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leviackermanscleaningbuddy · 4 years ago

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BTS DRABBLE

It’s never difficult to be around Hoseok or Jimin. Hobi is the actual human form of sunshine 98% of the time, and Jimin is so lovely and sweet and perfect that you wonder on a daily basis if he’s not actually an angel. You’re lucky-you always realize that-but on days like today, when you’re tired and stressed and more than a little crampy-it hits you all over again-just how lucky you actually are. Because with these two men, nothing goes unnoticed, and you never go unloved.

Or rather, Jess writes a fluffy, purely self indulgent, domestic relationship AU featuring JiHope in honor of Hobi’s birthday week. Happy Hobiuary! 💜

Tags: BTS, Bangtan Boys, Bangtan Seonyendan, Bulletproof Boy Scouts, Beyond the Scene, Jung Hoseok, J-Hope, Hobi, Hoseok, Park Jimin, Jimin, BTS x you, BTS x reader, Poly!BTS, Hoseok x you, Hoseok x reader, Jimin x you, Jimin x reader, Hoseok x Jimin, JiHope, Fluff

Genre: Tooth Rotting Fluff

Title: Champagne Bubbles

It had been a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

As soon as you had gotten into work that morning, the vet on duty had instantly started yelling-overwhelmed and swamped by cases already-and scared of angering her any further, you hadn’t stopped running since 6 AM.

Cut to the last hour of your shift, and you had somehow managed to get every animal substance known to man on your scrubs-you were fairly certain that last rowdy patient had peed on you more than once-and you looked, and smelled, like someone who was at the end of their metaphorical rope.

However, you still had to take an exam at the nearby university before heading home, and so, throwing your coat on over your soiled clothes, you headed for the library, the world-dark when you left the apartment that morning-dark once more as the moon crested over the nearby buildings.

You failed the exam.

It was hard to drive home-what with the darkened streets and the exhausted tears starting to brim and overflow-but you managed to make it, and pulling into your spot, you allowed yourself to just sit for a moment, forehead resting forlornly on the cold steering wheel.

This day could not get worse.

Famous last words.

Cut to now, as you’re walking up the last flight of stairs to your apartment, and you start to feel the telltale cramping low in your abdomen, the kind that makes you wanna crawl in bed, throw a blanket over your head, and curl up-fetal position-around a hot bean bag.

“Dammit, why.” You groan out, reaching the landing, as you blindly dig your hand into your purse to search for your keys, a simple task, that feels like an impossible trial in your tired state.

Good thing you had been prepared and put in a tampon that morning when you had woken with the impending signs of doom and a headache.

Finally locating your keys, you unlock the door to the darkened apartment and let out a sigh of tired relief as you let your bag slide to the floor right in front of the entrance, kicking off your worn and smelly sneakers without a thought.

Well, without a thought other than getting into a hot shower and falling into your bed with a heating pad and a blanket over your head.

It’s quiet in the apartment, and you wonder briefly, if Jimin and Hobi are already asleep as you creep quietly toward the hallway. You are home a lot later than normal.

You all rise early together every day and split ways in the parking garage-you headed for the emergency vet clinic, Jimin waving cheerfully as he leaves in his old beater for his job as manager at the local coffee shop, and Hobi driving off far too fast on his scooter toward the local arts college, where he teaches dance classes.

You all usually go to bed early too, at the same time, together, but tonight, you’re far later than usual and the apartment is lacking the sunshine of Hobi’s bright smile and Jimin’s soft welcome home embrace.

Your footsteps falter at the kitchen, and suddenly, you let out an audible groan, as your eyes are drawn to the kitchen sink sitting dark in one corner.

Dammit. You still needed to do the breakfast dishes.

Shuffling across the tile of the kitchen, you turn on the hot water and let it wash over your cold, chapped hands for a moment, before your reach into the sink blindly, searching for the first dirty dish.

You glance down in surprise when-after moments of fruitless searching-you find nothing in the sink, and note, suddenly, that it is empty and spotless, the dishes already done and put away in the cabinets.

Interesting.

You don’t allow yourself to dwell on this for long however, before your tired, aching feet are leading you down the dim hallway once more, toward the safety and warmth of the bathroom and the delicious idea of hot, steaming shower for your tired and dirty body.

Pushing open the door, careful to be quiet, in case your boyfriends are truly sleeping like you think, your eyes widen once more in surprise for the second time in as many minutes.

The bathroom is softly aglow with the light of candles, the atmosphere warm and scented like roses and champagne, and in the flickering light, you note that the small bathtub in the corner has been filled to the brim with steaming, lapping water, perfumed with the oily slick of some sort of bath salt.

“What the hell-” You breathe out beneath your breath, and suddenly, you don’t feel so tired anymore, and the corners of your mouth are tilting upward in the start of a fond smile, as you observe the carefully presented scene before you.

First the dishes, and now a bath?

The boys are definitely up to something.

Shucking your heavy coat off onto the bathroom floor, you trek back the way you have just come, and without knocking, push open the door to the bedroom.

The room is dimly lit by the string of clear lights that adorn the wall above the bed-giving it a cozy and soft glow-and by the flickering of a movie playing quietly on the TV.

You lean against the door frame and take in the scene for a moment, the smile on your lips growing unwittingly bigger as you observe your boyfriends, curled up in the middle of the queen bed, piled under several blankets, looking soft and ethereal and altogether incredibly comfortable.

