#so i can make chicken soup tomorrow or thursday

[youkissedareaderinthedark]

Under the Weather

Synopsis: You’re sick. George’s sick. Someone else is probably going to get sick. It’s an interesting last race in Abu Dhabi

young female driver reader x 2023 F1 grid

A/N: this fic is pretty vague so i’m not going to give the reader a team or teammate, we just know that she’s a driver on the grid because that’s all we really need to know

. so

. you think you caught it in vegas

. it was colder than you were used to

. you barely got any sleep

. and even though you’re around hundreds of people every race weekend, las vegas felt more packed than a normal race would be

. and you were seated next to george, who’s been feeling sick for a few days at that point, for nearly all pre-race activities

. it was probably all of these combined that gave you a sore throat, stuffy nose, pounding headache, and persistent cough

. you knew the second you woke up thursday morning

. “it’s going to be a shitty weekend”

. the grid, however, did not know until thursday afternoon

. you came into the press conference room, bundled up in a long sleeve and hoodie, nose red with a scratchy voice

. you sit beside an amused lewis, resisting all urges to lay your head against the back of the couch and drift off

. “you okay y/n?”

. the only response he gets is a groan and small shake of the head

. “i’ll get you some tea when we’re done here love, you’ll be okay”

. lewis, who was always your favorite but now has new reasons to be favored, lets you rest your head against his shoulder and close your eyes while you all wait for the conference to begin

. word spreads by the end of the media day, and suddenly you have new reactions from the grid

. daniel walks through the paddock with you, never afraid of a little cough

. “lewis tells me you’ve been on your death bed over here. anything I can do?”

. he insist on giving you a hug and the recipe for chicken soup that he learned from his mum and now swears by

. max, who is afraid of a little cough, is the one who makes sure you’re not being harassed when trying to sleep

" max? who’s under the blanket-”

. “shush. she’s trying to sleep”

. “but who’s-”

. “I said shush”

. lando, a man who’s all too familiar with being clumsy, probably saves you a million times from walking into doorways, a drowsiness affect from the fever you keep insisting you don’t have

. he’ll keep a constant eye on you and hand on your shoulder as a precaution

. “let’s not go over there, that’s a wall”

. “y/n!”

. “mhm?” you’d say, eyes half closed with tiredness

. “that’s a door love, jeez, we should put a bell on you”

. carlos and charles, drivers who’ve had loads of experience taking care of sick younger siblings, make a team effort of ensuring you’re doing your best to get better

. “did you drink the water bottle I gave you?”

. “no”

. “did you drink anything today?”

. “no”

. “oh mon dieu you’re going to kill yourself like this”

. “just try to eat this okay? i know you’re not hungry amiga, but we have a race tomorrow, you need to eat something”

. “i got you more medicine, this one says it should take care of the cough and sneeze so you won’t have to worry about it during the race”

. and then there’s george, your sick partner in crime

. you two make a habit of trapping yourselves in one of your driver’s room

. half to prevent the sickness from spreading further, half to just be left alone

. you guys complain a lot

. take turns choosing movies to watch to pass the time

. reminding the other to take medicine, even though there’s a good chance that person probably hasn’t taken any medicine either

. and passing a bag of cough drops between each other

. as a teammate and friend, lewis tries to talk you two out of racing

. but neither budge

. you get into your car, nose still red and voice still scratchy

. and power through the race, just as you’d been taught to do

. george gets a podium and you get a good points finish, the best results you could’ve asked for considering the conditions

. and stumble out of your car once more, looking for a tissue and that chicken soup recipe

. you get checked on by multiple drivers, though the only response you’re able to give is a nod and thumbs up

. lewis accompanies you on your flight back home, and tries to help as much as you let him

. he feels a bit victorious when you say you wished you’d listen to him and not raced

. but the feeling is instantly replaced with sympathy for his friend, so he just nods and tells you to get some more rest

. after making sure you’re safe at home and surrounded by family and friends that swear on their hearts to take care of you, lewis leaves with congratulations on your season finish and wishes to get better

. you’re fine within a few days, you name the cause of your sickness “end of season fatiague” and ensure the drivers you made a full recovery by wednesday night

. so yeah

. it’s not fun at all to drive while you’re sick

. but it’s a bit easier when you have your friends looking out for you

short little f1 grid sick fic. let’s hope I didn’t just manifest myself a cold

[mayajadewrites]

suguru geto x fem reader: lucky

roommates to lovers–friends to lovers–slow burn

story synopsis: Suguru Geto is your best friend and roommate. After a year of living together, there have been more than one opportunity to throw away your friendship. The question is, would you get lucky as fall in love for the rest of your days?

ao3

CHAPTER FIVE

slight smut ahead hehe

🎧🌙🧺📖🕯️🧸🤍

"Pssssst." Shoko poked you with her pen as she made her way to the coffee machine. "How was your date?"

It's Thursday – you've been working all week and haven't had much time to chat with Shoko about your date with Choso.

"It was great. We're going out tomorrow, actually." You smile to yourself as you stir your creamer into your coffee.

You, Nanami, Haibara, Shoko, Satoru, and Choso work in the same office building, but not within the same office. You work in the same office as Nanami and Haibara, which is quiet compared to what Shoko has to deal with with Satoru.

"Yay!! Every time I asked Choso he blushed so I assumed it went well. Aren't you glad I decided to become a match maker?" Shoko pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her pocket.

"I thought you were going to quit." You looked at Shoko with pleading eyes.

"I said I would think about it." Shoko waved goodbye as she made her way outside for her smoke break.

Surprisingly, you haven't seen Choso while you work. To be honest, you didn't want to. You would prefer to be excited when you see him for dates, not assuming you'll see him at work.

Bzzzzzz.

Suguru: I left work early, I have a fever so I'm laying low for the rest of the week. Just incase you're wondering why I'm not hanging out outside my bed.

You frown at the text, your instincts kicking in to take care of Suguru. You wanted to make him soup, make sure his bed is comfortable, give him his medicine – all of it.

You hold yourself back from leaving your own job early. You only have a few hours left before it's time to clock out, you can survive.

You: Okay, I'll make sure to bother you.

Suguru: I was hoping you would play nurse.

A ball of anxiety forms in your stomach as you re-read Suguru's text. The flirty undertones are starting to be a little too much for you since Suguru will not outright say what he's feeling for you.

But you love being flirty.

You: Let me make sure my uniform still fits.

Suguru: I'm not sure your ass fits in that skirt anymore, but I prefer it that way.

You push your phone in your pocket and bring your 2nd coffee of the day to your desk. You cheeks were now a shade of red as you thought about Suguru's texts. Was he acting like this because he's sick? Obviously he's not himself.

You finish up your work for the day and head to the supermarket to pick up ingredients for chicken noodle soup. You also grab Suguru's favorite ice cream, ginger ale, and crackers.

When you arrive home, you knew Suguru would be in his room. His door was open though, which is odd for him. You set the reusable bags down on the counter and make your way to Suguru's room.

He's laying in his bed with his eyes closed, his hair up in a bun with a piece of hair framing his face. He's shirtless, presumably because he's burning up. You watch his throat as his Adam's apple bobs.

You put the back of your hand on his forehead, only for his hand to meet yours. "What a sight to wake up to." He said quietly.

"Your head is warm enough to burn my hand." You bring your hand back to your body, his hand going back on his forehead.

"Really? I didn't know. I just feel like my entire body is the temperature which I assume is of hell." Sarcasm left his lips.

"I'm making you chicken noodle soup. I also got you some snacks and ginger ale."

"Did you remember the nurse outfit?" Suguru smirked before coughing.

"My thighs pop out of the tights, so it's a no go." You laugh, standing up to leave his room.

"You say that like it's a bad thing." Suguru laughs quietly, bringing the covers over his body.

"I'll let you know when the soup is done." You leave Suguru's room to go into yours to change into comfy clothes. You slip on a pair of leggings and an oversized crewneck from your university.

The smells of the spices flood your nostrils as you stir the broth for the soup. Suguru likes his soup a bit more salty, and he loves broth, so you made sure it was up to his standards.

You thought about how helpless he looked when he was in bed. He wasn't the strong Suguru that is your best friend and roommate, he's needy.

You bring a tray to Suguru's room, setting it up with a spoon and a cup for water. Suguru sat up slowly as you set this up for him, his eyes barely opening.

You brought his soup to him, a smiling forming on his face. "I can barely smell, but I know this is my favorite soup." Suguru grabbed his spoon, dipping it in the broth. You watched as his lips formed an 'o', blowing lightly on the spoon. "Sit with me."

You listen, sitting next to him on his bed. Suguru's bed is more than comfy. Your body sinks into it in the best way. Suguru turns on his TV, finding a streaming service and putting on a romcom.

"Since when did you watch romcoms?" You look at Suguru, surprised.

"I don't. But you do, and you're taking care of me." Suguru sipped his soup, leaning back on his pillows.

As you watch the movie with Suguru, your mind daydreams of a life with Suguru. A romantic one.

You would wake up next to him, attaching your lips to his to wake him up. He would hold your face in his large hands, deepening the kiss with his tongue.

Stop it.

You snap out of your daydream to look at Suguru, who's eyes were glued on the TV. You watched as his brown eyes followed the characters, his mouth curving into a smile when the main character said something funny.

"Thank you for the soup. It was perfect."

"Let me clean this up and I'll be out of your hair." You grab the tray, heading for the door.

"Please stay."

Did you hear that right?

"What?" You whip your head around a little too fast.

"I said, please stay." Suguru coughed.

You sigh, bringing the bowl and tray to the kitchen. You pause before turning around to go to Suguru's room. What about Choso.

It's not like he's your boyfriend.

Suguru isn't your boyfriend either.

You bring yourself back to his room, his arm open, making a spot for you.

"I'm sure I'll just make you feel more uncomfortable than you already do. You're heating up."

"Can you stop making excuses. If you think it'll be too hot, then change into less clothes." Suguru groaned, a cough escaping his throat.

You slip into your room to change into a lowcut tank top and sweatshorts, your breath hitching when you look at Suguru again.

Your body mends with his as you join him in bed. His muscular arm wraps around your waist while his face makes a home in between your neck and shoulder.

You tense a bit, goosebumps forming along your skin. Suguru's arm trails down to your thighs, squeezing them gently. You bring your eyes to his, and you're both silent. Suguru's eyes are exploring your expression, trying to read what you're feeling.

He was testing your limits. Would you let him touch your thigh? Would you let him grab your tits? Would you let him kiss you?

The answer to all of those questions is yes. But it shouldn't happen.

You feel Suguru's lips attach to your neck, going from sucking to biting every few seconds. You let out a moan, arching your back slightly.

Suguru's large hands find your chest as he's sucking on your neck, squeezing your breast over your bra. He sneaks his hand under your bra, pinching your nipple between his thumb and pointer finger.

You shouldn't be doing this.

Especially when he's sick.

"Suguru, I –"

"Tell me you don't want this." Suguru looked at you as his lips left your neck. "Tell me you don't feel the same."

[nancypullen]

Typical Tuesday

I live a very small but sweet life.  I don’t spend my days running a company or defying death.  Most folks would be bored stiff in my shoes, but I absolutely love my simple life. My boat was rocked often enough in my younger years to make me appreciate calm seas.   This was my day today, and it’s my day just about every day - some of the chores change, but the rhythm remains the same. 

I wake up 7-ish and play Wordle to get my day started.  This is also when I do the stretches that loosen up my lower back. Multitasking is my jam. I get up and make the bed.  Pillows are fluffed and placed just so, and all cats are chased from the room.  Next I scoop the cat litter and sweep or vacuum around their box. I usually do this twice a day because I like it that way.  No one would walk into my hose and say, “Oh, you have cats.”  At this point I check laundry baskets and start a load if I need to - seems like I always need to. Today I did two loads, towels and darks. Then it was on to the kitchen where I started a big pot of vegetable soup. This is also where I make the executive decision about dinner.  Salad? Salmon? Chicken? Something exits the freezer and begins to thaw for later. The mister enjoys a bowl of soup for lunch every day, he usually has some crackers and a piece of fruit with it. So I try to have homemade soup handy all the time.  Today’s was a hearty combination of ground turkey and  every veggie in the house in a tomato base, good on a chilly day.  While the soup simmered I decided that I should get all three bathrooms cleaned. That doesn’t involve much more than squirting and swishing the toilet bowls, wiping down seats and surfaces, then spraying and wiping sinks.  I didn’t bother with floors or baseboards today because I just didn’t care enough.  Don’t check my baseboards if you visit.  Once the soup was finished and the spouse had a full belly, I drove up to the auction house to pick up his winnings from last night...a vintage typewriter (???), a drill, a set of speakers (???), and and old Brownie camera with a big flash attachment (???).   I’m starting to think he’s planning to open an antique shop when he retires.  I have to admit that the old typewriter is cool - it’s an Underwood, manufactured during World War II, but what exactly is he going to do with it?  I suppose it’ll look cool in his office, and he said he’ll write me love letters on it.  It could grow on me.  Anywho, I left the auction house with a full trunk and headed to the library where I picked up a book that I’d placed on hold (The Seven Daughters of Eve) and then popped into the post office. I made one pit stop at Walgreen’s before going home. I enjoyed a couple of lazy hours before making dinner and there were a lot of things I should have been doing, but I didn’t.  I checked my email, roamed Instagram for a bit, went down a rabbit hole researching forever chemicals in our laundry detergents (I wish I hadn’t looked), and finally got up to prep a little for dinner.  I trimmed some fresh green beans, got the rice cooker out and piddled a bit until it was time to start cooking.  We had artichoke stuffed chicken breasts, roasted green beans, and rice.  No one will starve on my watch. Yesterday was salmon  and broccoli, tomorrow will be colorful salads with chicken on top. I’m not worried about Thursday yet, there’s plenty in the freezer. Now it’s my favorite time of day.  The kitchen is cleaned up and closed for business, and we’re ready to turn on Jeopardy and find out how stupid we are. I can usually answer the literature and art questions, some pop culture and geography.  Mickey usually nails all of the science, history, and sports.  Between the two of us we have a mighty fine brain. See what I mean?  A boring day by anyone’s standards, but one that I’m always grateful for - my sweet, simple life.  I’m on the sofa in my cozy home, a purring cat is snugged up to me, and I’m laughing with my husband over Jeopardy questions about rappers.  I’ve heard from both sons today and had a lovely chat with my sister.  Does it get any better than that?  A safe place to live, full cupboards, and people to love who love me right back- who would dare ask for more? Not me. I hope that you’re busy appreciating the best parts of your life tonight.  Even when other parts fall apart, there are usually steadfast friends, a job you love, supportive family, or a faithful pet.  Sometimes just loving the fluffy comforter that you slide under at night is enough. Life doesn’t have to be big and flashy to be good.  Happiness finds us just as easily in quiet times as it does during exciting days.  Gosh, sometimes all it takes is a beautiful sky to make my day and put a smile on my face. While driving around town today the sunshine was my traveling buddy, put me in a really good mood too.  Alright, alright, I’m shutting up.  I don’t have much to write about so I decided to share my day with you, then realized how boring it would seem to most people ( and rightfully so). But I’m filled with appreciation for days like this one. Stay tuned, I’m going to get wild this week.  I may paint some flowers, I may mix up some bright clay colors and make spring earrings.  There’s no telling how crazy it’ll get around here. Heck, I may play Wordle after I get out of bed. WaCkY!   Sending out love tonight. I hope it finds you if you need it.  Stay safe, stay well, stay grateful.

Nancy

[gwyoi]

Trying to meal plan a bit so I use up everything in the fridge in a timely manner and I think tomorrow will be fancy grill cheese with tomato soup . I have a whole carton of premade tomato soup but I’m not really in a soup mood for the rest of the week so Thursday I’ll add some stuff and reduce the soup to a tomato sauce for pasta for the next week . Then after I finish that pasta I’ll make my soy marinade eggs again and have that with rice. And once that is done I’ll use the leftover marinate to make the crispy chicken bites again. I’m so smart . I also have potatoes so I can make smashed potato.

