.

“Come on, we’ll find someplace with waffles.”

There is silence, and then Liam pokes his head out from under the blankets, squinting and frowning and looking generally like elderly frog. “It’s cold.” He accuses.

“I’ll get you a coat.”

“Fine.” Says Liam. The pile of blankets moves, it grows, it rises and rises until it slips off Liam’s back and onto the floor with a muted thump and he stands there shivering pathetically until Kari goes to get him a coat.

It’s clear that the Walsh siblings are outsiders. Their complexions stand out, sure, but it’s more the fact that they each have on several more layers than the other warmest dressed person that they’ve seen on the main street of Silence. There are so many things to do, people to talk to and papers to sign, things for Kari to get put in her name. There will be more people to call when they get home, more things to sort out, and it’s beginning to wear her down. She slumps down onto a bench and lets her eyes slip closed for a moment.

“This was your idea, you know.” Says Liam, sitting down beside her.

“I know.” Kari sighs, “I just need a minute. Paperwork makes my head hurt.”

“Don’t fall asleep, you’ll freeze to death.”

“Honestly, it’s not that cold.”

Liam shoots her an incredulous look. “There’s a library over there.” He jabs his thumb down the road, “I’m gonna go check it out. Call me if you need me, cool?”

“Cool. I might check out, uh, whatever this place is.” Kari nods to the building across the road to a quaint looking storefront. There’s not much in the way of decorations, but a wooden sign above the door names it, “Autumn Leaf”.

Liam gives a halfhearted shrug and shoulders off to heed the call of books. It’s several minutes before Kari can convince herself to get up off of the bench and set off across the street, but as soon as she does her curiosity feels more like compulsion. She feels pulled, almost, by the little wooden sign. A bell above the door chimes as it shuts behind her. There is an overwhelming feeling of having stepped into a quiet wood, surrounded by trees and unseen by the outside world. It’s almost a physical sensation. Time closes its eyes for a moment.

Kari lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

The shop is small, but bigger than it looked on the outside. Rows of shelves are laden with crystals and decks of tarot cards and bottles of herbs that Kari has never heard of before. One full wall is covered with books.

There is a counter along the wall opposite the books, covered with so many flowers and vines and tall leafed plants that Kari does not automatically see the girl behind it. Tall, with astonishingly silver hair and an odd shine to her skin. The girl does not seem to notice Kari.

She’s not normally for this sort of thing, this mystic stuff, yet she finds herself entranced. She runs her fingers along the edges of the shelves, over bundles of sage and strings of bright beads.

“Hello,” Says a voice, very close.

Kari starts, knocking a jar of rose hips off the shelf. She’s sure it’s going to shatter, but it’s caught at the last moment by a long-fingered hand.

“I’m so sorry,” It’s a voice that pulls warbling brooks to the forefront of Kari’s mind, chirping birds and singing wind, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No I- I wasn't paying any attention, i’m sorry. I got a little… lost.”

The woman holding the bottle rose hips smiles. Her eyes crinkle, her nose scrunches. “That happens here. Time moves a little slower.”

“I feel it.” Kari says, surprising herself, “It feels so peaceful.”

The store feels peaceful. The woman feels peaceful. She has kind eyes. She also has a very pleasant face, with skin as dark as Kari’s own, covered with a smattering of darker freckles. A voluminous mass of dark curls strains every which way. She looks like she belongs in a fairy tale.

“You haven't been here before.”

“No, i’m new in town.”

“Ah,” The woman tilts her head thoughtfully to the side, “I didn’t think i’d seen you around. Welcome to Silence. Welcome to Autumn Leaf. I’m Aimee.”

She extends her hand and Kari takes it, marveling at the firmness of the handshake. “Kari.” She introduces herself, “Walsh.”

Aimee’s hair perks up. “Walsh? As in-”

“Yeah, my great grandparents lived on the edge of town in that tall old house. They left it to me.”

“I was very sorry to hear of their passing. Your great-grandmother made the best lavender jam this side of the Turusa Layline.”

Kari rubs her thumb over her chin. “Never met ‘em, actually. They were kind of… estranged, from the rest of the family.”

“No! Why? Such lovely folk.”