Jimin looks up first, large dark eyes reflecting the light from the tv screen, blonde hair ruffled in an adorable way, as if he has just taken a shower, and smiles when he sees you, eyes creasing into half moons. “Baby girl! you’re back!”

Hobi glances over at Jimin’s words, chin resting on the shorter man’s head where it lays on his chest, and offers you one his breathtaking smiles, and the room becomes a million times lighter, as if the sun has just peeked through the curtains. “Hey beautiful! Long day?”

“Incredibly.” You nod, glancing over to the movie they’re watching. Some action flick you’ve never seen. “What’d you guys do, by the way?” You ask nonchalantly, slightly teasing, as you draw your attention back to them once more.

“What do you mean?” Jimin asks, sitting up now, full lips drawn into an incredibly cute pout that you struggle to resist.

“You know.” You motion vaguely over your shoulder. “First the dishes, now a bath?” You grin teasingly, shrugging, suddenly all too aware that you’re still in your stinky scrubs. “You guys must have done something really bad to suck up like this.”

“You’d think, right?” Hobi jokes back, laughing loudly, as he slides away from Jimin and stands, and you note, as he comes toward you, that he’s wearing the plaid pajama bottoms you had tried so hard to throw away last year.

He pauses in front of you, quirking his head in an endearing way, and reaches out to tuck back a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Actually though,” He offers you the hint of a soft, heart shaped smile. “We just wanted to spoil you after a long day. Is that so hard to believe?”

“Give us some credit, baby.” Jimin has joined you both at the doorway now, and he yawns, reaching up to ruffle his already disheveled hair, before he shoots you a mischievous smile that makes his eyes light up. “We’re not completely dense.”

“I know.” You laugh now, and the tiredness is showing through again, straining your mirth. “Thank you.” You give them both a fond, affectionate half smile, the best you can do for now.

You have to admit, the bath is calling your name.

“Your bath is gonna get cold.” Jimin states, as if he has read your thoughts, and he leans forward, whether to push you toward the bathroom, or hug you, you don’t know, but you avoid his hold by stepping backward.

“Ew. Don’t touch me, Chim.” You wrinkle your nose as you glance down at your soiled work clothes. “I seriously think I was peed on like fifteen times today.”

Jimin’s brow crinkles, and he shoots you a teasing look of disgust. “Okay. You don’t have to twist my arm. I’ll wait till you’re clean.”

Hobi laughs, and the sound gives you the motivation you need to give them each a little grin and wave, before heading toward the bathroom and the much awaited bath.

******

The bath rejuvenates you, and by the time you return to the bedroom, wrapped in a towel and skin red and raw from soaking, you feel like a completely new person.

Though you can still feel the exhaustion creeping up your bones.

The boys are back in the bed, cuddled up like before, but there is another movie going on the TV now-a chick flick-and the bedside lamp is on.

“You started another movie without me?” You ask playfully, digging through the dresser to find your pajama shorts and tank top, one hand holding the towel securely at your chest.

“You took too long.” Hobi complains around a mouthful of popcorn, his free arm looped loosely around Jimin’s shoulders. “We thought you drowned.”

“And you didn’t check to see?” You jab back, glancing over your shoulder, as you finally locate your clothes, and shoot Hobi a playful glare, eyebrow raised in the man’s direction.

He shrugs. “Didn’t want to miss the movie.”

You roll your eyes, and start to slip your now clean legs into the pajama shorts, beginning to shiver now in the cool air of the room.

“You know, baby girl.” Jimin speaks up now, and his normally lilting tones are darker, sultry, suggestively playful. You glance at him, and he raises a brow at you, teeth sunken slightly into his plush, bottom lip, as his eyes scan the naked expanse of your legs. “You could cut down on time. Just not wear anything. Merely a suggestion.”

You roll your eyes once more, and stick your tongue out at him, before pointedly holding his gaze as you finish putting on the rest of your pajama outfit.

Sliding hurriedly into the warmth of the bed next to Jimin, you are caught off guard to feel the heat of an already hot heating pad beneath the covers, and you glance over questioningly at the two men beside you.

Jimin grins in a way that makes your stomach warm with love and fondness. “Don’t tell me you didn’t think we knew.” He cocks his head at you, blonde hair falling into his eyes. “Come on, baby. You’re as easy to read as a book. And you know we keep track.”

You consider making a teasing remark in return-about them keeping a calendar or something in their phones about the dates of your period-but instead, you decide to simply utter a soft “thank you” as you situate the heating pad, and snuggle down beneath the blankets next to Jimin.

He slides his arm beneath your body and pulls you against him, and his body heat is instantly making your eyes droop slightly and a heavy feeling of comfort wash over your tired muscles as you allow your head to rest heavily on his chest, heartbeat steady beneath your ear.

You glance at the TV and recognize the movie scene that is being played.

You groan. “You guys know I hate this movie.”

“Which is why we’re watching it.” Hobi teases, letting the hand that is resting on Jimin’s shoulder flick so that his long fingers tickle your hair and the top of your head. “It’s time for you to realize what good media is, beautiful.”

“Whatever.” You grumble out, burying your face into Jimin’s side, your eyes already closing, as you breathe in the smell of him-sandalwood and vanilla and something soft that feels like home. “I’m not gonna watch it anyway.”