[chinahatbeach]

Thoughts for Today

Today started out a bit rocky…. Winkie doesn’t want to eat. I tried her favorites. Nope. She’s drinking plenty of water and doing her jobs outside along with not being lethargic, so….. I’ll buy a couple cans of good dog food from the pet store and get her back to her happy self. Having a dog that isn’t up to par is not fun. They can’t tell you what’s wrong. Sweetie and I prayed for her this morning and if she’s not doing better, a trip to the vet. Oh, how I hate trying to get a vet appointment.

Meanwhile, snow is in the forecast and it’s a rainy day so far. I have two jobs up in the hills today. I’m glad to have those today and not tomorrow. They say snow but I do not trust the weathermen. They say 1/2 inch but…….. we will see.

In other news around here, my chickens have started laying eggs. One here or there but on Sunday, I got three. The whole mess about the chicken food causing the chickens not to lay is bunk. My girls went thru molt and the long days of winter. They took a vacation to rest and once again, spring is around the corner and they will be back in full force.

I started a new project of making those little fabric bowls……. Quilted bowl cozy. You can carry your bowl of soup to wherever you will eat it and not burn your hands. I found a YouTube channel with this project. It’s simple and I have a bunch of fabric. I shall make these bowls and enjoy them. I also have a few more projects to try my hands at. I feel inspired to create.

It’s a dreary day outside. The rain has set in and it’s dank. But, I must go clean houses. Today’s the type of day to make soup and cinnamon rolls. I feel the urge to bake. I don’t have time today but maybe Thursday. I saw a tiny daffodil has popped it’s tiny head up to welcome spring. I think it’s drunk. With snow in the forecast, I don’t think spring is here.

Well, time to do chores and get ready for today…… enjoy your day.

And that’s the way it is……….

[caffeinatedbraincell]

So you asked about prompts? ;D What about Joe/Nicky + any team member cuddling for warmth? Or something about all of them sharing clothes? Huge bonus if Lykon is still part of the Guard ❤️❤️❤️

Thank you anon for the ask!! 💕 This took forever but here it is~

Read on AO3

“Whose idea was this, again?” Joe complained, readjusting the weight of the front half of the giant plastic evergreen. He was sweating and freezing at the same time, which was decidedly one of his least favorite feelings ever.

“Yeah, I wonder,” Quynh seconded from behind him, throwing Andy a dirty look.

Andy sauntered hands-free in front of them, talking animatedly with Nicky and Lykon as they walked. The three of them clearly loved the snow, though Joe doubted they would be having even half as much fun if they had to carry the tree.

Quynh spat out some plastic pine needles. “Andromache! It’s your turn to carry this, come here!”

“Pleeease babe, we’re almost home!”

“Yeah,” Nicky interjected. “Besides, we have to carry the presents!” He waved the small, sparkly gift bag at them before pointedly turning back around.

Joe muttered something in Arabic about lazy spouses with nice asses, and Quynh cackled.

“Alright, alright,” Lykon interjected, jumping in front to get everyone’s attention. “Booker just texted me that he’s managed to get Nile out of the house under the pretext of, and I quote, ‘the snowball duel of the century.’ They’re going to the mountain pass, so we have two hours to get set up.”

“Perfetto,” Nicky said. “It’ll take me about twenty minutes to get the cookies in the oven, and then I’ll help decorate the tree.”

“You better get out in less than twenty,” Quynh warned. “When am I supposed to work? Do you even know how long it takes to cook chicken?”

“He doesn’t,” Joe confirmed.

“Habibi, that’s not fair. What about that time I made-”

A long, ominous buzz innervated all of their phones simultaneously. It was an emergency weather alert.

“Blizzard warning until 2:15 AM. All inner city residents are encouraged to shelter in place until further notice. Sudden snowfall and landslides may prove deadly,” Nicky read.

“Lykon, text Booker,” Andy ordered.

“On it.”

“No use,” Nicky cut in. “They’re probably already at the mountain pass. They won’t make it back in time.”

Andy swore loudly. “Joe, get the car. We’re going after them.”

Quynh and Joe dropped the tree and ran towards the house. By the time Joe started the car, Quynh was climbing down the porch steps with an armful of towels. The five of them piled into the car and tore down the icy roads.

The storm picked up with terrifying haste. When they got to the bridge near the mountain pass, visibility was already nearing zero. Joe switched places with Andy, clambering into the passenger seat so she could take the wheel. If anything could help them now, it was Andy’s extensive experience with driving in extreme weather conditions.

As they traveled through the pass, everyone kept their eyes trained on the snowy slopes, looking for any signs of Nile and Booker.

Suddenly, Lykon cried out in horror. Only a few feet away from the road were two motionless bodies, almost fully buried in a snow drift.

“Cazzo!” Nicky yelled, leaping out of the car. “There must have been an avalanche!”

Andy shoved the gearshift into parking and followed, joining the others as they attempted to dig out their friends with their bare hands. About two minutes after the frostbite set in, they were able to pull Nile and Booker free of the drift.

“Why aren’t they waking up?” Lykon asked, a tinge of panic in his voice. Andy rubbed Nile’s wrist as she looked at her watch, attempting to measure a pulse. Nicky tried to do the same for Booker, unconsciously chanting a Hail Mary under his breath.

Quynh stepped forward. “We need to get them back to the car. The heater will warm them up and help dry them off. Come on.”

Joe picked up Nile in his arms, cradling her head. Quynh threw Booker over her shoulders in a fireman’s carry. This time, they noticed neither the weight nor the cold. Their entire focus was on getting their friends home to warmth and safety.

“Joe, your coat,” Andy said as they got to the car. “It’s fleece. Take Nile’s ski jacket off and give her yours.”

Joe obeyed without hesitation, bundling her in his own winter gear and buckling her into the back seat. Meanwhile, Quynh and Nicky used the towels to dry off Booker’s snow coat as best as they could. Lykon climbed into the passenger seat, and Andy began to drive.

Thankfully, the storm didn’t get worse on their way back (though Joe seriously doubted it could get worse). By the time Andy pulled into their driveway, Nile and Booker were beginning to stir.

“Hey, easy now,” Lykon soothed, helping a dazed Booker out of the car. “Let’s get you inside. There we go, you’re okay. Just a little farther.”

Behind them, Nile leaned heavily on Quynh as she half-carried her up the porch steps. Joe paused, watching them enter.

“All okay?” Andy asked, placing a hand on his shoulder as the wind whipped the snow around them.

“The tree…” Joe muttered, fazed. “I dropped it somewhere. We were going to surprise Nile, and I-”

Andy turned him gently to face her, pulling his woolen beanie down to cover his ears.

“It’s alright, love,” she said softly, switching to Arabic. “She needs a different kind of comfort from us now. She and Booker both. Let’s go take care of them, okay?”

Joe nodded, following her into the warmth of their home.

A fire blazed happily in the hearth. Someone had expanded their futon and pulled it closer to the fireplace. Nile and Booker were seated on it now, wearing large, clean sweatpants - Nicky’s sweatpants, Joe noticed - and fuzzy Christmas sweaters. Quynh and Lykon were snuggled up on either side of them, feeding them something from a thermos flask and adjusting the heated blankets.

“Room for two more?” Andy grinned, curling up next to Quynh and gesturing at Joe to sit. “What’s that?” Joe asked, sliding under Lykon’s side of the blanket and pointing at the steaming drink in the thermos.

“I made apple cider earlier and left it in the instant pot,” Lykon replied. “It was still hot.”

Lykon held the drink to Nile’s lips. She took a large sip, sighing happily. Joe made a mental note to pour himself some cider if he ever got out from under this heated blanket.

Just then, Nicky walked out of the kitchen, balancing a large tray in his hands. “Soup time! Everyone sit up, let’s eat.”

Joe blinked, wondering how his husband had had the presence of mind to immediately go into the kitchen and make soup, of all things. He himself was still recovering from the last hour’s ordeal.

Nicky tutted disapprovingly. “Boss, get changed. Joe, you too. Why would you think it’s a good idea to get under an electric blanket in wet clothes?”

Andy grimaced, throwing her jacket and t-shirt on the floor and snuggling up to Quynh in just her bra. Quynh tugged Andy closer.

Nicky turned to Joe, raising an eyebrow. “Habibi?”

Joe pulled a face. “Do you have any sweatpants left for me?”

“Always.” Nicky ruffled Joe’s curls. “My gray university ones are in the dryer. They’ll still be warm if you hurry.”

Joe got up, returning two minutes later in the gray sweatpants and a black tank top he stole off of Andy’s dresser. He hastily dove back under Lykon’s heated blanket.

In the middle of the couch, swaddled in blankets and eating soup, Nile and Booker were looking much more alive. The color returned to their cheeks, intensifying as Nicky began to scold them.

“Booker, what the fuck were you thinking?” he demanded.

“I don’t know! You said to distract Nile, and she wanted to have a snowball fight. So I said yes!”

“Why didn’t you just go to the park?”

“I thought driving out to the mountain pass would buy you guys more time. It was a bad idea. I’m sorry.”

“You could have died, Book! Just because we’re immortal doesn’t mean we can play with our lives like that. Not to mention, you put Nile in danger!”

Quynh sat up, reaching for Nicky’s hands. She swiped her thumbs over his knuckles in a soothing gesture. “Hey, lay off him, would you? They’ve had a tough night.”

“But what if-”

“No what-ifs, Nicky. It’s alright. They’re safe. Now put the rest of that soup down and come here.”

Nicky sighed in secret gratitude. This was not a night he wanted to be left to follow his thoughts. “Fine.”

He squeezed onto the futon between Quynh and Nile, accepting the blanket Andy threw over him. He wrapped his arms around Nile, who snuggled closer.

“Nicky?” she mumbled after a moment.

“Hmm?”

“If you’re not still angry, can I ask you a question?”

Nicky pulled back to look at her. “Sorellina, I’m so sorry. I was never angry at you. Nor at Booker, really. Just a bit worried.”

“Yeah,” Joe piped up from the other end of the couch. “He gets mean when he’s scared.”

“I am not mean,” Nicky insisted. “Nile, what was it you wanted to ask?”

“Why did Booker say you wanted him to distract me? Distract me from what?”

Lykon laughed. “Should we tell her, Nicky, or do we plan to try again tomorrow?”

“We lost the tree, so I think we should just tell her,” Joe voted sleepily.

“You just don’t want to carry another tree,” Booker accused.

“Easy for you to say!” Quynh jumped in. “Next time, I’ll distract her, and you can walk a mile in the snow with plastic pine needles in your face.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Andy said, lips twitching. “No more attempts. Jesus wasn’t actually born on this day, anyway. I was there.”

Nicky blinked at her, and then rapidly shook his head to clear it. He looked at Nile. “We were trying to surprise you with a Christmas party. Remember last Thursday, when you were telling us how your family celebrated it back home?”

“Yeah.”

“We wanted to recreate all the same traditions. We got a tree, and some ornaments, and stockings with your initials on it, and, uh…”

“Presents! And that Christmas music you like,” Joe added.

“Yes, and Nicky was going to make cookies shaped like reindeer,” Quynh said.

“Also,” Lykon pointed to a folded-up tripod in the corner, “we were going to take family photos in our sweaters and put them on postcards. Copley said we can’t send them to anyone, but we could still make some.”

Booker sighed. “Sorry I ruined it, Nile. I thought- wait, are you crying?!”

Nile sniffled, turning away from Booker to tuck her face under the blanket. “No.”

“Oh, honey,” Quynh cooed. We can still do it all tomorrow, if you want…”

“It’s not that,” Nile croaked. “It’s just- You guys did all that just to surprise me?”

“It’s nothing,” Nicky assured. “Well, it’s really nothing now, but even if everything had gone according to plan, it still wouldn’t have been any trouble. It’s your first Christmas with us, and we wanted it to be memorable.”

“You’re the best,” Nile said, voice choked with emotions. “All of you. And this is the best Christmas Eve ever. Thank you.”

“Hush,” Andy smirked. “In this house, we show gratitude by not dying unnecessarily.”

“Oh, that was all Booker’s fault,” Nile countered smoothly. “I would have been content with a snowball fight in the park.”

“Really loving the underside of this bus,” Booker muttered as the others laughed.

Over the next hour, the lighthearted conversation drifted into sleepy silence. By the time Nicky thought to ask who would turn off the lights, Joe was only half-pretending to be fast asleep.

[sisterspooky1013]

Only One Choice, Part 2, Chapter 10

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

From: dscully@fbi.gov

Sent: April 28, 1997 10:46am

To: mreyes@fbi.gov

Subject: Coffee?

Hi Monica,

It’s Dana, from pathology. I was wondering if you’d like to get coffee tomorrow around lunchtime? I have a break in classes from 11-2, so anywhere in there would be fine.

I hope things are going well with VICAP.

-Dana

From: dscully@fbi.gov

Sent: April 28, 1997 10:48am

To: fmulder@fbi.gov

Subject: Wednesday/Thursday

Hi,

I’m mildly shocked that you hadn’t already emailed me before I got in today. Are you alive?

If you’d like to meet up for lunch or coffee this week, I can do Wednesday or Thursday, sometime in the 11-3 timeframe. Let me know which works for you and I’ll block the time out so nothing else ends up on my schedule.

From: mreyes@fbi.gov

Sent: April 28, 1997 11:12am

To: dscully@fbi.gov

Subject: RE:Coffee?

Hi Dana,

I’m so glad you reached out. I’d love to get coffee tomorrow; I can meet you just outside the autopsy bay at 1pm, if that works?

I look forward to it.

-Monica

From: fmulder@fbi.gov

Sent: April 28th, 1997 12:16pm

To: dscully@fbi.gov

Subject: RE:Wednesday/Thursday

Hi Scully,

I see that my exceptional self control has paid off in spades. I am alive, and have resisted emailing you this morning through a combination of sheer will and a two-hour budget meeting.

Wednesday sounds perfect, I’ll be there at noon. Don’t ask me how many hours that is from now because I haven’t calculated it and I have no idea.

———

About an hour after returning from her coffee date with Monica, which was very pleasant and is something she hopes to repeat, she starts to feel just a little bit achy. She pushes through the rest of her work for the day and by the time she slumps through her apartment door at six, there’s no denying that she’s sick. She takes some Tylenol and goes to bed, hoping it will have passed in the morning, but when she wakes up it’s even worse. She calls in sick to work and goes back to sleep.

When she wakes again, the phone is ringing. She ignores it, only for it to start ringing again the moment the machine picks up. Dragging herself out of bed with a pained moan, she trudges to the hallway, retrieving the cordless phone and walking back to her bedroom as she answers.

“Hello?”

“Scully! Are you okay?”

“What? Yes. Mulder?” She burrows herself back under the covers with the phone tucked against her ear.

“Yes, it’s me, you didn’t answer my emails all morning and never showed up for our coffee date. I was worried.”

“Shit, Mulder, I’m sorry. I came down with something yesterday and called out sick. I totally forgot we were having coffee today.”

“You’re sick?” he asks, clear concern in his voice.

“Yes, just a virus or something, I’ll be fine.”

“Can I bring you something? Soup? Juice? Bad movies?”

She chuckles a little. “No, you don’t need to do that.”

“Who's gonna take care of you?”

“Mulder, I’m a grown adult with a cold, I can take care of myself.”

“Are you sure?” She can tell by his tone that he wants to do this more for himself than for her.

“Yes, I’m sure. I don’t want you to see me all sick and disgusting, Mulder. It’s too soon to ruin your image of me,” she says somewhat sarcastically.

“Seeing you sick is not going to change how I feel about you, Scully,” he says very tenderly, and she knows he means it. Still, she doesn’t like the idea.

“I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? Sorry to make you drive an hour for nothing. Rain check?”