“No one would say. Probably something stupid, honestly.”

“So then, where have you come from?”

“California. My brother and I just moved into the old house.”

Aimee looks at her curiously. She says, “Hmm.”

Kari feels a sudden surge of panic, sure that Aimee is going to ask why they moved, what happened, or why she dragged her brother with her across the country. She’s not ready to tell the story, and not to a stranger. Everything is too fresh.

To her surprise, Aimee doesn’t ask. Instead she says, “You look like you could use a cup of tea.”

At the back of the shop, through several rooms of indeterminate use, is a staircase that spirals up, up, up. Landings are placed strangely and at intervals that make little to no sense to Kari. On the third landing, they stop. A pale pink door opens inward.

Before she steps in, Kari looks up at the remaining stairs. She can’t see the top. It’s baffling, as this is not a tall building.

“How far up does this go?” She asks.

“All the way.” Says Aimee.

The room they’ve entered into is small. The walls, like the door, are a pale pink. There are bookshelves and a couch and a small counter with a sink, a portable heating element, and a kettle.

“This is my reading room.” Says Aimee, putting the kettle on right away.

“How is there a window?” Kari wanders over to the couch, where a large picture window sits behind. To her great surprise, it looks out over a garden, and not the main street.

“It’s just magic, dear, don’t worry yourself.”

[sidenotelife]

A match day running diary

A running diary of the day when I find out where I will do my residency training (post-graduate medical training). For those not familiar with the medical training process, briefly, medical students send out applications for post-graduate medical training to become board certified physicians, and this occurs sometime in the fall of senior year. Then over the winter medical students interview with these programs, and then in February all the progams rank the students they want and the students rank the programs they want. This all gets thrown into a computer somewhere that optimizes all the rank lists and spits out assignments for students and employees for residency programs. This post is a running diary of March 15th, the day we get our residency assignments. This post is loosely based on a true story.

7:27 AM. Depart breakfast at Sunrise Bistro. Great corn beef hash. Would highly recommend. 

8:55 AM. The costume theme for match day was “fictional characters” so we decided to dress up as son’s favorite thing which is Thomas the Train. Wife painted these shirts. Pretty legit. 

9:10 AM. Prepare vegetarian chili in crockpot for maximum efficiency. I found a recipe that suggested putting quinoa in vegetarian chili to give it a little extra volume to it. I also put in my fave secret ingredient which is Dr. Pepper. 

9:28 AM. Kids + Costumes ready. 

9:28 AM. Son: Can I see the picture? 

9:43 AM. Ken costume ready. I had to cut out a v so you could see my Sir Topham Hatt tie. Wife did not approve on my t-shirt cutting job. Can you blame her. 

10:07 AM. Walking to Charleston Music Hall with family and friend. 

Friend: Can’t wait to cheer really loud when you walk across the stage. 

Ken: Wait I’m not walking across the stage. 

Friend: *Massive disappointment* What why?

Ken: I don’t like the attention. Also I don’t like things with lots of people. Introvert probs. 🤷‍♂️

11:56 AM. Kids getting too crazy. Break out emergency Belgian waffles. It is truly an art to keep kids quiet and contained at any event. 

12:00 PM. Open envelopes... Sioux Falls Family Medicine! 

Hmm. I don’t look thrilled here. I think the exact emotion I had was how-should-I-feel-about-this, if that can be considered an emotion. Sidenote - Before I go further I feel the need to explain myself. I don’t want this to be conceived as disappointment that I matched where I matched. Sioux Falls was our #2 choice and honestly the only reason I didn’t rank it #1 was because of the weather. It is truly my privilege to have the opportunity to train there, but I feel it is of importance to analyze this emotion. This how-should-I-feel-about-this emotion. 

Match has, for better or worse, come to represent the culmination of the whole med school experience. If you match at the place you wanted, your #1 program, your emotions are those of elation. You feel everything was worth it. All those days suffering in the library, all the shit you had to take from residents that were out of line, all of it. If you don’t match at a desired place or worse yet, if you don’t match and have to scramble, it’s a nightmare. But I worry that this is an oversimplification of the process, and I worry that med school has become nothing more than a way to ensure you get a desireable job than a place where you learn to care for sick people. I fear this sentiment about match is driving the Step 1 mania. (Currently being covered beautifully by @jpcarmody on his blog, The Sheriff of Sodium). 