You feel Jimin press a kiss to the top of your head, and Hobi rest his hand on the crown of your hair, and the affectionate gestures-just to let you know they’re there, that they’ll always be there-make you feel as if you’re home.

You are home.

Because you’re so lucky. Lucky to have them both in your life. Lucky to have two people who make you feel as if home is not a place, but a feeling.

You are the luckiest.

And you realize that every single day.

But days like today-that are terrible and horrible and no good-yet still end here, curled up next to your two favorite people in the whole world, make you realize that the most.

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youthful-kana · 4 years ago

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Rural AU: Gai moves to the small town of Konoha with his new adopted daughter Kana to start a new life away from the city. In the small town Kana meets a bunch of people, particularly the merchants son Neji, the flower shop owners daughter Ino, The doctors apprentice Sakura and the vets adopted son Naruto. She loves all of her friends equally, and then one day Naruto drags her to his ranch to meet some of the animals and that's when she meets Kakashi. The man she knows her Papa has to marry XD

Kana frowned all the way to Konoha. She wasn’t very happy about the move, but her papa had just gotten a new job there which would allow them to live more comfortably than in the expensive loud city.

“Cheer up butterfly! You’re going to love it. It’s the town I grew up in, I bet there are lots of kids your age there.” Kana didn’t understand her papa’s excitement. They were moving to the middle of nowhere. “I made quite my fair share of friends when I lived there, I wonder how many are still around. I’d love for you to meet them.”

She sighed and kept staring out her window at the deep forest that surrounded the road.

Oh well, there was not much she could do about it. At least one of them was happy about it.

They arrived at night to the cottage that had belonged to Gai’s father so many years ago.

“Well, here we are! This is going to be our new home. Of course, as soon as I get my first paycheck I’ll start remodeling it so it’ll be more comfortable for us, okay?”

“Okay” Kana grunted as she examined the place. It was okay, much more spacious than their tight city apartment, and it belonged to them, so they wouldn’t have an over the top expensive rent to pay.

While Gai pulled out their boxes from his car, Kana cooked dinner for both of them. They both ate their fill and ended up exhausted.

“Papa you’d better sleep now, you’ll have to wake up early tomorrow for your new job.”

When Kana woke up the next day her papa was already gone. She was making some tea in the kitchen when a bright blond head popped in from the window.

She let out a high pitched shriek and almost dropped the cup on the floor.

“Hi! I’m Naruto. I saw you move here last night, so I wanted to be a good neighbor, come by and introduce myself, yaknow?”

“Neighbor?” Kana looked at him confused “there are no houses around for like, miles?”

“Oh yeah, but we’re still neighbors, that’s how things work around here. This property is right next to our ranch, even if our houses are far away.” The boy explained with big gestures as he climbed in through the window. “Anyway, I was taking a late walk when I saw your car pull up here. A tall strong man carried some boxes in the house, so I realized you must be the new neighbors. Here to stay!”

“Um yes, that’s my papa. We’re not sure if we’re staying for good. He said we might still move back to the city if I don’t like it here.”

“Well then you’re staying for good, because you’re gonna love it.” He flashed her a big grin and took her hand in his, pulling her towards the door. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”

She barely had a second to put her bright white sneakers on and Naruto laughed at her.

“Are you seriously planning on wearing those here? There’s dirt all around.”

Kana frowned, she really hadn’t thought about it.

“I don’t have another pair.”

“You really are a city girl huh? Don’t worry you’ll get used to it.”

She ran behind Naruto, while being pulled by his hand. The boy seemed too eager to get her to know the village.

“Ah, you’re going to love everyone. There are so many nice people around.

You’ll get to meet Sakura, who’s my best friend and training to be a medic, her girlfriend Ino, whose family runs the flowershop, all my buddies,” and proceeded to say a string of names which Kana forgot.

“And the asshole,” he said blushing, “Sasuke Uchiha. He and his brother Itachi are the village’s prodigies. He sucks. But umm,” Kana noticed Naruto’s voice changed to a sweet nervous tone as he spoke about him.

“Oh well no need to talk about him, you’ll meet all of them soon enough.

Anyway, here we are, this is my place. Kakashi! I’m back!” He shouted.

A silver haired man came out of the barn carrying a bucket of water and a bloodied towel.

“Good, because I need your help feeding the calf, just born a few moments ago.”

Kana stared at him dumbfounded, trying to make sense of the man. Kakashi noticed Kana staring, and glanced at Naruto with a questioning expression.

“Oh right,” Naruto said gesturing at her “this is my new friend— I’m sorry I don’t know your name.”

“Maito Kana. I just moved here with my father.”

Something changed immediately in Kakashi’s expression. It was almost a glow that took over his whole face.

“I’m sorry, isn’t your father...”

“Gai. His name is Maito Gai.”

So you’re back, Kakashi thought, his heart beginning to race.

#YAAAAA I GOT SO CARRIED AWAY #I NEED THIS AU MORE THAN MY LIFE #WOW #i need to read a full fic on this 😍🥺#thank you for the ask

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heli0s-writes · 5 years ago

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IV. I’m in the mood for love

Summary: Beyond the sass and the crass lies a tender moment Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes A/N: Maybe I wrote myself into a pickle? Idk but I teared up a little at the end. Also this is the most politics I’ll ever put in my work-- let’s keep it civil and chill if we disagree.

Foot in Mouth Syndrome Masterpost

It’s a miracle that you had worked up the courage to trot downstairs to return the only covering that separated two bare-ass naked men from your eyes. And not to mention yourself, who was only covered in a towel, too.