He sighs noisily. “Okay, fine. I think you inadvertently left ‘stubborn’ off your list of flaws, though.”

“Well, I didn’t want to ruin all the surprises,” she replies with a smile.

He reluctantly says goodbye, and as soon as he hangs up, she calls the first number on her speed dial.

“Hello,” calls Missy in her typical singsong greeting.

“Missy, can you come over?” she whines, little sister mode in full effect, “I’m sick.”

Missy arrives forty five minutes later and fusses around, gathering a glass of water, Tylenol, and the thermometer that is buried in the bottom of a bathroom drawer. Dana has relocated to the couch, and makes a face around the thermometer propped under her tongue when Missy sets four crystals of different shapes and colors on the coffee table, along with two herb-filled capsules. The thermometer beeps angrily and Missy plucks it out of her mouth, shaking her head.

“One hundred and two,” she says with a frown, “here, take these,” she holds out two Tylenol and two of the herb capsules with a glass of water.

Dana takes the Tylenol and leaves the others.

“Whatever those are, I’m not taking them. And you can pack up your crystals,” she says to Missy as she pops the Tylenol and chases them with a big gulp of water.

“They’re just echinacea, Sis, they won't kill you. And neither will the crystals.”

“But they also won’t help,” Dana says dryly, setting her water on the coffee table and burrowing back under her blanket.

“Well, I’ll just leave them right here,” Missy says, standing and going to the kitchen. “Why’d you call me, anyway? Shouldn’t playing sick maid be Mulder’s job now?” She’s looking through cupboards, pulling out a pot and a can of soup.

“It’s too soon for him to see me all congested and disgusting,” Dana replies, stifling a shiver. “He wanted to come over, but I told him not to.”

There’s a knock at the door. Dana sits up, exchanging confused looks with Missy.

“Did you order food?” Dana asks, and Missy shakes her head, moving to the door.

Dana watches from the couch as Missy opens the door to find no one on the other side. She looks at the floor, then down the hall one direction and the other. She stoops down and picks something up, then walks back to the couch with a paper bag.

“What is that?” Dana asks, and Missy shrugs, setting it on the coffee table and sitting at Dana’s feet. There’s a sheet of paper stapled to the bag, and Missy plucks it off, opening it while Dana explores the contents; a carton of tom kah gai soup.

Missy’s face is a mask of confusion as she reads whatever is written on the paper.

“What does it say?” Dana asks, and Missy hands it to her.

Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own: in pain and sickness it would still be dear. Your mind is my treasure, and if it were broken, it would be my treasure still.

Dana’s chin puckers as her bottom lip sticks out in a pout. “Oh my god,” she gushes, “it’s Mulder.”

“What the hell does this mean?” Missy asks, taking the paper back and reading it again. “Does he write poetry or something?”

“No,” Dana answers, pulling the lid off the container and breathing in the spicy coconut smell, “it’s a quote from Jane Eyre.”

“Oh my god,” Missy says with a disgusted look, “you two really are meant for each other. This is sickening, Dana, you realize that, right?”

Dana is smiling, taking sips of the hot Thai chicken soup that he somehow knew she needed. “Yes, he’s also a giant nerd, if that’s what you’re saying. But beyond that, I don’t think we have much of anything in common, actually.”

“You both work for the FBI,” Missy offers.

“Yes, but in totally different areas. And he’s an atheist, and believes in unverifiable phenomena like aliens and spontaneous human combustion. And he’s impulsive and easy going, and he makes decisions with his gut,” Dana lists off Mulder’s attributes like she’s describing the trim level on a car. He’s cute, and he has a leather interior.

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t use any of those words to describe you,” Missy says pointedly, setting the note on the table, where Dana plucks it back up and reads it again. “But there’s something to be said for being with someone who’s different from you.”

“I don’t really buy into the idea of ‘opposites attract,’” Dana says flatly. “I think that’s just a lie people tell themselves to justify horribly mismatched partnerships.”

“I think ‘opposites attract’ implies that your qualities clash, like the odd couple. One is messy and the other is clean,” Missy replies, propping her elbow on the back of the couch. “But I heard about this idea of ‘perfect opposites’ which is more like someone who complements you, or helps kind of level you out. So perhaps you lean to the extreme in some areas where Mulder leans to the other extreme, and you learn to meet somewhere in the middle.”

Dana gives her a doubtful look. “What is the middle between believing wholeheartedly that Bigfoot exists, and knowing that he doesn’t?”

Missy takes this under serious consideration. “I think,” she says without a hint of sarcasm, “that the medium would be accepting that it’s possible that he exists, and possible he doesn’t, but there's no way to know for sure.”

“So a Bigfoot agnostic?” Dana asks, and Missy nods in confirmation.

Dana shakes her head. “Maybe you should have gone out with him, I think you two might be better suited.”

“Don’t give me any ideas,” Missy says with a coy smile. “Speaking of which, does he have any single friends?”

Dana shrugs around a gulp of soup. “I don’t know, I haven’t met any of his friends.”

“Well, when you do, keep an eye out would ya? Now that I’ve lost my single buddy, I may as well get back out there. God knows it’s torture enough hearing your lurid tales from the bedroom.”

“Missy, I haven’t told you a single lurid tale,” Dana chastises.

“I know, what’s up with that?” Missy retorts in mock offense, “speaking of, what happened when he took you out to dinner Sunday night?”

Dana shakes her head.

“Oh come on, Dana. I have no life, let me live vicariously,” Missy whines.

Dana shakes her head again. “The only thing I’ll say is; maybe don’t eat off the kitchen counter,” she says before giving Missy a guilty look.

Missy’s mouth drops open.

“Wow, I’m not sure if I’m more grossed out or jealous,” she says as she stands, “I’m gonna get out of here, if you’re good. I think I need to go pick up a guy at a bar for some meaningless sex.”

“Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks for coming by. If you need a condom there are some in the bathroom,” she adds with a sarcastic smile, and Missy sneers at her.

“Ha, ha,” Missy replies as she slips on her shoes and opens the door, “last time I checked, you can’t get pregnant from a vibrator.”

Dana gives her a sympathetic pout and Missy pulls the door closed behind her.

———

It’s a quarter past eight when the phone rings, and he pushes Priscilla onto the floor to retrieve it from his desk.

“Hello?”

“I can’t find it,” says a garbled voice.

“Hello?” he asks again, “who is this?”

“It’s really cold. It’s also too hot,” the voice says around a sound like fabric moving over the mouthpiece.

“Scully?”

“Yes?”

“Are you okay?”

There’s a pause. “Mulder?”

“Yeah, I’m here. Are you okay?”

“Mulder, where are you?”

“I’m at home. You called me at home. Is Missy there?”

“No, she had to take her vibrator to a bar,” she answers, and it’s clear that she’s completely delirious.

“Scully, I’m coming over,” he says, standing up to find his shoes and wallet. “Hey, Scully, I need you to do something for me, okay?”

“Hmmm?”

“Can you stand up, and walk to your front door?”

She sighs. “That’s very far.”

“I know it is, but I need you to unlock the door so I can get in. I don’t think your super would be very happy if I broke it down.”

He hears her groan and her voice becomes quieter, then disappears. He waits, and just when he thinks she may have hung up, she picks the phone back up.

“Hello?”

“Hey, did you unlock the door?”

“Mulder?”

“Yes, it’s me.”

“Mulder, where are you?”

He snickers a little. “I’m on my way over, did you unlock the door?”

“I...I don’t remember,” she says, and she sounds exhausted.

“That’s okay, go back to bed. I’ll figure it out. See you soon, okay?”

“Okay, bye, Mulder.”

He waits but the line doesn’t go dead. He hears her shuffle around a bit and then it’s quiet for a long time. Setting the phone on its cradle, he drives over to her apartment.

The door is, thankfully, unlocked, and all the lights are off.

“Scully?” he calls out, not wanting to scare her. “Scully, are you awake?”

When he gets no response, he slips off his shoes and makes his way to her bedroom, calling out her name intermittently. He finds her twisted up in her sheets, and one touch to her forehead has him jerk his hand away with how hot she is. He strips the blankets off of her, finding her in only a T-shirt and panties underneath. Next he finds a washcloth in the bathroom and soaks it with cold water, then grabs two Tylenol and a glass of water. When he returns to the bedroom and drapes the cloth over her forehead, she starts and opens her eyes momentarily, but then closes them again.

“Scully,” he says softly, shaking her shoulder, “I need you to wake up, honey. I need you to take these.”

Her eyes open slowly and she blinks at him with heavy lids.

“Mulder?” she asks groggily, and he gives her a sympathetic smile.

“I’m here. Can you sit up and take these?”

He helps her prop herself up just enough to swallow the Tylenol and a sip of water before she collapses back against the pillows.

“I feel like shit,” she complains, but her eyes are already closed and she’s on her way back to sleep.

“I know. Get some rest. I’ll be here.”

———

She wakes up to harsh beams of sun pouring directly through her eyelids. Her first thought is that Ethan forgot to close the blinds again, but then she remembers that she and Ethan aren't together anymore and he doesn’t live here, so she must have forgotten to close them. She moves to roll out of bed and is met with the shock of aching muscles, and remembers that she had been raging with fever last night. She probably shouldn’t have let Missy leave, but thankfully the fever seems to have broken during the night. She rolls away from the window, no longer motivated to get up and close the blinds, and finds herself nose to nose with a sleeping Mulder.

“What the hell?” she says out loud, and he opens his eyes and smiles at her.

“Hi,” he says softly, “how do you feel?”

She gives him a perplexed expression. “Confused. How long have you been here?”

He chuckles “I knew you were out of it, but I didn’t think you were that far gone. You don’t remember?”

She shakes her head ruefully.

Mulder rolls to his back and stretches, then turns back to face her. “You called me last night, totally out of it, and I came over to make sure you were okay.”

“How did you get in?” she asks skeptically.

“You let me in.”

Her eyes widen.

“You were burning up, I just force fed you some Tylenol and kept an eye on you. Around 3am you started shivering, so I think that’s when the fever broke.”

She is quiet for a moment, taking in her surroundings. “Mulder...am I not wearing pants?”

He holds up his hands in self defense. “That’s how I found you, Scully, Scout’s honor.”

“What time is it?” she asks, feeling disoriented.

He peeks at his watch. “A little after nine.”

She sits up too quickly and gets dizzy. “I’m late for work,” she says, one hand to her head.

“Scully you were delirious with fever six hours ago, you’re not going to work. I called for you,” he says, sitting up too.

She gives him an incredulous look. “You called out sick to work for me?”

He nods.

She sighs and looks away from him. “I got the soup, and the note,” she says, “thank you.”

“Of course,” he answers, rubbing a palm over her back.

She looks back at him, taking in his sleep rumpled hair and second day stubble. She furrows her brow, a slight scowl on her mouth.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“You’re my boyfriend, aren’t you?” she says with a defeated tone, and he laughs.

“I’d sure like to be, if you’ll have me.”

She groans and slumps against him, sighing as he wraps his arms around her, petting her hair.

“Okay, fine,” she says flatly.

“Well don’t sound so excited about it,” he teases, and she pulls back and smiles at him.

“Thanks for taking care of me,” she says softly.

“Thanks for letting me,” he replies.

[nancypullen]

Not Dead Yet

Hello, faithful readers!  I’m on the sofa with my laptop, watching yet another Hallmark Christmas movie, and pretending to feel better than I do.  I’m scheduled for the OR on Thursday to get the Hope diamond out of my kidney and I’m nervous.  I’ve made the mistake of reading about the procedure and the aftermath, and although I know that medical sites have to cover worst case scenarios, and that I tend to bounce back quickly from “stuff”, I’m not looking forward to possibly feeling worse before I feel better.  I’m trying to force a super positive mindset and just decide that I’m going to feel great.  I mean, historically that’s been my story. C-sections, hysterectomy - none of it was bad, at least not for more than 24 hours.  The ankle surgery was no fun and recovery was long, but I generally felt well.   So I’m going with the odds and deciding that this will be a cake walk.   The truth is, it’s more than anticipating the unpleasantness.  I’m a very modest person and the fact that my ureter is the star of the show and will be spotlighted for a team in the OR (it hurt to even type that) makes me shrivel up.  I would rather they found an undeveloped twin made of teeth and hair growing out of my armpit than to hear, “we’ll put your feet in stirrups and run a laser up your ureter.“  I’m not kidding.  Do I have hang ups? Yes.  Does it make this any easier knowing that I have hang ups?  No.  When this is all over I hope my crotch can go back to its groundhog-like existence, making it’s required medical appearance once a year and hopefully not casting a shadow.  If this all feels like too much information to you, please believe that I’m cringing harder than you are and don’t know why I’m sharing any of this.  Maybe so that someone, somewhere might find comfort in knowing they’re not alone in their weirdness?  So that’s where I am right now, a mixture of hope and dread.  I have a dear friend from my airline days who has apparently endured kidney stones since her 30′s.  She has been a wealth of information and honesty - some of it a little scary, but appreciated.  We were messaging one evening and she said that she’d come across an old photo of me from the early 90′s.  She shared it and I was stumped.  I recognize that I was in the operations/scheduling office.  But...ummm... why am I undressing and why was there a photo snapped??

My best guess is that it looks like a necklace wrapped around a scarf and caught on a button situation - but why didn’t I unclasp the necklace and go from there?  My friend didn’t know the story behind the picture either (I mean, it’s been three decades) but we delighted in dissecting the late 80′s/early 90′s fashion and makeup.  Those red lips were my favorite trend. Loved it.  If I try that look now I look like the Joker.  That hair clip was company issue and it created a fabulous cascade of big curls down my back. The poofy bangs and big pearl drop earrings - yes, please.  Those were the days. I’d had two babies by then  and thought that my 108 pound weight was atrocious. That girl had no idea what was ahead of her.  I miss that 24 inch waist.   I’ve hardly eaten since Halloween - mostly noodle soup and red grapes. Today I decided I’d step on the scale - I felt  wispy, I felt shrunken, why, I’ll bet I don’t weigh enough to trigger the automatic doors at Target.  Know how much I’ve lost after two weeks of less than 600 calories a day? Three pounds.  Three lousy pounds. What I’d give to be the girl in that photo again.  I might pass on the big hair and red lips, but I’d take the earrings and waist in a heartbeat.  I would also keep my shirt buttoned.  Okie dokie, that’s all from me today.  No one likes to hear about another’s health woes, and certainly not gross stuff.  Hopefully the next post here will be one raving about what a breeze it was and how great I feel.  I’m deciding that now.  I think I’ll make a pot of chicken soup tomorrow, something to come home to on Thursday - I’ll appreciate that. Stay tuned, and thank you for your patience.  After this I promise a blog that is full of jingle bells and jolly posts. Tis the season! Sending out loads of love. Stay safe, stay well, stay positive.

Nancy

[robinofinashiro]

- request: this was written for a friend on twitter. don’t worry, I will get to everyones request as soon as possible! just wanted to get this out because she had asked a few days before most requests came in and I’ve made her wait long enough for it. sorry for the wait Kiaria and I hope you like it! 

- pairing: kuroo testurou x fem! reader

- request status: closed 

“If I fail science, just tell my mom that she has every right to bury me in the backyard,” Kuroo rolled his eyes before flashing that sly smirk of his, “you can’t tell me anything because you’re a fucking science whiz. you’re not the one failing chemistry with a 59%.”

you rolled your head back against the wooden chair, groaning as if you were in pain. Kuroo looked over the table to see the failed exam sitting on top of your Chemistry book. 