I think my emotions are also complicated by a personal change of heart I had sometime during the end of graduate school and the beginning of medical school. For so long I had worshipped at the throne of academia. When I came to medical school I dreamed of becoming the dean of my own medical school. When I started graduate school I dreamed of having a 30-person HHMI-funded lab/machine that would draw the envy of graduate students and postdocs everywhere. For so long I dreamed of my match day when one day I would announce that I was going to a sexy program like Stanford or Harvard or Duke. But I think during graduate school I started to understand the reality of academia, and especially the kind of academia that incentivizes the Cell/Nature/Science/NEJM rat race. My greatest frustration was that it was so hard to be ethical in academia. The academic system is fueled by the C/N/S/NEJM rat race, which in turn is fueled by stretching your data to look like it’s saying more than it actually does. It’s also fueled by outright lying and people producing fake data to get the data to fit the elegant hypothesis. I hated seeing mentors take advantage of students and postdocs, milking every last bit of productivity out of your underlings because that was truly the only way to survive. By looking out for yourself at all costs. I love science but I didn’t want to condone this sort of philosophy. I wanted to pursue physician-science in a way where I was not at the mercy of for-profit journal editors. I wanted to live in a world where we as a research team pursued science out of a desire to further the pursuit of knowledge and not just the next publication with a big impact factor. Maybe I was imagining a pipedream but it just didn’t feel like the right thing for me to jump into the traditional route of padding my resume at a top 5 med school. 

When I went back to med school for my clinical years, I initially felt tentative but still willing to enter my hat into this foray. Gradually several little things gearshifted me off this track, most prominently working with one attending in particular. I worked with this attending during my addiction psychiatry rotation, and I watched him work for six weeks. He is a genius, but I admired him for more than that. More than any other physician I’ve ever met, the compassion he had for his patients was palpable. You could feel his frustration with the system that made it hard for physicians to help patients. You could see the depths to which he pushed himself in order to provide true patient-oriented care, and not just the cheap talk that often gets thrown around. I acknowledge that some of these tendencies are dangerous, and risky, but it’s also beautiful. That’s the sort of feeling that fundamentally pushed me into going to medical school. Other people’s suffering pained my heart and I had to do something to relieve this pain, if only to relieve my own pain. I don’t know exactly what happened to this attending, but he no longer attends on the addicion psychiatry floor. As far as I know he’s taking a break from seeing patients. My best guess is he burned out and gave up his fight against the system. Hopefully I’m wrong. I don’t know. Frankly, I’m too afraid to know the answer. But when I saw that someone who had such compassion and such raw talent couldn’t make it in academic medicine, I knew I had to do something different. I saw that something different in Family Medicine. I saw that this specialty, one that is treated by some as the specialty that you pursue when you can’t get good enough Step 1 scores to pursue what you actually want to do, I saw this specialty as the one that could offer a true path to patient-centered care. I saw the flexibility offered by the diverse skillset you could obtain during family medicine residency. I saw the potential for real long-lasting relationships with patients. I saw the value in being a generalist in a medical world that’s becoming overpopulated with specialists. I’m still convinced family medicine is the right specialty for me, and I feel it offers the possibility for me to pursue physician-science my way. Yet, there’s also a part of myself that’s grieving that I didn’t match at Harvard or Stanford, that I’m not working in the HHMI-funded lab, that my home isn’t the building with beautiful modern architecture looking out at the beach. It’s not a part of me that I like but regretably it’s still a part of me, and I think that moment when I opened my match envelope and saw the official match result it was the first moment it was real. I was really choosing to give up the glamors of a top 5 med school to pursue this off-beaten track. Am I crazy? Am I being too self-righteous? Did I make the wrong decision? I think that’s what gave me this feeling. This how-should-I-feel-about-this feeling. 

12:23 PM. Kids too crazy... we need to leave. 

12:57 PM. Get home.

Ken: Kids what do you want for lunch?

Kids: *opens fridge* Dad why is there so much beer?