You make Steve stand so far around the corner of the doorframe that all he can do is stick out his hand. Bucky rustles the shower curtain impatiently and makes a comment on how “non-hyperverbal” you’re being and you’re too nervous to even respond back. When Buckyeye starts looking at you and the swinging white hem at your shins, you shoo him up the stairs before he gets any other bright ideas.

“Didn’t know you were such a prude.” Bucky comments later as you fiddle around in the kitchen, “But I guess it makes sense-- you still have those stuffed animals on your bed.”

You bristle and glare at him, “Just because you didn’t have a childhood doesn’t mean I can’t.”

It’s a little too mean, and you hear the venom that shoots right into him as soon as it leaves your mouth. “Sorry.” You comment. Damn it. He grew up in the fuckin’ Great Depression where everything was dusty and shit.

“Not all of us can travel the world eating caviar at the ripe age of four.” Bucky snarls. Ugh. Why’d he have to do that?

“Oh, fuck you.” You retort the same time Steve sharply calls Bucky’s name to reel him back in. It doesn’t work, as Steve knows, because when you and Bucky get into it—you get into it.

“You wish, princess. Wait, you’re such a goddamn prude, anyway--”

All Steve can do is cross his fingers and bark, “Buck!”

It’s too late. You’re across the room before Steve can say much else and you’ve launched yourself over one empty couch and straight into Bucky sitting on the other. The force knocks it slightly and it teeters before flopping back with a muffled thud.

Buckeye begins to run around in circles, unsure of the kind of play this particular moment is.

You have no idea what you’re doing, and you doubt you even want to—or can-- hurt him in any way, but you are so finished with his bullshit. You death-grip his hair as you jab both knees into his abdomen. Bucky moves to rip you off, but you clamp your teeth over his wrist and he yelps.

“Fuck you!” You scream, “fuck you so much! I—ow! I fucking apologized, you—Ugh!”

Buckeye, ever the perfect audience member, begins to bark to the rhythm of your screeching and aggressively nudges Bucky’s foot with his snout.

Soldat’s metal hand pushes your face back until its tilted up to the ceiling and further beyond, precariously suspended. The only thing keeping you from cracking your skull on the coffee table is your clinging to his hair. Steve’s concerned expression is upside down and his arms are outstretched, trying to determine the right configuration to pry the two of you apart. “Get that fucking! Aluminum foil finger the fuck away fr---”

“Shut up!” Bucky’s palm smashes against your mouth as his legs wrap around your back until you’re a squished human pretzel inside of him. You’re too crushed even to make any sounds and behind you Steve is sputtering vowels and consonants but not stringing together any real words. Finally, he nearly shrieks,

“Bucky! Jesus! You’re gonna actually kill her!”

Yep. This is how you’re gonna go, you think. The Winter Fucking Soldier has officially had enough of your bullshit, too, and he is going to bear-hug you to death. Who would have thunk it? Your fingers disengage and fall uselessly over his arms.

When time begins to slow and your soul starts to yeet itself from your body, Bucky blessedly lets go. “You’re bluer than I was in cryo.” He sneers.

Steve gasps, scandalized by the comment. For whatever reason, he’s covered Buckeye’s ears, too. You would send him an incredulous look, but you can’t feel your face.

With a pathetic whistle of air, you flop backwards and hang upside down over the couch, thighs gripped tightly by Bucky, heaving deep breaths until your lungs feel like they might burst through your rib cage. No wonder you are not a superhero—fuck the hubris, you are physically not built for this shit.

“I think I’m gonna vomit.” You mutter when Steve’s face begins to spin alongside your dog who slobbers all over your nose. Bucky yanks you up by the front of your shirt and the cough that blasts from your mouth goes right into his face. His smug expression twists into one of disgust and you take the moment to waggle your eyebrows suggestively.

Your sour mood has fled and now that you’re absolutely sure you cannot kick his ass—you return to the one thing you do know you’re capable of:

“Hey, baby. Is that a glock in your pants or are you just really happy to see me?”

To drive your point home, you bounce on his lap with a wide grin, wiggling your butt in exaggerated motions.

“Okay! That’s enough!”

Steve scoops you up and plants you back on the other side of the coffee table. “That’s too smart! Too smart!” He scolds as you pat your bottom and then curtsy. Bucky only huffs and crosses his arms, refusing to meet your gaze. Ha-ha. Winter Soldier, meet your match—Ass Woman. No, that just sounds like a porno.

“Alright, fuckers.” You declare, stepping over to the built-in bookshelf around the flatscreen and retrieving a leather-bound copy of The Wizard of Oz. “Ready for chili?”

They watch you open the front and stick your hand inside the false pages and retrieve a roll of bills. “What?” You ask nonchalantly. “Oh—shut up, Barnes. Like you guys really need me to pay back the vet fees. Technically, my tax dollars pay you.”

Steve shakes his head no. So, you casually toss him the roll of cash and then pull out another one.

“Jesus! Will you put these back?”

“Look,” You say, “For every month I don’t come home my mother puts another wad in this box.” You show them the pile of rolled bills, each encased in varying sizes of rubber bands. “She thinks it’ll ensnare me, but joke’s on her, the more I’m away the more there is to spend. She’s not very smart—a consequence of never having to think for herself.”