“stop being dramatic, let me look at your exam,” before you could even protest, Kuroo reached over to snatch it. you sat in the chair, pouting as he scanned it, “well a lot of your mistakes came from the final step in most of the equations, that’s why your answer came out wrong.”

grabbing a red marker from the side of his backpack, Kuroo circled the mistakes, “you keep repeating the same step twice! now this is how you do it,” as Kuroo went into full detail, you tried to focus in on what he was telling you but most of the explanation went through one ear and out the other. 

you sighed, not bothering to even pay attention anymore. you knew the more Kuroo explained it to you, the more you would become distracted. being that you and him were in the same class, the two of you became friends since the beginning of your first year. 

on some occasions, Kuroo would ask you to come to one of his games, playfully begging you to wear his jersey. other times, he made you become the teams unofficial manager because no one ever took the position to become their permanent one. 

you spent a lot of time with Kuroo which only intensified your crush on him. you had no idea if he even returned the feelings for you but considering he hardly let you out of his sight on his down time, you only hoped he did. 

“you’re making it even harder to study, you ass!” you exclaimed, shoving him. well, you weren’t wrong. being with Kuroo made it hard to do anything, especially studying, “oh yeah, how?” he asked lowly. 

you were stuck between words, not wanting to tell him the real reason. 

Kuroo chuckled, “listen, we don’t have practice the next few weeks. the season came to an end and they’re giving us the next two weeks to relax before continuing. how about every Tuesday and Thursday until your next Chemistry exam, you can come over to study?” he asked, kicking his legs on top of his grandmas table. 

you thought for a moment as you took a sip of your coffee, “and what do I get as compensation for being with you every Tuesday and Thursday for the next two weeks?” you replied with a cocky tone. 

Kuroo thought for a moment before snapping his fingers in realization. 

“I’ll take you out on a date for ice cream when the results of your exam come back,” your heart instantly dropped as you tried to cover your flustered expression, “come on, you know you’d die for a date with me!” 

you chucked him a scrap piece of paper before agreeing, “and if I fail, just know you owe me two weeks compensation for having to be around you so much,” you said jokingly, “oh yeah, what is the compensation?” he asked. 

you quickly thought. 

“your friend Bokuto’s number,” you said slyly. Kuroo’s face dropped for half a second which he hoped you didn’t notice, “okay, deal. if you pass, I’ll take you out on the date and if you don’t, I’ll tell Bokuto that I gave you his number,” the two of you shook hands, Kuroo squeezing it a bit too hard for your liking. 

“that hurt you ass!” you yelled, “hey, not my fault you’re a weakling.” 

+

first day of studying:  

“okay, lets get this cramming session started!” Kuroo exclaimed as he took out his various notes, “are you kidding me? it’s a chapter exam, not a fucking midterm!” you yelled, staring down at the highlighted notes. 

Kuroo chuckled as he looked over your notes, wanting nothing more than to gag at the way you wrote them, “and you have the nerve to make fun of me when your notes look like Kindergarten scribbles?” he stated. 

you gave him the finger, snatching your notes back from him, “we came here to STUDY! not make fun of my note writing,” you hit him in the arm with your notebook, “so, how do you plan on helping me study?” you asked. 

Kuroo threw your notebook away and handing you a fresh one, “you’re going to highlight everything in bold and all of the example equations are going to be in pen. it’s always better to write important things down in different colors because it’s easier to understand,” Kuroo informed. 

you nodded as you took out your red pen and wrote down the equations he had told you to write down. Kuroo was being abnormally quiet considering you expected the study session to be a complete mess. 

“do you think you understand the first half of the equations?” he asked. you looked down to your notes before shrugging, “I mean I think? I can try to see if I understood,” you whispered, playing with your lip. 

Kuroo chuckled before handing you a blank paper with equations written down, “here, I asked our teacher for practice worksheets. if you get at least 80% percent of them right, that means you’ve started to grasp the concepts.”

he placed the paper in front of you as you looked down at it. you immediately felt your heart race. it felt as though you were looking down at Kindergarten work and started to fill out the worksheet with ease. 

Kuroo smiled as he watched you write down the correct answers. he knew you weren’t struggling as much as you said you were, you were just lazy and didn’t bother to study correctly. 

“here professor,” you joked, handing him the worksheet back. Kuroo grabbed your red pen and scanned the worksheet for a few minutes. you picked at your nails nervously, hoping that you at least got a few of them right. 

“see, I told you!” he exclaimed as he wrote down a 100%, “really?” you yelled happily as you took the worksheet back. 

you jumped in your seat in excitement as you slammed your notebook shut, “so Thursday?” you asked. Kuroo nodded as he helped you pack your things into your bag. 

“I’ll walk you home.” 

+

last day of studying: 

“well, tomorrow is the big day, if I fail, Bokuto’s number will be sitting promptly in my phone.” 

you giggled as Kuroo rolled his eyes, a bit too seriously. he knew his hard work was going to pay off and if he got lucky, Bokuto would be no where near you or text messages. 

“so what do you have planned for me?” you asked taking out your notebooks, “nothing,” your eyebrows fluttered in confusion at his answer. 

“what do you mean nothing? I don’t think I’ll pass if we don’t study the day before the exam!” you yelled with nervousness hinting at your voice, “you worry too much. listen, we’re going to study but not like we have been.” 

Kuroo stood up and went to his fridge, “we’re gonna have dinner and relax because you’ve been cramming way too much and overloading your brain with equations will have you blank minded once you take the exam. we’re going to eat, review for a bit, and then I’ll walk you home,” he stated taking out a few things to make dinner. 

you nodded, not fully understanding what he was even implying. regardless, you sat on the counter as Kuroo mentioned he was cooking the two of you some soup his grandmother made him from time to time. 

“so, have you actually even told Bokuto that you were planning on giving his number to me?” Bokuto couldn’t help laugh, “no because I know you won’t get it,” he joked. 

you raised your eyebrow at him, “ah, so you’re just mister confident, aren’t you?” you asked as you ate a piece of cooked chicken he had left on the side. 

“I am because I know I’m a great tutor and you’ll be passing that exam tomorrow,” he stated confidently. “oh yeah, what if I intentionally fail?” you mocked. 

Kuroo gave your a smirk before grabbing your sides and tickling them playfully, “if you fail on purpose, you’re going to be Nekoma’s permanent manager until we graduate,” he said as you gasped for air. 

“okay, okay! I won’t fail!” you yelled a bit loudly. you immediately covered your mouth, hoping you hadn’t woken up Kuroo’s grandmother with your screams, “oh my god, if I woke your grandmother, tell her I’m so sorry,” you murmured as he waved you off. 

“she isn’t home. she goes out on Thursday’s nights with a few of our neighbors to watch people sing downtown,” he mentioned, taking two bowls out, “well, lets eat. I know you skip lunch all the time so you can take a nap!” he said as he swatted you with a hand towel. 

+

you sat sat on your desk Monday morning, nervously chewing on your nails as you anxiously waited your Chemistry exam results. your teacher had a tendency to put the five highest grades on the board with the names underneath as way to congratulate the students. 

you looked at Kuroo and gave him a nervous smile as your teacher took her sweet time writing everything down. you felt your phone buzz as you knew it must’ve been Kuroo telling you to relax.

finally the teacher wrote down the names underneath the scores and your name appeared right next to Kuroo’s. you immediately whipped your head to look over at him and gave him a soft but bright smile. 

“everyone who failed, take notes, the next exam will be almost identical to this one and for those who passed, congratulations.” 

you couldn’t help but feel butterflies in your stomach as waited for the day to end. you knew that your informal date with Kuroo was now officially happening and a part of you was beyond happy but another part of you felt sad. 

you still had no idea if he even seen you in the same light you saw him but if he was taking you out for ice cream, that means he must’ve, right? 

the final bell rang as you packed your things into your bag. Kuroo had told you he was running to the bathroom before the two of you could get going. you had texted your mom that you were planning on going out for a few hours to celebrate your exam score but it wasn’t until you walked out of the classroom to overhear the conversation Kuroo and a few of his volleyball mates were having with him. 

“so, are you finally asking her out?” Lev asked a bit excitedly. Kuroo tried to get him to quiet down but it was Kenma who spoke up this time, “just rip it off like a band-aid. you get nothing from hiding your feelings from her,” he said in that monotone voice of his. 

your heart leaped as you felt your hands get clammy. you quickly fixed your hair before walking up behind Kuroo. his friends eyes widened as you waved at them nervously, “ready?” you asked. 

Kuroo nodded as you told his friends a quick hello before heading out. the two of you walked to the nearest ice cream shop, the air a bit awkward as Kuroo hoped that you hadn’t overheard the conversation he was having with Lev and Kenma. 

“so,” you said quietly as the two of you sat down on the bench, eating the ice cream quietly, “I guess our hangouts are going to cease to exist,” you playfully said. 

Kuroo gave you a mocking gasp, “I’m offended, here I thought you enjoyed our study sessions,” you rolled your eyes, not bothering to take your eyes off the small pond in front of you.

Kuroo knew it was now or never. with graduation creeping up and the two of you going to separate universities, he knew today was his only chance to ask you out before it was too late. 

after he finished his ice cream, he tossed it in the nearby trash bin and sat back down next to you. his hand sat on his side before creeping itself to hold yours. your face went warm instantly as you felt your heart stop for a few moments. 

you gave Kuroo a look as his eyes said it all. you gave him a slight nod before taking a hold of his hand a little tighter. the two of you sat in comfortable silence as the birds chirped and the sun was beginning to set. 

with Kuroo’s loud mouth, you knew him asking you out wouldn’t be the most ordinary thing in the world. Kuroo was someone who said things through his actions, not words and him asking you out didn’t need to be some grand gesture. 

his confession fit the two of you perfectly. 

[scullydubois]

Only the Light Ch. 4

Description: Missy and Scully’s girls night gets interrupted by an uninvited guest.

Read on Ao3 here. Tagging @today-in-fic​.

A long--and fun!--part. Hope you enjoy!

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

The elevator doors part, releasing Scully into the tranquility of her hallway. She steps out, glad to be away from the bustling FBI building and the noisy street and the elevator so squeaky that she’s pretty sure she’ll find herself trapped in it one of these days. That’s a problem for another time. For now, all Scully wants is to take off her shoes, pantyhose, and bra. The simple pleasures.

She sticks her key in the doorknob and turns. The deadbolt clicks. She’s locked it. She sighs. Missy left the door unlocked again. She twists the key the other way and it opens. She enters and drops the key, her purse, and her badge on the side table.

“It’s me!” Her voice echoes through the place.

“I’m in here,” Missy responds from the kitchen.

Scully enters the kitchen. Her sister’s still in the hostess uniform for the restaurant job she just got. She flips mindlessly through an issue of Better Homes and Garden.

“You left the door unlocked again.”

Missy flips a page of the magazine so hard she almost tears it. “Oops.” 

Scully sighs and sits down at the table. Her sister has always been the dramatic type.

“How was training?” she offers.

Missy sets down the magazine as if she’s thankful to have an out.

“Pretty standard for an upscale eatery that calls itself casual but charges twenty dollars for a bowl of soup. Turns out, the East Coast isn’t actually that different from the West Coast.”

“Wow. Who’ve thought?”

Missy chuckles. “I know, right?”

“Speaking of the West Coast…”

Melissa groans. Her sister’s been trying to get information about her whereabouts ever since she moved in. She’s under the impression that everyone’s life is as interesting as working for the FBI, and while Melissa tries to make hers so, there’s just not much to report. Except for the one thing she’s specifically avoiding. She will tell Dana at some point, she has to, but for now she doesn’t want to add to the cacophony of things her sister has to worry about. Besides, it’s not anything bad. If anything, Melissa is looking forward to telling her. It’s their mother she’s worried about.

“I told you, it’s nothing juicy. I was out there doing odd jobs. Waitressing, mostly. There was a stint as a gas station attendant.”

Scully laughs. “A gas station attendant?”

“In Oregon you’re not allowed to pump your own gas.”

Scully raises her eyebrows. “Seems like it wouldn’t be a very safe job for a young woman late at night.”

Missy shrugs, then, with the dedication of an Oscar-winning actress, says, “It was a male dominated profession, but I made do.”

Scully smiles. She knows the feeling. She steps out of her heels and carries them into her bedroom. She shimmies off her pantyhose, then sits on the edge of the bed and presses her thumbs deep into the arches of her feet. Heaven. After a moment of bliss, she takes a pair of pink fuzzy socks from her drawer and slips them on.

She returns to the kitchen--“Have you had dinner?” 

“Just a bowl of salad,” Missy replies. 

“Am I to assume by your pitiful tone that you’re up for something else?”

“If you order something and tell me I can have it, who am I to say no?”

Scully chuckles. “How courteous.”  She pulls out a drawer full of take-out menus in various conditions. Some of them Scully has had since her Academy days. 

“The ones on the top are Mexican, the middle is Chinese and Japanese, after that is Italian, and the bottom ones are Indian.” 

Few things that Dana has said have surprised Melissa as little as this organizational structure. What she doesn’t expect is the sheer volume of her sister’s collection. Her eyes widen as she approaches the drawer. There’s literally hundreds of menus stacked in there. 

“Um, may I ask for the chef’s recommendations?”

Scully pulls a couple menus out like it’s nothing.

“Well, if you’re in the mood for curry, this one is great,” she slides a colorful menu toward Missy. “But this is the best Chinese takeout in the city.” She sets down a menu with the Chinese symbols for good fortune on it (yes, Missy knows some Chinese). Missy figures they could both use some good fortune, so she picks up that one.

“Do they have hot & sour soup?”

“I’m sure. I always have the fried rice and orange chicken.”

“Oh, that sounds good too. Can we do a bowl of hot & sour soup and two portions of rice with orange chicken?”

Scully picks up the phone. “Of course.” She dials the number from the menu. As it’s ringing, Missy whispers, “And fortune cookies?”

“They always give you some. They’re not very goo-” The restaurant picks up. A fast-talking voice buzzes in Scully’s ear. 

Melissa laughs at this slip. As her sister’s about to recite the order, she adds, “I don’t care, I just want to read them.”

Scully tells the woman the order, confirms that it’ll come with fortune cookies, and gives them her address and unit number. She thanks the woman, hangs up the phone.

“It’ll be 25 minutes,” she tells Missy.

“Perfect.” Scully can tell from the sound of her voice that she’s up to no good. 

“Perfect for whatever villainous plot you’re about to drag me into, you mean?”

“Perfect for us to get ready for the girl’s night we’re about to have,” she replies matter-of-factly. 

Scully opens her mouth to protest, but Missy beats her to it. “I know, I know. It’s Thursday, you have work tomorrow, you’re tired...but it doesn’t have to be anything grand. Just a little self-care and relaxation, okay?”

Scully frowns in her funny, ‘I’m not actually upset, I just can’t think of a good comeback’ way. 

“And besides,” Missy continues, “you don’t wanna be a party pooper, do you?”

Scully frowns for real this time. This unearths some childhood insecurities she had forgotten she had. It conjures up the image of teenaged Missy with a pack of cigarettes--their mother’s--begging her to sneak out the window and smoke them together, that it would be fun. How she said no until she couldn’t bear her sister’s juvenile belittling anymore. It figures that she has to be guilted into having fun. She bets that her parents would never have imagined that their little girl smoked a cigarette younger than their free-spirited daughter ever did.

“Come onnnnn,” Missy drawls. “We can get in our pajamas and slippers, and I have some avocado face masks we can do. Plus, I brought my box set of Golden Girls.”

Scully can’t help but smile at that. On nights before big exams in medical school, she would put Blanche, Dorothy, Sophia, and Rose on in the background to keep her company as she studied. She called it her golden good luck charm because she passed every test she did this with. 

“Fine.”

Fine. The Dana stamp of approval! Missy leaps into action. “Go get dressed, and I’ll grab the face masks.”

Scully does as she’s told (per usual). She chooses her silkiest pajama set because this feels like an occasion to go all out. A few minutes later, she’s sitting on the couch letting Missy spread the avocado paste across her face. 

“Is this just mashed up avocado?” she asks. “Could we eat this?”

“I think there’s honey in it too.” Missy scraps a dot off where it spilled over to Scully’s headband and licks it. “Not bad...Are you that hungry?”

Scully chuckles. “No, I was just wondering.”