1:03 PM. Looking up South Dakota-themed food. I remember when I went to interview there I asked them what the most South Dakota food was, and they told me it was Chislic. I don’t know if I’m spelling that right, but basically it’s fried chunks of meat. Sounds pretty legit: 

1:15 PM. Daughter makes a sign. You may not be able to understand this sign so let me do a little interpreting. At the top it says South Dakota Bound, except the BOUND is backwards. Then the square-looking thing is the shape of South Dakota. Sidenote - The little divot at the bottom right corner kind of looks like Florida, which kind of makes the state of South Dakota look like a mini-version of America. The thick blue lines are water falls, which we drew because Daughter really wanted to draw something in Sioux Falls, so I said water falls! The four faces below that were commonly misinterpreted as Ken, Wife, Daughter, and Son but actually it’s Mount Rushmore. 

1:57 PM. Son goes to rest time. Daughter cleaning up blankets from floor. Asking me, “Why do I have to be cinderella? Why do I have to clean the bathroom and the living room and the kitchen??” So basically we are raising a little martyr. 

2:30 PM. Wife is already looking at real estate. I think she knows the stats for every single rental property in Sioux Falls. 🤣

4:13 PM. Recruit kids to help. Before this they were carrying cans of beer which was even funnier. 👶👧🍻

5:13 PM. Commence low country boil. I’ve always loved the idea of the low country boil and I’ve always wanted to do one but for one it’s real expensive to buy all the supplies, and for two I didn’t have the proper equipment for it. Fortunately my friend lent me his turkey frier and burner which made for the perfect low country boil setup. In retrospect, the low country boil was one of the funnest party meals I’ve ever made and I would recommend it 10 out of 10 times. At the same time, shrimp is one of my least favorite seafoods and I don’t love to eat low country boil. I feel like this makes sense. 

Ok, those are the last pics I have so I’ll wrap up this post. Shoutout to everyone who was feeling how-should-I-feel-about-this. 

See you on the other side,

From ken

[tatooedlaura-blog]

At the End of the Road

a standalone venture into the world of fine diner dining ...

@today-in-fic

&&&&&&&&&&&

Their first time at Waffles and Stuff, they had the heavy mantle of deadly 10-year-olds weighing on their shoulders, the diner dim with midnight shadows, the waitstaff mellow through pouring rain. Settled awkwardly at the counter, Scully felt around until her feet found purchase on the footrest while Mulder wrestled with sodden coat to hang dripping from the back of cracked vinyl swivel seat. Eventually, the foam finished giving way, shaping to backsides and thighs, warming to damp wool while the pair studied separate menus, quiet in debate over patty melt or salad, burger or chicken, coffee or hot chocolate.

Finally, the ancient waitress, small, quick, tight bun of hair, sweater hugging narrow shoulders, ended her conversation with the cook, coming over at just the moment Mulder decided what to order. How she knew, he’d never know, but know she did and stopping in front of him, “ready to order? Coffee? Tea? Space heater?”

Mulder, tired but still kicking, gave her a crooked smile, “you can’t warm space. It’s too big.”

“Given enough time, I could probably crochet it a blanket though. Maybe that would help.”

Her name was Catherine and he adored her instantly.

Scully, beside him, only absorbed half the conversation, mind caught between grilled chicken with lettuce and avocado and death by double cheeseburger, eyeing the deep-fried pickles for the interim moments between fry consumption and hot chocolate stupor. Hearing Mulder vaguely finish his order of waffles and eggs, she bit the bullet, ordering things the doctor in her screamed about at 3am when she couldn’t sleep from the heartburn singeing her esophagus.

The hot chocolate arrived first, whipped cream high, little bit of cinnamon classing up the plain, chipped mug; second came the pickles, mixing terribly with the drink and Scully loved it, the weird flavors, the grease, the ranch, the tang all smoothed out with warm milk and sugar. Mulder didn’t ask to have one, waiting quietly until she offered, holding out the small coin of fried delight, which he took, thanked her, didn’t ask for more but smiled when the flavors hit his tongue.