“And you’re fine with spending it?” Bucky ponders. The relationship you have with your family grows more confusing the longer they spend in your parents’ house. The memorabilia littered in your childhood bedroom seems to suggest that you aren’t completely detached from your family or your childhood. The way you respond to being home is paradoxical, too—disgusted at the excess one minute, reveling in it the next.

“It’s just fucking money. They make so much of it. I couldn’t bankrupt them if I tried. My father has offshore accounts in the fucking Caymans. I literally could not.”

They both pause before Steve speaks up, “Are you an only child?”

You frown. “No.” Then you aggressively push him by the shoulder and toward the exit, motioning for Bucky to follow. “It’s fucking Skyline time.”

Suddenly, you pause at the door and turn around to put both your hands on your hips. Looking both of them up and down, you shake your head impatiently. Steve is wearing his civilian Captain America outfit again. And Bucky, honestly, Bucky looks like someone cosplaying Bucky.

“Who dressed you?” You demand, exasperated, “You guys like, do spy stuff? It’s baffling to me that you don’t get caught immediately. Steve—khakis?”

Upon being admonished, he scoffs and looks around, “What’s wrong with my khakis?”

“Will you please tell him something?” You ask Bucky, who only rolls his eyes as if to say, you’re fuckin’ telling me. When it’s obvious that Steve’s poor choices are solely the result of him being an old fuck with no fashion sense, you mumble. “At least switch shirts. I’m going to take Buckeye out… please… fix this.”

When you come back, the sight of Steve wearing black and Bucky wearing light blue is so discomforting you cover Buckeye’s eyes. “It’s okay, boy.” You whisper loudly. Bucky flips you off but fixes the hem of the shirt he’s sporting. Steve—for whatever inexplicable reason, has decided to tuck… You quickly yank his shirt from his waistband and shake your head. “Christ, why are you like this?”

Untucked and uncomfortable in black, Steve looks at the menu as if the letters on it were runes from an ancient past. He doesn’t understand at all what Skyline Chili is or why it is. They’re coneys—this he does understand. But the rest of it—nope. Why would anyone ever need that much cheese? Bucky mirrors his sentiment by shutting the menu and crossing his arms.

The small bowl of oyster crackers in the middle of the table is being torn apart as you shovel handful after handful into your mouth. There is an inordinate amount of hot sauce sprayed on the top of the crisps, and you wipe your hands haphazardly on a napkin when you’re finished.

“Okay. You feelin’ spag or nah?” You ask, not even looking up. “Spagbol.” You continue, “Spag-y. SPAGHETS!” Then, in a terrible and very offensive Italian rendition, you pinch your fingers together and enunciate, “Its-a-spha-ghetta!”

Bucky slumps down into the booth until you stop. Steve puts his hand over his eyes.

“Why would you put chili on spaghetti noodles?” Bucky hisses.

The waitress arrives right after his question and you reach over to take his hands into your own— still reeking of peppers and vinegar from the hot sauce. “Shh,” You say almost tenderly, “Adults are talking now.”

“I hope you rub your eyes with that hand later.” Bucky snarls.

“I’ll cup your balls with it, instead.” You respond.

The waitress whimpers at the conversation she’s just stumbled into.

Six coneys arrive and as well as two plates of spaghetti. You explain to the boys that the Skyline specialty is steamed buns, mustard, special secret spice chili, raw onions, and hella shredded cheese. The noodles come with the same, sans mustard, and if you’re feeling extra frisky— beans. One plate is extra frisky today. Then you unscrew the cap to the hot sauce and shake the shit out of it onto everything.

They are bewildered at the sheer excess of American consumption as you shove almost half a coney into your face. Cheese flops down onto your plate.

“I think I’m gonna vomit.” Steve whimpers.

“Big baby, wimpy, Stevie can’t eat the cheesy?” Between mouthfuls, you’re still a dick. “Just try it! What are you, six?”

He glares at you and then sends a puppy-dog look to Bucky who already is lifting a coney to his face. You take another bite and watch them do the same.

Immediately, Steve coughs. Bucky starts laughing so hard he drops the pile of shredded cheese all over the table. You tuck into the overflowing plate of spaghetti, hot noodles melting the cheddar on top into an amalgam of gooey yellow. “I can’t do it.” Steve groans, “This isn’t right. This isn’t what God wanted.”

“God is dead, bitch.” You reply, “There is only Skyline Chili.”

“So what’s your deal?” Bucky asks from the couch.

The three of you have returned back to the house, winding down for the night. It’s eight now, and you’ve driven them around the city just to show them the sights. The gentrified downtown with its bustling crowd of young, white party-people interspersed with streets of dilapidated buildings and homelessness. There’s a bitterness to your voice when you talk about the changing scenery—but a kind of sadness, too. You admit you don’t really know the solution. The business brings in money to the city, but all the people left behind are really getting left behind.

You show them the more relaxed areas, like Over the Rhine and point out its massive brewery. You promise to take them there soon. There’s also the famous Cincinatti Zoo, and King’s Island, where you swear is better than where Steve wanted to go- Coney Island #2. There’s no point in taking him there, you declare when he starts to sputter, because he only wants to go to shit all over it, and because King’s Island is way cooler.

“What do you mean?” You ask back, flipping through the stations with your feet propped up on the coffee table. Steve and Bucky are sitting side-by-side under a blanket. There is a bowl of chips and hummus shared in their laps since Steve refused to eat during dinner and is now very cranky.