“Well, if it does to your insides what it does to your face, then watch out.”

“Yeah, I think I’ll pass on that,” Scully remarks.

“Good choice.” Missy finishes Scully’s face and turns so that Scully can do hers. Scully dips a finger into the green paste. It’s cold and sticky, not exactly a desirable combination.

“Do you do this a lot?” she asks Missy.

“Usually once a week, if I think of it.”

Scully wouldn’t have the time to think of it, let alone do it. “That’s nice,” she says wistfully, realizing there’s not much farther she can take the subject.

“I brew some tea, light some incense, and boom. My own personal nirvana.”

“Mmm.” Scully’s feeling increasingly isolated by this conversation. Missy reads her mind in the typical way.

“You don’t take much time for yourself.” It’s a statement, not a question.

 “I just don’t have much time in general,” Scully replies on the defensive.

“And you certainly don’t allot what you do have to yourself.”

Scully lifts her finger off Missy’s face, dips it back into the paste. “I take care of myself,” she says.

“But you don’t spoil yourself.”

“Who am I to be spoiled?” And there is the fundamental ideological difference between Missy and her sister. Missy, who wants life to be overflowing with joy, bereft of nothing. Dana, who believes that nothingness gives her strength, and strength gives her character.

The delivery man's knock on the door eclipses any response Melissa was planning to make. Probably for the best. This is the rift the sisters cannot manage to pave over.

Missy grabs the food and pays the man. She knows her sister would be embarrassed to be seen with the mask on, and she’ll do anything to make Dana’s life that much easier. 

They dig in, eating straight from the cartons. Missy insists on using chopsticks, which works great for the chicken but not so hot on the rice. She doesn’t bother trying them with the soup. Scully doesn’t have the patience for any of it, so she sticks to the plastic fork that came with it all.

Between bites of chicken, Scully reaches for a fortune cookie. Missy swipes it out of her hand, sending it catapulting toward the floor. 

“What was that for?” Scully exclaims.

“Haven’t you ever heard that it’s bad luck to read your fortune before you finish the meal?”

“No?”

“Well, that explains a lot then.”

Scully smirks, sets the cookie back on the table with the others. “I think you just wanted that one.”

Missy feigns innocence, then shrugs. “I have a good feeling about it.”

-----------

A few minutes later, the girls have settled on the couch, empty cartons of take-out strewn on the table in front of them. The four fortune cookies they received are all wrapped up. They’re too full to bother with them just yet. They chirp bits of commentary about the Golden Girls episode they’re watching back and forth between each other.

“I see some Blanche in you,” Scully comments, “but mostly I think you’re Rose.”

“She’s my favorite, so I will gladly accept that,” Missy replies.

The episode’s laugh track nearly conceals a slight rap on the door. 

Scully looks toward the door. “Did you hear something?” 

Missy clicks the volume down on the remote. “Maybe. I’ll check.”

She heads for the door,  peeks through the peephole, then unfastens the chain and lets the door swing on its hinges.

“It’s Mulder!” she exclaims after Mulder has already stepped through the doorway.

It is, in fact, Mulder. Still in his work clothes and holding a manila folder. His eyes widen in surprise.

“Oh. Melissa.”

She smiles slyly. Evidently, he did not expect her nor her face mask.

“Hello, Fox.”

Scully pulls her feet up onto the couch and crosses her arms protectively over her chest, hoping that somehow, maybe, he won’t notice her here in her own apartment. Her first thought is that she’s not wearing a bra. She realizes that this is an unproductive thought to have because it’s not like she’s naked or anything, she’s wearing a pajama top, and he’s seen her in a pajama top before. Hell, he saw her in her underwear on their first case! Not to mention that he’d seen her on her deathbed, and is there anything more naked than that? Still, she hadn’t expected him, and she feels caught off-guard by his sudden appearance. 

For what it’s worth, Mulder is caught off guard by her too. She looks...soft. Relaxed. He very rarely gets to see her in casual circumstances. Even in the assortment of motel rooms he’d sat with her in, she was always keyed up, her mind trying to piece together the puzzle of whatever case they were on. This was new territory. 

“Hi, Scully,” he croaks. 

“Hello,” she replies sheepishly. 

Mulder can’t take his eyes off her. He’s endeared by the green face mask and all of its components. The headband pulling tendrils of her hair tenderly away from her face, the stray locks that have slipped out and stuck to the paste, the extra youthful look it gives her...he never realized how much he missed out on. How much she keeps from him. Suddenly, he’s certain: the woman sitting on the couch isn't Scully. It’s Dana, and there's nothing he wants more than to get to know her better. 

Remembering what he’s there for, he holds the folder out to her. 

“Uh, I just came to give you these toxicology results. I thought you might want to review them before tomorrow.”

She takes the folder while keeping one arm stationed in front of her chest.

“Thank you. I will.”

She plops the folder with the mess on the coffee table and returns both arms to her chest.

Feeling like the intruder that--in Scully’s mind--he is, Mulder glances at the TV.

“Golden Girls. That’s serious business, I’ll get out of your hair.”

Melissa mutes the TV. “Actually, we were just discussing what Golden Girl we think we are. We agreed that I’m Rose, but we’re still trying to figure out Dana.”

This is a challenge Mulder is more than happy to accept. 

“Dana…” He looks at her with a lop-sided smile, letting the word roll off his tongue in a teasing way.

Scully blushes. Oh how she wishes her body would not so easily give her away. Figuring there’s nothing to lose, she takes this opportunity to catalogue the colors in his eyes. She has an ongoing debate with herself about what color they actually are. She’s seen green, brown, and blue with such certainty that she’s pretty sure he has the ability to change them like a mood ring. She’s not sure she would want to know what each color means. 

She decides that they’re looking quite green tonight (is that good?) and breaks eye contact with him out of necessity. Call it self-preservation.

This silent exchange pleases Melissa, maybe even more than it does Mulder. She loves being right as much as her sister does. 

“I was thinking she’s a Dorothy,” Melissa pipes up. “What do you think, Fox?”

He flinches. Melissa scoffs. “Sorry--Mulder. What is it with FBI agents and insisting on being called their last name? That’s got to be some sort of psychological phenomenon.” Then, because she can’t resist--“You should open a x-file on that.”

Scully chuckles. Mulder just purses his lips.

“Ha ha. Very funny.”

“I know,” Melissa claps back in jest. “That’s why I said it.”

Scully looks toward the window. She could have sworn she saw a flash of lightning outside, but no thunder follows it. When she looks back, Mulder’s eyes are trained on her once again. Yep, still green. He pushes some of the cartons aside and perches on the table in front of her and Missy. If Scully put her legs down, their knees would touch. 

“Dorothy is the obvious choice,” he says. “But that’s too easy. Scully’s not easy.”

Scully flicks her gaze toward Missy, who bites her lip to keep the sarcastic comment in her mind from slipping out. 

“So what is she then?” Melissa challenges.

Scully’s eyes meet Mulder’s. She’s not sure what he’ll say, and she’s not too worried about it. What matters is that she’s looking at him, he’s looking at her, and her skin feels like it’s been warmed by the sun. This is not a normal reaction to another human being looking at you, she knows. She made a pact with herself early on not to think too hard about it. It’s moments like this that make her question the point of that.

She feels sated...she so rarely feels that way. Realizing that there is nothing worth keeping from him, not right now, Scully lowers her hands into her lap.

Feeling like he’s done something right, Mulder smiles. He answers Missy’s question without taking his eyes off his partner. Scully’s burning up.

“Well, she’s smart but not pretentious, curious but not unconventional, reliable but not naive, honest but not a curmudgeon, and diligent but not intense...so I don’t know.”

He looks to Melissa. 

“Are any of the Golden Girls as interesting as that?”

Scully’s breath catches. This is quite possibly the most romantic moment of her whole life...What does that say about her? She lowers her feet so that her silk pajama bottoms nuzzle his coarse slacks. Call it a gesture of goodwill. Meanwhile, Mulder wonders if Scully notices that their kneecaps are touching.

Missy smiles. She’s engineered a moment, and what a wonderful one. 

“I suppose not,” she replies lightly. “Dana’s one of a kind.”

“That’s for sure.” Mulder clasps Scully’s hand, and for a second, she thinks he’s going to kiss it. His fingers slip away and grab a fortune cookie off the table instead.

He rips the plastic off it, then snaps it in half. He sets a half in Scully’s open palm as if on instinct. She didn’t even realize she had turned her hand up. Her fingers close over the cookie. She couldn’t possibly eat it now that he’d touched it. Or was that all the more reason to eat it?

Mulder pulls the paper from his half, pops the cookie in his mouth, and crunches as he reads the fortune. “Depart not from the path which fate has you assigned...huh.” He crumbles up the plastic and sticks it in his pocket. “Never seen that one before.”

“Me neither,” Scully remarks dreamily. Melissa looks on, feeling like she’s watching a movie play out in front of her.

Mulder rubs his hands against his pant legs to extend the moment, then stands up, bumping Scully as he does.

“Sorry,” he says, resting a hand on her shoulder. She shakes her head to indicate it’s nothing. “You’re fine.”

As she looks up at him, Mulder finds himself struck with the desire to swim in those blue eyes of hers. He knows that his feeling for Scully--whatever it is--is different from the girls on his magazines and tapes. His thoughts about Scully are somehow both innocent and ridiculously gratifying. His thoughts about the other girls are neither.

“Well, I’ll get going,” he says, stepping around Scully and Melissa’s feet. He turns back to meet Scully’s glance one last time--

“See you tomorrow morning.” He winks.

Scully is so charmed by this all she can muster up is, “Uh-huh.”

Missy bursts into laughter as soon as Mulder closes the door. Scully lets her. She looks down at her palm and realizes that she has put so much pressure on the fortune cookie that it crumbled. She won’t read into this either.

[bubmyg]

Could you maybe write something about being Yoongi’s girlfriend and the both of you are in college, and usually the reader would just walk home from classes, but she’s not feeling too well and therefor calls Yoongi, asking if he can pick her up, and then queue Yoongi being soft and loving towards her because he loves her and wants to take care of her when she’s sick? If you do, then thank you 😍😘❤️🧡💛

genre/warnings: college!au, fluff fluff and more fluff, part seven hundred of yoongi being the sweetest ever,part of the “ps i love you” series linked on my masterlist

word count: 1,444

The driver had misjudged the edge of the curb, the front tire closest propped up on the sloping slab of concrete just enough to tilt the bus to the side. It didn’t matter much to the suspension of the vehicle, anyway, as it bobbled back and forth with the influx of students clambering aboard. It was a curly haired man clutching a maroon laptop case to his chest that was stopped before stepping inside, the inside of the bus at full capacity at four-thirty on a Thursday where rain was just starting to mist across the surface of campus. 

The man frowned but he stepped away with a knowing nod, allowing the bus doors to fold to a close and for the vehicle to pull away with a generous thud. 

You shared his sentiment as you scanned the crowd from underneath the hood of your rain jacket, one that barely seemed to garner a dent from the mouthful of students the previous bus had engulfed. You decided on the probability of two more packed buses before you’d get a minuscule space, hanging onto an overhead bar with the same grip of trying to keep your lunch, two nibbles of a turkey sandwich and a sip of chicken broth, in your stomach. 

Best case scenario was two more buses. The likely option was three. And the tears misting behind your eyelids disagreed with both options, tears that appeared because of the sting of the wind and not because of your sore throat and running nose and throbbing headache and the blur of Yoongi’s contact pulled up on your phone. 

“Hi!” There was a distance rustling and then Yoongi’s voice came clearer, chirpy and sweet and eliciting an entire new wave of tears behind your preexisting ones, “Hi, how was class?”

“Fine,” Your voice broke, rough with the tear that lipped over your eyelid and iced down the curve of your nice, “…fine.”

He hummed and his response came out an octave softer, “That’s good. Do you—”

“W-why are…” You blinked, hard, backside hitting the wired plastic of the benches outside the academic building you’d just left. Another bus had approached as had another wave of students. Four buses. Black dots spotted through your vision, “What were we talking about?”

“You called me—” More rustling, the sound of clinking metal and Yoongi’s voice worried back to a louder volume, “—love, where are you?”

“Outside…outside the physics building,” The black dots had disappeared, “Waiting on a bus.”

“Waiting on me,” Yoongi corrected and you heard the tell tale sign of his car starting, “I’m coming to get you. Sit tight.”

His tire caught the curb like the one of the bus had, his car pulled up a space above where the second (fifth?) bus would come to collect more students. The remaining crowd turned toward the sound of his door slamming, black t-shirt immediately wetting to his skin as he hopped up onto the sidewalk to stride for you. 

“Hey,” Yoongi greeted, a tender syllable that trilled up on the end as his arm caught your waist when you stood to meet him. The hand on the small of your back slid upward, nudging and collecting your backpack across his own shoulders as wet lips met the apple of your cheek. He reiterated his question from earlier, “Class good?”

You repeated your answer, guilty through wet tipped eyelashes as the concern in his eyes became shadowed by the fall of wet fringe, “Fine.”

He coaxed you forward, welcoming the press of your face against his chest, “Quiz go okay?”

You hummed as he retched open the door from you, hand not leaving your stature until you were settled on the upholstery. Your backpack hit the space behind you and you barely formed the teasing thought of scolding him for harming your laptop before he was in the driver’s seat and pulling out onto the road as the third (sixth?) bus curbed onto the sidewalk. 

What had been sweat beading under the fine shards of rain coating your skin seemed to turn to ice under the gentle blow fo Yoongi’s AC and you tucked your arms tight across your chest. Wordlessly did his fingers fiddle at a dial, palm pressing into the steering wheel to turn away from the traffic. 

“Taehyung just turned the heat back on so the house is nice and warm.”

“You aren’t taking me back to mine?”

“I wasn’t going to,” He slowed before the turnoff for his street, “I can—”

“Do you have medicine?”

Yoongi’s gums flashed in your peripheral and he turned onto his street, “…and lots of canned soup.”

“And you?”

His smile lessened into just a press of his lips into his cheeks, gentle eyes crossing your features when yours fluttered shut, curling tighter into your wet jacket. The ignition rolled over and he let the keys dangle limply between the part of his thighs. 

“You definitely have me, angel.”

He was sweating by the time he’d hauled you in laps around the inside of the house, up three flights of stairs to dry your hair with a chipped purple hair dryer he’d owned since high school and shove your head through the hoodie he’d worn to his eight-thirty that morning, down two flights of stairs to the kitchen where he shuffled around Jeongguk making ramen and gave him a reprimanding hip butt every time he reached out to tease you by pinching your cheeks, up a story to the hall closet next to Jimin’s open door to collect extra blankets and serve an interrogation from the concerned blonde, back up to the third story where you and a full tummy of tomato soup of dry crackers flopped onto Yoongi’s made duvet.

He left you to fight with his sheets and returned with a palm full of pills consistent with chalk to you curled in a ball underneath whatever you’d managed to wiggle free from. The pills clicked together and rolled to opposite ends of his bedside table when he pressed them down, crawling to you to press his nose against your clammy neck. 

“Class tomorrow?” Yoongi mumbled into your hair. He knew the answer, anyway. 

You shook your head, “Just lab.”

“Stay here,” It wasn’t a question and your lack of response served as your answer. “We can go to the clinic?”

“I’m alright.”

“If your fever isn’t broken by dinner tomorrow, we’ll go,” His palm danced over your hip underneath the sheets, pressing through your knuckles to lace your fingers together at your tummy, “Deal?”

You rutted back against his chest, relaxing into his stature while your heart raced between your ribs. Softly, “Joon’s a med student, can’t we just ask him?”

Yoongi’s laugh was deep against your spine, brushing at your ear as his lips kissed at your neck, “I can ask him for some over the counter recommendations, if you want. But he doesn’t have a secret stash of prescription cold medication in his room, believe it or not.”

“Have you checked?”