Scully’s feet were falling asleep but her belly was filling nicely, cheeseburger sitting precariously first on plate then in stomach, chasing away the gnawing hunger that had plagued them for the last three days, not satisfied with Payday bars and M&Ms, held barely at bay but not providing the shear beautiful thing that was deluxe cheeseburger and mound of vegetable oil crisp potatoes.

She caught Mulder staring at her at some point and when she raised her eyebrows at him, question sent non-verbally given her full mouth, he smiled his second time since they entered the restaurant and answered, small amount of egg caught in his front teeth, “I think you just moaned in satisfaction there, partner.”

Wondering if she should protest, turn red, sink in embarrassment, she instead gave it half a thought, then shrugged, talking through her mostly chewed mouthful, food in cheeks to speak without spitting bits, “damn good fry.”

Catherine refilled the hot chocolates for free, offered them pie, or cupcake in Scully’s case, given she was an ardent pie hater since the beginning of time, didn’t rush the check and circled a large smiley face on the bill, her ‘come again’ cheery against the thundering sky.

“Take as long as you like folks. I’ll be over here working my crossword and crocheting that blanket.”

Mulder snagged the bill, keeping it out of reach in his hand, “I like her and the Bureau will be tipping her double.”

Drifting towards a food coma, she propped her elbow on the counter and balanced her head on her hand, tilting enough to look him square, “if you give her triple, I bet she’ll let us nap here until morning.”

With a gaze that barely hinted at the next 70 years, he nudged her with his knee, receiving a lip twitch in return, the slightest eye twinkle she would never acknowledge having the power to do, before beginning the long slide to the floor, wiggling a little to straighten her pants, free damp cloth from the sticking places against her skin.

He saw that wiggle.

He would remember that wiggle.

Once soaking wet, 2:45am glowing on the dash, hair dripping, stomachs filled, in the car in a splashing dash, he gave her a glance, his diminutive partner already curled around the heater vent, safe in the passenger seat, “you’re going to fall asleep before we get to your apartment, I guarantee it.”

“It’s twelve minutes. I will not fall asleep in twelve minutes.”

Big fat liar.

He had to shake her arm for at least a minute before she even began thinking of forcing an eye open; ten minutes later, she was finally in her front door, Mulder holding her elbow the entire way, navigating her like a slack-jawed drunk up the steps. Setting her bag on the floor, he debating shoving her towards her bedroom so he could drop comatose on the couch but he fought gravity and overstuffed pillows to bid her g’night/g’morning.

He nearly crashed twice trying to make it to his own place with both eyes open.

Falling asleep on his couch, snuggled up tight under two wool blankets and a layer of flannel and fleece, Mulder listened the rain and thunder, wondering if they’d ever find the time to go back to the diner.

He wanted a full order of those pickle chips all to himself.

&&&&&&&&&&&&

Waffles and Stuff glowed in the night. Pitch black around them, savior in fluorescent and neon, it called to them after the longest drive known to man. They were just this side of the Bureau’s cutoff for driving to a crime scene, planes too expensive when a six-hour drive could take care of business.

It wouldn’t have been terrible save the flat tire, the stench of spilled gas from the can in the trunk and the persistent squeak, thud, thump from whatever under the car. Mulder didn’t want to look and Scully didn’t care to look so they suffered the rhythm while trying to keep the other from hangry overtones in their conversations with stolen M&Ms and Starbright mints from Scully’s secret forgotten stash in the side pocket of her suitcase.

They really should have stopped but the thought of Waffles and Stuff by 1:30am, navigator Scully estimated time of arrival, kept them driving past crap fast food for glorious Catherine and her bottomless supply of chocolate, hot or cold form, and the newest special, banana pancakes with whipped cream and strawberries, side of bacon, side of ham, one egg over easy, two wheat toast, grape jelly, one biscuit hold the gravy.

Actually, that was the Mulder special at the moment, of which he’d been extoling virtue since exit 4b or 610, whichever was further back and farther from destination.

Scully, on the other hand, had been drooling, physically and mentally, over the thought of mushroom swiss burger with lettuce, tomato and bacon, bun toasted, fries on the side, crisp side salad with exactly four cups of ranch dressing and croutons by the pound, mozzarella sticks, marinara dipping and for the love of God, some kind of strawberry milkshake.