“All of this. Excess. Money. And then... you.” he waves to the house, then to you, sprawled out carelessly on a leather couch in mismatched pajamas. Buckeye’s head is faithfully in your lap, big eyes peering up at you, as if he’s waiting for an explanation too.

“You hating on my penguin top and pumpkin bottoms or what?”

“C’mon...” Steve beckons, knowing that your deflection is just another cop-out.

So, you groan, because they’re teaming up on you and after almost three months it’s bound to happen. They’ve told you so much about themselves already. You’ve learned all about the personal lives of the Commandos, the war stories, serums and experimentations, the cryo, the trial after the Triskelion... the blood, and sweat, and all of Steve Rogers’ tears.

“Well... it’s not as exciting as you think it is.” You mutter, tugging on Buckeye’s ear, finding the texture comforting under their persistent gaze. “Just a dumb girl born into an obscene family.”

But you tell them, truthfully and genuinely. Your family has old money- oil, or steel, probably both. As a result, you grew up in the lap of luxury, private schools, language programs, singing classes, dance lessons, horseback riding, trips to Europe and Asia, enormous birthday parties and a line of suitors as soon as you started growing breasts. The worst part, you admit, is that you loved it.

The picture they picked up in your room was from junior prom, and the date was a boyfriend- family friend- you’d been with for about six months, and he already planned on proposing. That was just how it was. Rich people marrying other rich people continuing the line of one-percenters.

Really, you say, your family was maybe the 10 percenter-range. As rich as maybe low A-list movie stars, not quite Jeff Bezos. But you know him, too.

“What changed?” Steve wonders out loud for both him and Bucky.

“Living in New York.” You half-smile at the memory of Union. “After Ohio State, I went to Union for my graduate studies and it blew my shit wide open. But that’s what happens when you start opening yourself up to other realities.”

You tell them about the immense struggle the first year at Union, feeling ostracized and realizing that your life is nothing like most peoples’ lives, and then beginning to frame your understanding of the world in a different way. You tell them you got mugged once and you felt like you probably deserved it.

“Then the election happened.” You sigh, and they both groan at the reminder. “As you know... it’s just been downhill and fucked. We had a big falling out here over Thanksgiving holiday.”

You didn’t come home in almost two years. You took out loans, you worked two jobs, took a full course load and wrote a thesis, and then went on to your Doctoral program. Your parents reached out to you and you eventually came half-way back into the fold.

“And spending their money?”

Most of the money you get you give to the local shelters. “That’s just direct action, baby.” You laugh. “We go at it, all the time. But you know, I figure... If I have to live in this shit world, might as well be a bastard about it.”

That earns a hearty chuckle from both your guests. “Jesus, that explains a lot.” Bucky grins as you nuzzle Buckeye and plant a kiss on his wrinkly face.

It feels so much better now that you’ve aired all the dirty, 1000-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets.

Steve hops up from the couch and runs downstairs, “Be right back!” He yells. You and Bucky narrow your eyes at the trail he’s padded into the carpet. In the distance, you can hear his rummaging and then thumping footsteps back up into the living room. He’s perfectly in one piece, because he’s Captain Damn America and nearly flying up a flight of stairs ain’t shit.

“I figured this would happen.” He grins, holding up a metal flask. “It’s time to break out the Asgardian mead.”

The three of you are drunk on whiskey and space-juice, tumbling around the downstairs living room. You are banging on the piano keys, tapping out a stuttering and off-kilter rendition of The Magic School Bus theme song while they wrestle. Why is it that no matter how old boys get, they still love to wrestle? Around their legs is Buckeye, running around in circles and panting, like a racecar at the Indy—only making left turns, having the time of his life.

“Get a fuckin’ ROOM!” You scream, throwing another shot down.

“You mean your room?” Steve laughs back, head under Bucky’s arm, tapping uselessly on his ribs.

“Captain America, fuckin’ in my room. Carve that on my grave, baby.” You mutter, as the piano lid slams down and you take a bow, knocking the bench over with a crash. “Oops.”

“Thas direct action, baby.” Bucky parrots you, “You’re so fucking lame.”

Buckyeye leaps into the air and licks him on the face. “Fuck!”

“Yeah, defend my honor, Buck!” You whoop. “Not you!” You point to Bucky, who flicks you off with a cackling laugh. The sound of it flutters into your ears like a ghost- leaving cold trails down your back. Suddenly, you get an idea.

“Hey-- you guys on Twitter?”

They sit crosslegged on the floor flanking you as you scroll determinedly through what seems to be endless tweets. There are other tabs open, too, of compilations of these. Thirsttweets, you explain. The internet loves and wants to bone the hell out of Captain America. Some of them want the Soldier there too—just watching, apparently.

Steve is seventeen shades of red and a little bit of purple. Bucky keeps cursing under his breath and at one point, you think, is reciting Hail Mary. It’s a million times worse than your playlist.

Who’s Got the Biggest Dick in Baseball is nothing compared to captain america could spit into my mouth and id say thank you

“I would never!” Steve gasps. “Or that!”

The tweet in question says: ruin my life big dorito daddy

“What does that mean?” Bucky groans, a little ruffled by all the lewd attention Steve is getting.

“His back is shaped like a Dorito, duh. Don’t get jealous, big boy. You’re next.”