He shifted until you were on your back with him arched over you, fingers still twisted in yours as the tip of his nose pressed into yours. “I know you’re kidding,” He waned quietly, soft caramel irises black in the dimness of his room, “but I’m worried about you.”

You blinked and your heart swelled in it’s rapid rate, “I’m sorry.”

He kissed your lips until you pressed the heel of your palm into his shoulder, mumbling something about him catching your disease. He instead busied his lips with the juncture of your throat, tightening his grip on your hand and waist. 

“Don’t want you to be sorry. Just want you to take care of yourself.”

You focused on the wet of his pouted mouth relaxing your taut muscles, speaking only again when the familiar bead of sweat from earlier began to trickle across your hairline, “I’m trying, but someone is suffocating me.”

Yoongi’s lips curled against your skin and he swung a leg over your waist, heel digging into your hip to drag you against him. He argued, “I’m helping to break your fever,” 

“I didn’t realize you changed your major to pre-med.”

“If I can cure you, I might.”

You turned your head to look at him, nose wrinkling as his lips met your chin, “I’m like a parasite, you can’t get rid of me.”

Yoongi’s eyes were seven shades of chocolate fond, seeming to melt around his dilated pupil as pliable cheeks pulled back into something gummy, voice so tender, you forgot that you’d just suggested your attachment to him was something like ringworm. 

“I wouldn’t want to, anyway.”

[lockdownuk]

Lockdown Diary Part 3

A personal account during the lockdown in the UK due to the Covid-19 outbreak.

23/03/2020 8:30pm Boris Johnson, UK Prime Minister, gives a live address to the nation to, effectively, put the country on lockdown to stem the spread of the deadly coronavirus strain, Covid-19.

Many of us have been self-isolating for days but this latest development within the UK in reaction to the pandemic feels very serious and very scary. I decided to keep a simple diary and where better but online.

Day 61: Writing this in the afternoon on day 62. An exercise driven day. Two walks and stair climb as usual plus I popped round Jeff’s early evening. First time I’ve been to his house, 1 Garden Row, Elmington. It’s further than I thought so, with walking there an back, I managed a daily total of 14km. It was good to see him and have a social (but social-distanced) beer. When I got home, @9:45pm, I made thai green chicken curry, watch The Report (a great, if worrying film) and then TikTok-ed until gone 5am!

Day 62: Typing this on day 64! Beer round Karen’s. Missed Sam’s quiz.

Day 63: Typing this on day 64! Beer round Karen’s. Again! Well, it is bank holiday Monday! Had dirty pizza for tea and watched The Heat. Again! It is the most piss funny film.

Day 64: Well, I have been feeling guilty about treatung the bank holiday w/e l;ike a bank holiday w/e. It’s dawned on me that that guilt is way too self-disiciplned. I got up about midday, usual two walks and stair climb but that’s it. I need to clean the house from top to bottom, get on top of my online courses, get the garden done, get the car fixed, go shopping…fucking hell - if only I had the time…

Day 65: Today I swapped Amazon prime free trial for about the 5th time in my life. Same card and address - will they get wind of my skullduggery. This is all so I can finish watching Hunters and catch Homecoming S2. I went shopping at Asda near Raunds. I wish I hadn’t, it’s no good for a comprehensive shop. Received an email from RCI inviting me to a Zoom meeting with Pal Mulcahy for a business update. I fear the worst. And it’s at 10:00am, FFS!

Day 66: Logged in an attended zoom forum with Paul Mulcahy and over 250 RCI staff this morning. The message was that there is going to be redundancies. I expected this and expected to fall victim. All staff that are going to be put through cionsultation would be contacted today. I however wasn’t! Very, very surpised. meanwhile, Nick Reilly asked to connect via LinkedIn (including become a LinkedIn staff team member -  that’s new to me so I’ll see what it is but I accepted the invitation) Later, I WhatsApp-ed him and asked who has been affected from IT. All he could tell me was no one on Jon Rodger’s team is under threat. Also, Mark C emailed - I’ll respond tomorrow. I got up at 09:00ish and had my mornming walk before the 10:00am meeting. I am now, at 09:30pm, fucking knackered. Dinner and then bed, methinks but not before one more episdoe of Hunters!

Day 67: Typing on Day 68. Got pretty drunk last night. I’ve got blisters from walking (new boots) so I don’t think I’ll walk tomorrow (well, today!).

Day 68: I did fuck all today. Got up after 1pm, no walking. I did manage to clean the bathroom (and smash my little mirror) and do my 26 stair climb. I am typing at 9pm and I feel whacked!

Day 69: I have an abscess. It’s not too painful (today) but I am going to call the dentist tomorrow (Monday). I think antibiotics are in order. I watched a film, which I actually started yesterday, called The Voices starring Ryan Reynolds, Gemma Arteton and Anna Kendrick. Fuuuuuuuuuuuucking weird. The closing credits are the most bizarre, in context, I’ve ever seen. But, in general, a very good film. Back to normal exercise regime today plus hovered the hall and stairs. Get me. It’ll be interetingh to see my Google Fit figures for May tomorrow.

Day 70: Contacted the dentist who advised salt water rinsing and ibuprofen. But, tbf, it’s a lot better today and the swelling has gone right down. The dentist I called was the Oundle House (Rodericks) one. I was not hopeful since last time I saw them they referred me to their Northampton clinic for root canal work which was quoted at over £600. However, the dentist was very nice, had my x-ray to hand from that last visit and seemed more interested in making sure I’m OK than gaining a paying customer. He still wants to see me when possible though! I must mention the weather. It has been glorious weather nearly every day throughout May (it’s June 1st today). Seriously sunny and like a holiday every day. The news mentioned it today - the level of sunshine throughout the transition from spring to summer is unprecedented, apparently. My T shirt tan is, quite frankly, ridiculous!

Day 71: Today’s ‘must mention’ is what’s going on in the US and it’s not particularly related to Trump. There was a black man killed while under arrest. George Floyd died Monday 25th May (8 days ago) A policeman, who knelt on his neck for minutes while he complained of not being able to breathe, has been charged with murder. Now there are riots and curfews and military intervention all over the country. It’s similar to the English riots of 2011. It’s worrying, sad, scary and not what the fight against the pandemic needs. Most of all, it’s racism rearing its ugly head yet again. I’ve had a normal-ish day. received an email from Jim checking in, talked to a recruiter about a promising job lead (although the hours are 8-5 which I am not happy about), talked to Barry across the road and sent Barzzy a WhatsApp. And I logged in Shaw Academy and started lesson one of module 2 of web Design. It’s been a while, so long overdue, but I only did about 15 minutes. Must try harder / do better! As I type, late (10:10pm) I have dinner cooking and a strange pain in my left side and am in the middle of No Country for Old Men. Don’t think I’ve seen it since the cinema (13 years!)

Day 72: As soon as (well, within a couple of days) I mention the weather, it turns. It’s rained a little and is a lot cooler (15° rather than mid-20s). Much better for walking, I have to say. I finished Hunters today (Amazon Prime series). While I enjoyed it, it got too surreal at the end. It is loosely based on the real story of Nazi hunters in the US in 1977 but the straying from loosely based to down-right ridiculous fiction annoyed me. If it goes to S2, I will watch it, however. Received some of my rental deposit back today (the law changed so that only 5 weeks rent can be demanded as deposit). Over £600. Nice.

Day 73: I made a short video for Marc and Clare’s 26th wedding anniversary. I ‘dressed up’ for it. I enjoyed doing it and I think it was appreciated.

Day 74: Typing on Day 75 for no other reason than I couldn’t be bothered on day 74! I received a letter either today or the day before (well, yesterday or the previous day!) from Mr Minos at the eye clinic informing me that, while there is some stuff going on in both eyes (garnered from the photo scans done at the last hospital appointment), he wants to see me in three months. Always a refief when that happens. Been getting into two series on Amazon: Alex Rider and Modern Love. One is a male Hanna, the other is soppy affairs of the heart based on real life stories (from essays written in the NY Times). Both enjoyable for totally different reasons.

Day 75: Lazyish day. Well, not really, just that I only went for one walk, alebit 6km andI got pissed on. Wehn the rain hit, it was also fucking freezing! Some of the clouds were stunning today, made for great photos. As I type, it’s 21:12, I’m listening the wonderful Phoebe Bridgiers. Now, I’m gonna make some tea and sup a few ales, I reckon.

Day 76: Done lots of walking today (over 13,000 steps) I made sausage casserole with too much chilli (scotch bonnet and birdeye). I had an online (fb) debate with Sam over whether the George Floyd murder was a racial.

Day 77: Received a new (used) wing mirror for the car. £18 with delivery, I reckon that’s a bargain. I cashed in £20 from Prolific as well, so I’m satisfied at the financial full-circle. Dropped the car off at Barnwell (Nene Valley Body Shop) and walked back - 7km. Just about to dive into tea - finishing the blazing hot sausage casserole from yesterday. Then I’m going to do some more Rubik’s cube practice with my recently acquired GoCube.

Day 78: Lots of daily walking, 26 stair climb, press-up and late nights watching TikTok (gone 3am this morning) are making for a constantly knackered Tim Stubbs. Today I made veg soup and cooked up some meatballs. Both are delish. How did I ever to learn how to conjure up such stuff? The Rubik’s cube learning is coming along except that I need good daylight to distinguish between the yellow and white faces on the flipping thing!

Day 79: Listening to Radio 6 most the day and the news is making for dire listening. Forecast of severe recession, especially if there is a second peak of the virus, which I think there will be. Plus, an offshoot of the George Floyd murder and the #BlackLivesMatter movement, institutions and town councils are being lobbied by campaigners to remove statues of anyone associated with things like slavery (one was toppled in Bristol at the w/e) and rename buildings etc. that were named after historical characters with any links to something that now is deemed wrong or offensive. I agree with it but it’s not pleasant to hear amongst other bleak news. Walked to Barnwell to collect my car - front trim reseated and new wing mirror fitted, £20 - bargain (I source the replacement wing mirror). But, also, forked out £165 on car tax! Cleaned the lounge from top to bottom. Knackering!

Day 80: Chatted with Dad and Rita - he’s pissed off with the slavery backlash but otherwise they are both OK. I saw Baz in the Tesco queue where I mentioned my disgust at the Thursday market being allowed (I found I could not maintain 2m at all times just walking to Tesco’s!) and that I really don’t want to catch Covid19 as I will probably die. Maybe a bit dramatic but he messaged me later today to say he’d been thinking on what I said and offered to shop for me. I replied that I am OK to shop but am scared at how people are taking things so much less seriously than when lockdown started yet the virus is still out there just as it was then! I am very touched at his massage. I thoroughly cleaned the bedroom and changed the bedclothes today. House work really knackers me out!

Day 81: Spare room cleaned today. Not much else to type about. It’s Friday, I making curried mince and I don’t feel like a beer. How I’ve changed!

Day 82: I did have beers last night. Ended up going to bed with daylight and dawn chorus for company. Today, when I woke, gone 1pm, I have been greeted by what can only be described as thoroughly depressing news from every quarter. This includes violence in the capital, further virus outbreak in Beijing. Fog’s political posts on FB make for depressing (but vaild) reading. I’m feeling thoroughly fed up today. Not even music can lift my mood…

…but, I am currently listening to Craig Charles on BBCR6 and, I have to say, he’s putting in quite an exceptional effort - there may be hope that my mood might lift, even at gone 8pm! I might have a beer or two and grab something postivity and enjoyment from the day after all.

Day 83: Another late one last night but up before noon today. Started watching something called Condor on Sky One. It’s OK - there’s stuff I wanna waytch on Amazon Prime but, more often than not, it keeps telling me there’s ‘a problem’ when I try to play anything. Pissing me off. I just checked and I have two weeks of the initial 12 of furlough to go. I shall started asking the questions about what might happen on the Connections website.

Day 84: Typing this on Day 85. On the way back from dropping off some shoes for Sean Davies at his brother’s (martin) I met Karen and she said why not pop round for a beer so I did. Certainly not used to a drink on a Monday so that, and the genral upheaval to my evening, while good fun and a nice change, put pay to my usual diary entry! I sorted Amazon Prime out by leaving the TV turned off for over an hour. Day 85: Tim did the garden today and it looks great. The pipes in the bathroom have been knocking loudly, on and off, for a couple of weeks now. Last night, they were so loud that today I took it upon myself to resolve it or ring Woodfords. So, having turned off the water, run the taps dry to get rid of any trapped air and then turned the water back on slowly, I discoved it’s the cistern and its pipes. Woodfords are arranging Corvee to visit. Meanwhile, leaving the water turned off at least stops the noise which is, otherwise, costant and unbearable! I emailed HR a couple of days ago about what’s happening in a couple of weeks time in terms of furlough when the 12 weeks will be up. Sue Cockimngs got back to me attaching an email Deryn sent on 15th May which I never received. Basically, they’ll extend furlough if need be and an update should be forthcoming late May/early June. Well, that time has passed, so who knows what is going to happen. The furlough scheme (CJRS) has been changed by the govenment, I’ve read, and it looks like any new people would have to have been furloughed by June 10th (it’s the 16th today) so no furlough rotation, which is annoying. The CJRS ends 1st October with employer contributions required from 1st August - that’s D-Day as far as I am concerned….so job hunting will have to step up a notch! Day 86: Pete’s birthday and he bought himself the same speaker as me. When I asked if it lived up to his expectations he mentioned it’s better through WiFi than Bluetooth. That confused me as I haven’t got WiFi available on mine…..long story short, I bought the wrong fucking speaker. I got a AudioPro AddOn T10 instead of C10. To say I am fucked off is an understatement. To think I was so pleased at the cheap price I paid. Now I feel like I have wasted  €200. Bollocks.

Day 87: Finished Alex Rider last night. Another series that started off so well and ended a litte weak but, overall, not bad. I’ve started keeping strange meal times…lunch very late (4pm) and dinner really late (11pm). I need to sort it ‘cos it’s playing havoc with my sugar levels. I had a huge hypo while having my second walk today, second day on the trot that’s happened. My late dinner was Chinese chicked curry with a quarter of a scotch bonnet and two birdeye chillies. Delish.

Day 88: I have managed to be bitten yesterday or the day before on one of my walks. There are strange, itchy lumps on my right inner forearm. And I do mean itchy. I trimmed my sideburns today, I was very pissed off with them. My hair looks just a little less shit. I did a shop at Tesco in Corby today. Mainly booze as follows: 20 cans Sam Miguel £18 18 cans Stella £15 20 bottles Bud £10 8 cans Tyskie £9 3 lrg bottles Warsteiner £5 £57 Bargain.

Day 89: Lazy day. One short walk and usual stair climb. Howard and Sue popped round to give me a pressie - bottle of Monkey Shoulder. I’m building up quite a collection of whisky!

Day 90: Dad called and we chatted for an hour or so. I had to apologise for not sending a father’s day card! Dan messaged me and offered to pay for a pizza delivery which I declined.

Football has started again this past week…Prem and Championship only. L1 and L2 season was cut short and Posh missed out on the play-offs by one place. As I type, Everton v Liverpool is on Sky Sports on a Sunday evening - it’s very strange with no crowd. There’s crowd noise being played thorugh the tannoy.

[dancinginthecenteroftheworld]

Nov 6: Soup (Brienne & Sansa friendship)

Brienne tells herself she’s not getting sick, refuses to give in. It works for a couple of days, but by noon on Thursday, she’s coughing and sneezing so hard there’s no way she can do her scheduled surgeries. Plus, her last patient’s owner had backed away and glared at her from the corner of the room.

Asha had looked her over and pushed her towards the door, telling her Pod had already rescheduled the appointments for the afternoon and made space for Asha to cover the most urgent operation (neutering for a kitten who had started marking already and whose owner was at wit’s end). 

Brienne drags herself home, not even bothering to stop at the pharmacy, because one she admits she’s sick, it seems to hit her all at once. By the time she gets in the door, she has just enough energy to take off her shoes and collapse on her couch.