In the three years since they’d began frequenting Stuff, their combinations had changed drastically in contrast to pricing, décor and staffing but the cook kept cooking, Catherine kept knitting and Mulder kept tipping his usual Bureau approved 30% tip. Finally, in reference to the glow from earlier, Mulder spotted it first and Scully, to this day, swears she heard a small whimper of want escape his lips, forcing his foot down further on the gas pedal.

Scully had just slightly more decorum to keep her sounds to herself.

“Well, hello, my weary travelers.” Catherine waved to the empty room, “your usual is open.”

Mulder gestured Scully forward to the only blue booth, the one that had been reupholstered at some point and by accident done in blue. He’d always meant to ask why blue but tonight, like every other time, the thought fizzled out before fully forming and he was perfectly fine with this. Once they were both in, coats shoved to the sides, dry, not needing a place to drip, Scully tucked one foot under her leg, swinging the dangling one lightly, the breeze of her movement ruffling Mulder’s pantleg every second or third pass by, “cheese?”

Before he could answer, Catherine called out from near the coffee machine, about to begin the hot chocolates, given the chill in the October air, “we’ve got a new item. Max thought it up about a week ago.”

Manly squee loud enough to make Catherine smile, “really? Please say it’s a fried chicken and waffles with a side of home fries and scrambled eggs with green peppers, tomatoes and just a hint of Tabasco sauce and maybe a spritz of lemon.”

Max stuck his head over the order counter, “give me a few weeks on that one but tonight’s is pancakes with crumbled sausage and bacon cooked right in, four egg omelet with jack cheddar, peppers and onions, two biscuits and sausage gravy, perfect for sharing.”

Mulder held up a hand, “I’ll take it. Burn the bacon first please.”

Looking at Scully next, “how about you, Miss Scully? What can I get for you this evening?”

After she told him her order, Catherine came by, drinks in hand, settling into the chair she bought with her, “all right. What’s happening in your world today?”

Their nights at Waffles and Stuff were part therapy, part inquisition, part intellectual debate, part necessary nonsense, Catherine helming it all, feeding them, waiting on them, listening to them and when necessary, pretending to have somewhere else to be when she saw them lock eyes, drop off the Earth, the quiet bubbling them together for what she hoped would be eternity.

Or until the sun came up.

Sometimes it was Scully who looked about to faceplant in her dessert; this time, however,  it was Mulder, yawning every thirty seconds like clockwork until Scully, the other foot dangling by now, nudged him gently on the shin, accidently on purpose running her foot closer to his knee than she ever suspected she’d do in daylight.

He didn’t wake up so much as give her a sleepy crook of smile that made her wonder if she really needed to drop him off or if she could just take him home, stash him in her spare room, make him breakfast sometime the following afternoon.

Reluctantly she paid the bill, left the tip, held the coat, guided the body, drove the car, escorted the warm puppy, called the good night, drove the car, opened the door, locked the door, shed the clothes, pulled the covers, hailed the Mulder, succumbed the sleep, dreamed the partner… woke up with a smile to find him banging on her door, donuts in hand and casefile ready.

&&&&&&&&&&&&

From spinning barstool to lone blue booth to corner haven, feet on seats, hands on ankles, smorgasbord between them, plates lined up, a fry for a carrot, a bite of burger for a slice of tomato, one chocolate shake, one strawberry, one mint, each with two straws and spoons for skimming whipped cream, two cherries to Scully, more mint to Mulder.

He stole sips of her water while she talked, she slid pickle coins her way while he nibbled crusts from her buttered toast. Their fingers lingered when reaching for the same crouton soaked in dressing, sliding past and through each other, hanging on with white knuckles one second, back to eating the next.

Hours later, instead of stumbling into the night, he slid quietly in beside her, thigh warm against thigh, hand flat on tender muscle, kneading lightly, waiting as unseen forces pulled her head to his shoulder, tired eyes closed against the world. Mulder set his head against hers, eyes meeting two pair behind the counter, the slightest upturned cheek and chin nod in their direction before closing his own eyes, not worrying about the day ahead, only the Scully beside him and the quiet around.

Catherine looked at her husband, leaning against the counter across from her, “we did good, Max.”

“We did very good.”