For whatever reason, Bucky’s tweets are way worse. Maybe it’s his persona—that redeemed baddie type of thing. People eat that shit up like chips and dip—and apparently want to eat him too.

As long as I have a face, Winter Soldier has a seat rearrange my guts, Sargeant Sexy When will James Buchanan Barnes put his fist in me? WHEN? I didn’t know I was into getting choked until I saw that metal arm.

You snort whiskey into your lungs in the middle of reading one out loud and spend the next five minutes with your insides on fire. Steve has his head in Bucky’s lap and there are tears coming out of his eyes both from Bucky’s clenched jaw and you, crumpled into a heap spewing amber.

A jazz tune belts out from the surround sound system. Steve has picked a Music Choice station from the seemingly endless list of cable possibilities and of course, being a nostalgic thing, chose Swingers — wait, Singers and Swing. Your brain is loopy with joy.

“Didn’t you say you took dance lessons?” Steve asks nonchalantly.

“Uh-huh,” you sigh on the floor, legs crossed over Buckeye as you pull him down on your tummy. Rolling side to side with you, your dog begins to groan and flop, aggravated at your antics.

“You know, Buck used to dance.”

“Uh-huh, you sure did, didn’t you, big baby?” You kiss Buckeye on the nose.

“Bucky. Bucky, not Buckeye.”

He returns from the restroom with his hair pulled away from his face, changed into a long sleeved soft shirt and sweats. “What?”

“You used to dance!” Steve urges with a flick of his wrist, “Get on out there!” He waves his finger to the carpeted living space where you are spread-eagled, trying your best to keep your dog next to you. Damn it, you want cuddles!

“You want me to lead her? Stevie, I couldn’t lead the girl to water if she were a horse.”

“I am not a whore!” You cry indignantly, shooting up from the carpet and knocking Buckeye over with a yelp.

“A horse! Jesus H. Christ, ya deaf!”

You probably are, you think, as the music slurs itself into one long whine. Bucky grabs you by the hand anyway, determined to prove some point to Steve. He turns you around until you face him and takes a second to start on the right beat.

It’s like a switch has flipped and he becomes all step and sway as he moves to the music, leading you, too. Some vestigial memory digs its way out of your muscles from all those damn dance lessons and your feet point and tap along with him, hips rocking when he spins you around and pulls you back. A grin slowly breaks across his face, big and lopsided, all teeth.

You feel like a little puppet in complete submission to him as he expertly uses the perfect amount of momentum to change your course.

Laughter bursts forth from your mouth as you whirl dizzily around Bucky, hands clamped tightly in both of his. The room is a blur of colors and the blue of Steve’s eyes, watching.

At one point, you stand hip-to-hip side-by-side and kick your feet together before he takes you by the waist and dips you low. You’re breathless as he laughs, mirroring your puffs of warm air from above, wild with motion— his hair slipping from behind his ear to hang over your forehead.

“Holy shit you got moves.” You proclaim as the song finishes and he tugs you up with a satisfied chuckle. A slower melody comes on and you move to return to the couch where Steve is sitting with Buckeye, but Bucky tugs you again, closer.

He places one hand behind your back, resting on the ridged thread-bare waistband of your pajama shorts, and the other one he holds up to his chest. You blink away the fuzzy spots from your eyes and peer at him, looking so far away even though he’s just inches apart. His expression has changed, dropping into something distant and removed and staring straight through you.

You see it now. He’s not Bucky anymore.

It hits you like a bag of bricks, that this is James Barnes, in all his glory as a beautiful Brooklyn boy. Out dancing with a girl. Laughing, just like this: bristled, square-jawed and cleft-chinned. Wide, pouty lips. Bright steel eyes. Before he was a soldier, he was just a boy.

Before he was The Soldier, he was just a boy.

His chest rises and falls slowly as he takes a deep breath. The crooning in the background is tender, melodic, with the singer’s sweet voice pining for her loved one accompanied by delicate plucks of a piano.

Once, too, he pined.

The tears in your eyes spill over when you press your mouth to his. Bucky lets go of your hands and you catch his face with them, instead, holding onto his head, fingers grazing his ears and neck and brushing away his hair. You kiss him as if he might be shipped out to war tomorrow. It hurts even more to know that he probably had a night just like this, in the arms of a girl he loved, right before his entire life changed.

And then, you tear away and look at the couch where Steve sits, chewing on his lip, red-eyed too. You sob uncontrollably when you rush around the table and into his arms. He wraps them around you, pushes his face down into your shoulder.

“I love you guys.” You whisper, curled up in Steve’s lap, because the story of Steve Rogers and Peggy Carter was never explicit in the history books, but you know it too. “Oh God. I’m so sorry it’s like this. I’m so sorry.”

Steve forgets sometimes, that they were ripped out of time. He forgets the torment and tearing of Bucky’s entire being. They busy themselves in tomorrow and moving forward so much that they bury how the things that made them also broke them.

You are clinging onto his shirt, crying for him now, for both of them. Two handsome soldiers, living, dying, resurrected again. Having only each other to know and hold.

Sergeant Barnes of the 107th closes his eyes and presses his lips together. When he opens them, he is Bucky Barnes of the terrible, modern age once more. He crosses the room quietly, as he always does, as he was made to do. He sits down next to Steve as you look up at him with love and sympathy and so much sadness he can’t stand it. He links his hand in yours and smiles in a way that cracks your heart right open.