So she’s surprised when she wakes up to the sound of soft music and the smell of garlic wafting from her kitchen. 

Brienne must make some noise, because Sansa pops into the doorframe, looking sympathetic. Her red hair is gathered in a messy ponytail, and she’s wearing an apron that Brienne definitely doesn’t own.  Brienne tries to ask what’s going on, but all that comes out is a painful gurgle.  “Asha called me,” Sansa says, correctly interpreting the noise. “Well. Asha called Theon, and Theon called Robb, and Robb called me. But same thing. We really do need to all exchange numbers.” 

Brienne raises her eyebrows.  “Anyway, she said you were pretty sick, so I brought supplies and I’m making you some soup!” 

With that, Sansa pops back into the kitchen. Brienne glances over at the coffee table to see it’s now covered with boxes and bottles of medication, several boxes of herbal tea and a giant box of Kleenex.  It’s first time in years anyone has taken care of Brienne when she’s sick, but she still hasn’t all her questions answered. She gathers the blanket around her shoulders and shuffles into the kitchen, trying not to trip over Honor, who is winding between her feet as soon as she heads that way. Probably in hopes he’ll get fed.

Sansa is setting the kettle on the stove when Brienne comes in, Goldenhand the Just watching intently from the floor, his fluffy tail swishing gently back and forth.  “How did you get in?” Brienne manages to croak, though it makes her throat feel like it’s on fire. 

Sansa looks over from where she’s stirring a bubbling pot, a slightly guilty expression on your face.  “Your landlord is old friends with my mom. He took my word for it when I said we were friends.” 

Brienne frowns. Sansa is her friend, but Baelish really shouldn’t give out her key so easily. 

“Anyway, back to the couch, you!” Sansa hustles Brienne back to the sofa, reappearing shortly after with a cup of tea to insist Brienne take some cold meds. 

“Baelish is creepy,” Sansa says, when she returns with a steaming bowl of soup. It smells delightful. “I’m sorry you have to deal with him.”

Brienne shrugs. She really just avoids the man for the most part, other than paying rent. Or if something breaks that she can’t fix – or learn to fix, given how miserable Baelish gets when having to deal with maintenance. 

“This is my favorite when I’m sick” Sansa says, gesturing at the bowl. “Garlic soup.”

It’s surprisingly delicious, considering Brienne has never heard of garlic soup before, thick and fragrant, served over a thick slice of bread. She’s scraping the bottom of the bowl quickly. Sansa beams. 

“I’ve made enough for a couple meals,” Sansa says. “But I’ll come back tomorrow? How do you feel about chicken noodle?”

[alwayscarryonjily]

Still Rockin’ Your Hoodie, Baby, Even Though it Hurts

I’m still lying in my bed when Fiona carries a cardboard box into my room around 3:00pm. She drops the box next to my feet and it turns on its side, tipping its contents over the duvet. I twist my neck around so that I can look at the various objects just as she rips open the curtains. The late autumn sun streams through the window, blinding my eyes that haven’t seen light in perhaps three days? I think it’s Tuesday, but it could easily be Wednesday or Thursday.

“Basil, it’s time to get up and stop being pathetic. When I let you move in, I did not sign up for a moping emo kid,” Fiona says. “This is the last box of crap your friend Bunce dropped off yesterday. I figured I’d give you a while before dumping it on you.”

I push myself up and wipe the dried tears from the corners of my eyes. “Bunce? Did she say anything about Simon?”

My breath catches in my throat until I meet her eyes. She shakes her head and I let the air escape from my lungs.

“I’m sorry, kid.” She turns towards the door but pauses. “It’s take-out night. If you don’t come out for food, I’m dragging your ass back to your father’s house.”

I twist in my duvet after the door closes and watch as a book falls from the bed onto the floor. It looks like a psychology textbook, but I don’t take psychology. Simon does. I grab the book that’s lying next to my foot. It’s a biology textbook. Yet another course I don’t take. I lift the box and the array of colourful clothing that greets me tells me that this isn’t my box. Bunce delivered Simon’s last box, not mine. I want to believe she did it on purpose, trying to get me to speak to Simon and fix things, but she’s not that kind of person. I know this was a mistake. I reach for a pink sleeve and pull it towards me. T-shirts, socks and a scarf are pulled out of the box with the hoodie and I pick them off, placing them carefully back in the box. I lift the hoodie up by its shoulders and stare at it. It’s the one I bought Simon for his birthday last year. The pink one with the white blossoms on the sleeves and the circle of fairies on the back. ­I drop my head into my knees and pull the material up to my face. Tears fall from my eyes and catch on the pink fabric. It still smells like smoke and baking; like Simon. I sit there for another hour, letting Simon’s hoodie muffle my sobs. Fiona knocks on my door once, but she walks away when I don’t answer, although I know she’ll be back if I don’t make an appearance before dinner arrives.

I let myself take five more minutes to get myself together before I pull myself out of bed. My legs struggle to hold my weight steadily, but I make my way to my dresser. I pull out a pair of sweatpants, some new underwear (cause lord knows I need it) and a black tank top. My bladder is near bursting and I reek of sweat after not showering for days. I know Fiona wouldn’t appreciate having a sweaty 19-year-old sitting in her kitchen any more than she must like having a mopey emo kid sulking in her spare bedroom, so I spend the next half hour in the bathroom. When I return to my room to throw my clothes in the laundry basket my eye catches on Simon’s hoodie. I reach to pick it up and press it to my face, inhaling Simon’s scent.  My nose rubs against an old cigarette burn under the collar and the teeth of the zipper scratch my cheek.

“Basil, if you want anything in particular you better get out here soon!” Fiona yells.

I pull my face away from the hoodie and look towards the door, even though I know it’s closed and that Fiona will be looking through a pile of take-out menus. I glance back at the lump of pink in my hands before pulling it on, up and over my arms.

-

When I enter the living room of Fiona’s small London flat I instantly spot her sitting cross-legged on the breakfast bar. She has her nose stuck in a menu for one of the Indian restaurants down the street. Her feet are covered in various take-out menus from restaurants in the flat’s general area. I saunter over to her and pick up one of the Chinese restaurant menus.

“Can I have honey roast chicken, pork dumplings and chicken-corn soup if I go pick everything up?” I ask before dropping the menu back on her feet and walking over to one of the two sofas.

“If you help with the bill,” she replies, looking up with a smirk as I drop onto the couch.

I narrow my eyes and stick my tongue out. She winks before dropping off the edge of the counter and reaching for the phone. She dials and orders from the local Pizza Hut. I roll my eyes at her Hawaiian pizza and large coke. She hangs up and turns to me with her hands on her hips, raising an eyebrow.

“You have such cultured taste.”

Fiona glares at my words and picks up a menu. I can’t read what restaurant it’s for, but I’m willing to bet it isn’t McDonald’s. She picks up the phone again and dials.

“Hi, can I place an order of mango chicken and tikka masala for Fiona. Yeah, thanks.” She glares at me as she puts the phone down. “Have fun picking up food from three restaurants, Fiona.”

I sneer at her back as she stalks out of the room, chuckling to herself. I spot my cell phone on the coffee table in front of me, the shattered screen still present. I really should have asked Fiona to get it fixed for me. I reach over and pick it up, pressing the on/off button as I lift it towards my face. The screen lights up and through the shattered glass I can see the lock screen; a selfie of Simon and I from our one-year anniversary dinner three months ago. Simon’s cuddled into my side on the floor of our old apartment. He’s holding the phone while reaching up to kiss my neck and I’m smiling at the phone in his hand. He has sauce all over one side of his face and a few pieces of rice stuck to the corner of his mouth. I know there are stains on the shirt he wore that night from all the food he dropped down his front and Penny wouldn’t speak to us the next day because we reeked of garlic. But we were happy that night. We were happy together.

“I haven’t heard you leave yet, and it’s a half hour walk down the street!” Fiona yells from her room.

I sit up, wiping a tear from my cheek with the pad of my thumb and rub a pink sleeve over my eyes. I drop the phone on the couch as I stand and take a shaky breath.

“You left yet?” She yells again.

“Jeez, you’re impatient! I’m leaving now!” I yell back.

I reach around my door frame on my way to the front door to grab a pair of shoes and shove my feet into them while I grab my coat and keys. I pocket the cash Fiona had in her coat pocket and check I have some cash in my own. I yell a goodbye to Fiona before the door closes behind me when I step out into the hallway.

-

I’m struggling down the street with Fiona’s two bags of food and my own when I see the head of bronze curls ahead of me. I stumble and almost drop everything over the pavement. Someone knocks into my shoulder as I readjust the bags in my hands. My eyes drift upwards and look for the mop of brown hair down the street. I spot the person walking towards me, bobbing through the crowd of people. I consider my options; continue walking towards them or cross the street and run like a wimp on the grounds that the person is possibly Simon. I take one step in front of me and bolt across the street, weaving through the backed-up traffic.

I barely stop running from that spot on the street to Fiona’s apartment door. I take a few minutes in the hallway to catch my breath before I open the door. Fiona’s sitting on the couch watching some American reality show and eating popcorn.

“I wasn’t even gone an hour and you couldn’t wait?” I roll my eyes as I drop the food on the table by the door and shrug off my coat.

“Hey! I’m old. I need my sustenance. I can’t be waiting around for melancholic teenagers to get home to give me food.”

I carry the bags of food over to the coffee table and dump them in front of her. She shoots me a smug grin as she reaches for her pizza box and I aim my middle finger at her, mimicking her grin. The smell of the garlic in my dumplings wafts towards me as I rip open the paper bag. The sounds from Fiona’s shitty reality show continue as we unpack our food.

“Are we having a movie night or are you going to subject me to this colonial rubbish?” I ask from the kitchen while grabbing some cutlery for us.

“If we can watch a Disney movie I’ll turn this off and save your poor brain cells from further destruction.”

I throw a plastic fork and spoon at her and reach for her laptop to open her movie files.

“Well the only ones you have downloaded are Frozen and Tangled, so your pick I guess,” I say through a spoonful of soup.

She turns to me with an evil grin on her face. I watch as she takes a sip from her coke before she says, “Frozen.”

“Why did I know you’d say that?” I groan, leaning away from the dumpling on the table that I was about to eat.

-

I glance over at Fiona as the end credits start to roll. She’s snoring into her half empty pizza box and is hugging her coke (which has spilled all over the couch) to her chest. I reach across to her sofa and grab the remote from the arm of the couch, clicking the television into silence before closing the lid of her laptop too. I pull the blanket from the back of the chair I’d been sitting in and drape it over her. She shifts as the woolen weight settles over her, but her eyes remain closed. I sneak around the apartment, putting whatever food we didn’t eat in the fridge for tomorrow’s lunch – or breakfast in Fiona’s case. I check to make sure she isn’t being smothered by the pizza she’s using as a pillow before escaping to my room. I change into some sweatpants, keeping Simon’s hoodie on, and pull out my laptop before climbing into bed. When I open it and the screen lights up the first thing I see is the notification from Facebook in the bottom corner of the screen informing me that I have a message from Penelope Bunce. I click the notification, letting it take me to Facebook. Messenger opens, and Bunce’s chat pops up.

Hey, how are you doing? Do you want me to send you the economics notes you’ve missed?

I consider not gracing her messages with a reply, but the message was sent two days ago, and despite her loyalty to Simon, I know she wouldn’t want to think that I’m miserable. So, I type a quick reply and close the tab, instead opening my emails. A collection of emails from my lecturers appears on the screen, all of them containing links to Google Docs that my classmates have filled with homework and class discussions, none of which I have shared my usually obnoxious opinion in. I close the tab and shut the screen, placing my laptop on the bedside table before turning off the lamp beside me and burying down into my blankets.

I’m half asleep when my laptop makes a noise, letting me know that I have a new notification. I reach for my laptop and open the lid. I click on the notification and my emails open.

Hey Baz, are you okay? I just want you to know that I’m sorry.

I want to type a reply, but my vision becomes blurred by tears and I have to delete the email from Simon. I close my laptop for the second time in the past half hour and slide it across the floor, so it rests as far from my bed as it can get. I curl into a ball, pressing my face into my pillow and fall asleep to the sounds of my own sobs.

-

When I emerge from my room around twelve the next day, Fiona is eating my leftovers. She’s trying to be sneaky about it by hiding behind the fridge door, but I can see her perfectly well from the doorway to the kitchen. I clear my throat and place a hand on my hip. She jerks back from the fridge, sending rice scattering across the floor. Her eyes narrow when she sees me, and she quickly swallows her mouthful.

“That’s your fault,” she says, pointing at the rice on the floor. “You can clean it up.”

She laughs and goes back to eating my food when I flash my middle finger at her. I grab the half broom and shovel from below the sink and start collecting the rice from the floor.

I feel Fiona’s eyes on me before she says, “Didn’t you wear that hoodie yesterday? I didn’t know you knew what colours were.”

“Of course, I know what colours are. I did take art in high school, you know,” I reply, not looking at her.

I hear a rustle of clothes and the sound of a container being placed on a shelf before the fridge door closes. I turn and see Fiona leaning against the wall. She has an eyebrow raised as if to say, are you gonna cut the shit or am I going to have to rip it out of you? I glare at her but feel myself wanting to tell her where it came from and why I’m wearing it, but I can see the pitying look in her eyes and I don’t want that sympathy to transfer to her face.

“It’s just something I found in my wardrobe.” The lie rolls right off my tongue and leaves a sour taste in my mouth as well as a prickling behind my eyes.

She makes an mhmm noise before opening the fridge again and pulling out my dumplings.

“Hurry up so that I don’t have to eat all your food.”

I grin at her, sweep up the last of the rice and tip the floor scrapings in the shovel into the bin. Fiona takes the lead walking into the lounge and I follow, dropping into the same seat I sat in last night. Fiona, too, sits in the same place she did last night. She seems to have cleaned up a bit because her pizza box pillow is gone and the couch she spilled coke on no longer has a dark brown stain. Although it wouldn’t have mattered whether she’d done something to fix the stain when you consider the dozens of other stains on the furniture around the apartment. She reaches over and offers me the container of dumplings. I take a few and let her claim the rest for herself.

“Does your cloak of darkness fit over that hoodie? It looks a bit big,” Fiona says through a mouthful of dumpling.

I furrow my eyebrows and cock my head slightly to the side, trying to express my confusion without speaking with my food-filled mouth. She rolls her eyes at the manners I display (courtesy of my upbringing) but elaborates on her question.

“Does your leather jacket fit over the hoodie? Or are you turning into a pastel-loving cinnamon roll? Because if so, I want first dibs on the black clothes you’re abandoning.”

“No, I’m not turning into a cinnamon roll. And how do you even know what a cinnamon roll is?” I shove another dumpling in my mouth while she answers.

“I spend more time on the internet than you do, or did you forget that some of us adults can actually use technology, unlike that father of yours.” She places her last bite of dumpling in her mouth and turns around to check the clock on the wall. “I have to go. I’m meeting someone. There’s still food in the fridge if I’m not back later. What am I saying? You’re an adult. Take care of yourself. That isn’t my responsibility anymore.”

“What time will you be back?” I ask, reaching out to take the empty container from her.

She stands as she shrugs and says, “Dunno. If I’m not back by four call me using the house phone, but I probably won’t be longer than an hour. Oh, did you want me to get your phone screen fixed while I’m out?”

I look at the couch cushions that I know my phone is hidden between and shrug. “Couldn’t hurt I guess.”

She reaches between the cushions and pulls it out. How she knew where it was is beyond me, although she was sleeping there so it’s highly likely that she felt it digging into her stomach while she was snoring into her pizza pillow.

“Wow, this screen really is a mess. How did you manage to shatter it this much?”

I shrug again, opting to irritate her rather than tell her that I threw it at a wall during the fight with Simon. She glares at me but comes over to kiss the top of my head before leaving me alone in the apartment. I look around the room and decide that I should probably start catching up on all the lectures I’ve missed, so I collect my laptop and a blanket from my room and return to the couch in the hopes of having a study afternoon.

-

My head jerks forward, throwing me out of my dream and I blink slowly. My computer is still in front of me, open on an economics Google Doc. I meant to read through the notes my classmates had left, but I don’t remember any of what’s in front of me, so I assume that I fell asleep soon after turning on my laptop. My earplugs are miraculously still in my ears and the Fall Out Boy album I’d been listening to is still playing. I pause the song currently playing and pull the earplugs out of my ears. As soon as they leave my ears, I hear the ringing of the phone. I jump up, almost dropping my laptop and race over to the phone. I turn back to the clock by the door as I take the phone off the hook on the wall and press it to my ear. The clock reads three seventeen, so I didn’t sleep for very long and there’s no sign that Fiona’s returned but I don’t have to worry about that for another hour or so.

“Hello?” A voice asks.

I forgot that the phone was pressed to my ear for a reason.

“Hey. Hi. This is Baz.”

“Baz, hey. It’s Penny. I’ve been calling for the past hour,” the voice says.

“Hey. How are you? Is everything alright?” I can’t help asking; Bunce never calls me. She rarely even texts me. She’s more of an email person, and even then, she doesn’t tend to use that either.

“Yeah, everything’s fine. I just wanted to check you’d got the box of stuff I dropped off? You didn’t say anything about it in your Messenger reply.”

I think about the box of Simon’s things sitting in my room and the hoodie that I’m currently wearing. “Actually, Bunce, you gave me the wrong box. You gave me Simon’s stuff.”

There’s a pause on the other end and for a second, I think I hear voices, but then Bunce says, “Oh.”

“Oh?”

“Um,” There’s another pause. “Well, do you want to maybe meet me somewhere, so I can switch the boxes?”

I think about how switching the boxes means I’ll have to give Simon’s hoodie back, and then I think about how selfish that is. The hoodie belongs to Simon. He loved it. I can’t take that from him.

“Yeah. I can meet you later today if that’s fine?” I ask, knowing I won’t be going anywhere else for the rest of the day.

“Actually, I have a meeting with one of my lecturers and I’m meeting, uh, I’m meeting Simon and Agatha for dinner with Micah,” She says, and I have to force myself to take a shaky breath.

Of course, Simon is going out and enjoying himself. He’s probably glad to be rid of me; the pathetic, boring boyfriend that always kept him from doing the things he wanted to do.

“Okay, well I should probably go to work tomorrow, but I can meet you afterwards? If you don’t have any afternoon lectures, that is?”

There’s a pause on the other end and I think I hear voices again before Bunce speaks. “Yeah that should be fine. Do you want to meet at the coffee shop by your work?”

I agree to meet her there at four and say goodbye before hanging up. I put the phone back on the hook and take a few steps into the living room until the phone rings again. I sigh and reach around to pick it up, not bothering to greet the caller; it’s probably Bunce calling again to double check our plans are good. But the voice on the other end doesn’t belong to Penelope Bunce.

“Hello?” A deeper, male voice says.

My breath catches in my throat and my stomach drops.

“Is anyone there?” Simon pauses. “Baz? Are you there?”

My throat starts to burn with the lack of oxygen in my lungs and I force myself to take a shallow breath. Simon sighs on the other end.

“Baz, I just wanted to find out if a box of my things ended up with yours. I’m missing a few textbooks that I need for exams… Well, text Penny if you find them. Bye. I miss you.”

The silence that follows on the other end tells me he hung up. I place the phone back on the hook for the second time in the past few minutes and continue my earlier path into the lounge. I drop back into the sofa and move my laptop on the coffee table; I can’t handle the thought of studying right now. I curl into a ball and press my shoulder against the back of the chair. I hold in the tears, but I can’t keep the uneven breaths from racking my chest. I close my eyes and let myself fall into a restless sleep.

-

A hand on my shoulder brings me out of unconsciousness. I open my eyes and see the apartment lit up by the lamps around the room. The kitchen light is on and through the window I can see that it’s dark outside. I look up into Fiona’s grey eyes and see the concern in her eyes vanish behind a mask of impatience. She leans away from me and places her hands on her hips.

“Take out was last night, so tonight’s cooking night and I don’t want to burn anything, so I need a supervisor,” she says simply before vanishing into the kitchen.

I look at the clock and see that I slept for roughly five hours. Well, I won’t be sleeping well later. I peel myself out of the couch and join my aunt in the kitchen.

“Is it curry night then?” I ask when I see the various assortment of spices littering the bench.

“Mhmm,” Fiona replies absentmindedly as she examines the types of rice in the cupboard.

“We only have brown rice and jasmine rice, and you like being healthy when we cook. Get out the brown rice,” I say while rolling my eyes.

She flashes her middle finger at me over her shoulder and pulls out the bag of brown rice. She grabs a pot from one of the cupboards and fills it with water. I lean across the breakfast bar and turn the radio on. When I look around at Fiona she’d dancing to the WHAM! song that’s currently playing. We spend the night dancing around the kitchen to the radio while we cook.

I wake up the next morning in my room to my alarm going off for work. The alarm clock reads seven am. I sit up, pulling the duvet with me, and turn the alarm off before it wakes Fiona up from down the hall. I change into a pair of black jeans and an MCR shirt before pulling Simon’s hoodie over my arms. I shove my arms into my rain jacket at the front door and carry the box of Simon’s things down the hall and out onto the street. I place it carefully in the back room when I get to work and clock in. My co-worker for the day is a girl called Trixie. I let her take counter duty and instead start restocking the shelves in the science fiction/fantasy section. We take our lunch break behind the counter because our manager, an older woman named Miss Possibelf, went out for lunch with her sister and needed us to mind the store while we eat. Trixie’s girlfriend, Keris, visits after our break and I tell Trixie that I’ll close the store for her, so she can get off early. I sit behind the counter, opening and closing the tray on the cash register while staring religiously at the clock on the computer screen.

When the time finally reads three thirty I sit up and start packing up the shop for the day. The sign reads ‘Closed’ and the lights are all off when I leave ten minutes later. I carry Simon’s box to the café down the street and order a pumpkin mocha breve before choosing a corner table. I consider taking Simon’s hoodie off and putting it in the box, but it’s only Penny that’s meeting me and it’s not like she’d judge me. I pull my phone out and start writing a text to Penelope, but the door opening makes me look up.

I catch a glimpse of bronze curls before my eyes meet blue ones. A wave of emotion sweeps over me and I find myself struggling to my feet.

“Baz,” Simon says at the same time I say, “Simon.”

I watch as his eyes drift down and focus on the hoodie I’m wearing. His hoodie. I feel my cheeks heat as I rush to take it off.

“Baz- uh, you don’t- don’t worry about it,” he says, and I stop wrestling with the hoodie.

“Sorry. I assume you want your stuff back?” I notice he carries a cardboard box under his arm, presumably containing my own lost things.

He nods.

We stand there for a few seconds just taking each other in, then we both rush to speak.

“Do you want to-”

“I assume you want-”

“Sorry,” we mutter at the same time.

I sit back down awkwardly and pick up my drink to occupy my hands. Simon looks at the counter for a second and turns back to me.

“I’m just gonna go get a, uh, drink,” he says. “I’ll just leave this here.”

He puts his box on one of the chairs opposite me and walks towards the counter. He comes back a couple of minutes later with his own pumpkin mocha breve. He sits down in the other chair on the other side of the table and looks up at me with those blue eyes. Fuck.

I clear my throat and nod towards the cardboard box on the floor next to me. “I guess you know Bunce accidentally gave us the wrong boxes.”

Simon opens his mouth and closes it again. I cock my head to the side and furrow my eyebrows.

“What?” I ask.

“Penny did that on purpose. I thought you knew.”

I narrow my eyes and start planning the email I’m going to send her later. Simon grimaces across the table and lifts his hand slightly, as if he was going to reach for my own, but he drops it again.

“That’s your plotting face. Forget about Pen. She just wanted us to talk and sort this out,” he says, still grimacing, worried eyes trained on my face.

I catch myself clenching my hands around my cup and force myself to loosen my grip. “What is there to talk about? We broke up.”

Simon winces and recoils slightly in his chair at the words. My hand twitches, wanting to reach out and grasp his own, to rub circles on the back of his hand and comfort him. I remove my hands from my cup and lace them together in my lap to resist the urge.

“I’m sorry, Baz. I regret everything that happened that night. I’m so, so sorry.”

I watch as his eyes glaze over and he looks down at the table to avoid eye contact with me. This time I can’t help it when my hands untangle, and one reaches across the table to grab Simon’s hand. I lift our interlocked hands to my mouth and kiss his knuckles. His head tilts up and our eyes meet while I continue pressing my lips to his hand. I watch as he smiles at me and he pulls our hands away from my mouth, lifting them towards his own and kissing my knuckles.

In this moment, I know everything is going to be fine between us.

[shimshenanigans]

This damn fucken cold got me thinking I’m about to cough up my damn soul every time it hits too hard. By some damn miracle, I made it through two shift and have tomorrow off. One day of work on Thursday, then I have a three day weekend.

If I didn’t have that, I’D BE FUCKEN DEAD ((not really but I would just...not be happy. At all.))

...or at least missing so much work. Like damn, I never call in, but I called in Sunday. Turns out me having such a good attendance record paid off for once. No one in management was mad at me at all. Everyone was asking if I was okay, because the last time I called out had to be over a year ago. Plus I’m pretty timely.

Had so many cough drops that the back of my tongue went numb. Can’t taste shit, but I can sorta taste really spicy foods, and chicken soup and broth feels good at least. Ears are kinda wonky too. Everything sounds and feels kinda muffled and distant.

Trying to drink a ton of water and fluids to kick this bug’s ass, but I am kinda low key paranoid that I might have caught something from our damn bakery guy who kept coming to get cold busters from us even though he was diagnosed with FUCKEN PNEUMONIA. I don’t care how good they felt on his throat, he had to walk through below-freezing weather to get here! That cold air negates it! We sold him like 50 tea bags to make at home!! I don’t have many memories of my mom, but one of them is her being in the hospital due to pneumonia, and I can’t afford a damn hospital stay. Granted, she was a heavy smoker and did drugs, and I don’t do either of those things, but still ANXIETY’S A BITCH

[doverly]

The Mine |Part One|

Here you go, guys. New week, new story. A full 1,183 words. Hope you like this, have an amazing day! 

Airwyn gently touched the skin on her wrist. It was red and swollen, every time she touched it her body screamed out in pain. She sighed, it had gotten worse since the day before. If Sir Faus didn’t take off her bindings soon, then she would have to go back to Miss Marrow for some ointment. Speaking of Sir Faus she could hear him coming now. Airwyn giggled at his feeble attempt to sneak up on her. She had been with him for six months now, how did he still no realize that her hearing was much better than hers. Airwyn laid down on the cold fabric floor closed her eyes. If he couldn’t realize it on his own, she wouldn’t help him get there.

“Get up!” he spat as he stomped into the tent, “My guests need entertaining.”

Airwyn got up off the floor and pretended to yawn. Her kind were nocturnal by nature and she spent her days dozing, just to prepare for her usually nightly escapades. Either way, she needed to pretend to be tired, if Sir Faus ever got wind of her adventures he would have her chained to a post throughout the night. Speaking of chains Sir Faus was busy getting hers. From a simple wooden chest, he pulled out the dreaded iron chains. Airwyn shuddered and took an involuntary step backward.

“Now don’t get cold feet on me now,” he grinned wickedly as he stalked towards her, “It’s not so bad. Just a little reassurance, for my guests.”

Airwyn tried to keep her pulse still as Sir Faus moved the first chain toward the deliberate hole in her shirt. She groaned in pain as he clipped it to the heavy iron band that already sat under her shirt, next to her skin. She tried to keep her knees from buckling as the weight from the pure iron settled on her chest. She braced as her magic was pulled from her chest and into the iron. She repeated this process twice more. As the second and third chains were attached to the iron shackles on her wrists. First the right then the left. She felt more magic being pulled from her. As each chain was attached she felt herself getting weaker and weaker. Three chains, three shackles sitting right next to her skin, the three things that bound her to this place.

Sir Faus has a short little tug on her chains and smiled, “Come now, my pet, “ he smiled, “They are waiting for us.”

Airwyn was pulled from the tent and into the setting desert sun. The magic leaving her had left her head aching, her ears ringing, and her vision blurry. She kept her head down and tried to focus on the heat radiating from the fine, yellow sand under the flimsy, leather sandals. Whenever she left the tent she always kept her head down, the better to avoid the stares. It was evening now, most of the other laborers were eating their stale bread and leathery meat in their overcrowded, overheated tents. She knew they were jealous of her. Compared to spending hours on end in the dark, slimy cavernous mines and sleeping three to a bed in a flimsy tent, her life must seem luxurious.

She must have stopped because Sir Faus gave a sharp tug on her chains. She stumbled and fell, sand burning and scraping on her already thin skin. She winced in pain as Sir Faus yanked her unceremoniously off the ground. A chorus of laughs erupted out of the crowd. Her face prickled, her kinds version of a blush.

“Little princess ain't even know ‘ow to walk,” she heard one of them yell.

“Aw,” Sir Faus cooed at her, “Ain’t you popular.”

Airwyn steeled herself as she walked the rest of the way toward the only non-tent building in the entire camp. Sir Faus’s house a relatively small worn sandstone converted stable. To anyone else, it might not have seen much, but to the people of the camp, it seemed like a castle.

Airwyn stepped into the building and felt the cool sandstone floors under her sandals. She smelled something cooking, maybe soup or something. She sniffed the pleasant air again, no it was chicken, meat! It smelled juicy and tender. How long it had been since she had had real meat. Sir Faus must have noticed her smelling because he smiled at her, showing off a mouth of canary yellow teeth.

“You like that, pet?” he asked her, “Listen if your tricks impress my guests, you can lick the meat off the carcass.”

Airwyn bristled at the suggestion. He wanted her to do some magic tricks and for what? Some scraps of meat! Airwyn would rather just have her usual soup, but if she could save the meat it would be useful for her plan tonight.

“Alright,” she finally agreed, “But only if I can eat it in my tent.”

“You got a deal, pet,” he said giving a short jingle on her chains.  

Airwyn was led into parlor were three tired looking men suddenly shot out of there expensive looking velvet chairs. They talked excitedly to Sir Faus in a language Airwyn didn’t know, but judging from their clothes which were too heavy for the desert climate, they were from the north. Airwyn didn’t pay them much mind, she was struggling just to stay standing. Sooner than she would have liked they were done asking Sir Faus questions and were looking at her expectantly.

Sir Faus smiled at her, took out a key from his pocket, and removed one of her armbands. Airwyn smiled as she felt some her magic flow back into her. She closed her eyes and tried to savor it while it lasted because she knew from experience that it never lasted long enough. Sir Faus attached a different shackle to her wrist. This one was midnight blue and smooth. Airwyn didn’t know exactly what it was made of but her best guess was that it was made of a mixture of different jewels and crystals its purpose was to give Sir Faus control of her magic. Instead of draining like she felt with iron, these shackled felt like they froze her magic inside of her. Try as she might she couldn’t even muster out the simplest spell. She shivered, these shackles always felt like ice on her wrist.

By this time both the northerners and Sir Faus had sitten down on the plush velvet chairs and Airwyn was left standing in the middle of the room, chains still attached to one of her wrist shackles and the heavy iron band on her chest. One of the northerners shouted something out and Sir Faus repeated his order.

“Fairy!” Sir Faus shouted rigidly, “Make his chair float!”  

Airwyn hated him calling her fairy even more than she hated him calling her pet. She had a name, she had told him what it was. Either way, try as she might she could not disobey an order while she had the blue shackle on her wrist.

Part two is coming either Wednesday or Thursday, depending on how apathetic I feel tomorrow. Have a magnificent day!