“Don’t get weird, kid.” Bucky whispers with moist lashes. Your laugh is strangled when it escapes your throat, all wet and whine as you squeeze his fingers tighter.

“I love you. You don’t understand.”

Steve breathes a sigh into your shoulder and rubs his damp cheeks on the penguin print of your sleeping shirt. From next to him, Buckeye looks up quizzically and gives his arm a long, slow lick.

“Yeah, yeah,” He mutters, swatting at your dog’s snout lovingly, lips pressed into your collarbone. Then, he kisses you too, tipsy and torn open. In the background, Julie London sweetly croons:

If there’s a cloud above and it must rain, we’ll let it.

But for tonight, forget it.

I’m in the mood for love.

Next Chapter

#marvel #mcu #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #stucky x reader #steve rogers x reader x bucky #self insert #fanfiction #FiMS

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unorthodoxsavvy · 4 years ago

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Trying To Catch And Rescue A WILD Pigeon (fic)

This fic is for the wonderful @ttlmt who I know you all are already following wile they’re away as a coming-back present (and for a thank you for using their bad luck with timing of Phil uploading videos to give us not one but 2 new Phil videos while they have no service and cannot watch them).

Rating: G

Word Count: 1.6k

Characters: Dan Howell, Phil Lester, Steve the Pigeon, Scraggy the Pigeon

Ships: Dan x Phil, Steve x Scraggy

Find me on Wattpad

Phil was sitting on the couch, legs on top of Dan’s, scrolling through his twitter notifications, when one caught his eye.

“please help steve. his foot is injured and he might get really sick !!”

Phil went back to the photos and videos he’d shared of Steve for a closer look. They were right- Phil could see what looked like a piece of rope that had become tangled around the poor pale pigeon’s foot and it looked as if it was cutting off circulation.

Phil showed the photo to Dan.

“Why don’t you put some more seed out and try and get a better look? You know he’ll show up if you do.”

So that’s what Phil did.

Phil sat right up against the sliding glass door, nose almost pressed to the glass and fogging it up slightly. When Steve swooped down to start eating, Phil could really see his foot. It was swollen and whatever had gotten wrapped around it was frayed, almost as if he’d had to free himself from being stuck on something but hadn’t gotten it all off, just managed to cut himself loose. It was bent inward slightly.

Phil sighed sadly. Of course he was going to help Steve, he loved Steve, but how?

Well, he knew the best thing to do would be to call an expert, so he moved outside to get comfortable and looked up the number for the RSPCA on his laptop.

The automated system picked up, stating that unless it was an emergency, than to please wait.

Was this an emergency? It wasn’t a pet, but it was in danger, Phil thought. He didn’t know how long it’d been tied around his foot, and he didn’t know how much longer Steve could hold out on his own- but this was a wild pigeon… it didn’t matter to him, of course- an animal in trouble was an animal in trouble. But he didn’t know the policies here, so he decided to send an email.

He expected them to confirm that it was not a big deal, and was surprised when the answer he received implored him to take care of Steve as soon as possible, as this was an emergency, and to call them right away.

Phil dialed again and waited for someone to pick up.

“Name?”

“Steve.”

“Steve what?”

“Oh my name! I thought you meant the pigeon’s name,” Phil laughed awkwardly, remembering that some places called pets in by their names instead of their owner’s. It wasn’t so far-fetched, right?

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Dan filming him on his phone.

Phil listened to the professional on the other end of the line, using his computer to look up things like addresses for offices to help and phone number for local vets, but they stressed that it would be best if Phil could catch Steve himself. Of course Phil agreed to, and hung up.

“What did they say?” Dan asked from behind the camera.

“They want us to catch Steve and bring him to a vet.”

“How the hell are you supposed to catch a bloody pigeon?”

“I don’t know!”

Phil started looking up methods to catch a pigeon.

“This one says to throw a towel over it, but that seems traumatizing.”

“As if you could ever manage to do that,” Dan scoffed.

“This one says to trap it under a box! How are you supposed to get it out from under the box! It’ll just fly away!”

Dan stopped filming and put his phone down to sit across from Phil at their patio table.

“Why can’t you just convince him to come inside or something? He’s already half way there.”

“How are we going to catch him inside?” Phil asked, but just then his eye caught a phrase on page 2 of his google search.

“What if we train him to climb into a pet carrier,” Phil asked, focused on the page the link had brought him to.

“I mean that sounds more manageable than anything else you’ve found.”

So they went and bought a pet carrier.

Phil had Dan film him talking about his plan of putting seed in the carrier to lure Steve in gently as well as him explaining how he’d packed a towel in the bottom for maximum comfort.

Dan and Phil, though mostly Phil, over the next few weeks, made sure to try their best to only feed Steve and place heaping amounts of encouraging seed in the pet carrier. A new pigeon had shown up as well that Phil had named “Scraggy” because of her disheveled appearance, but she’d taken a liking to Steve. Phil knew he needed to help Steve get better so he could be reunited with his lovely Scraggy.

While this training was going on, Phil had taken to emailing various vets around the area looking for help. One responded kindly that they’d be willing to make an appointment for Steve. Eventually, though, they had stopped replying and Phil decided to pluck up te courage to make a phone call. It was for Steve, after all.

Phil had Dan film him again as he made an appointment for Wednesday.

Everything was set, and the only thing left to do was to catch Steve on that fateful Wednesday morning.

What could go wrong?

Wednesday morning arrive.

There was no sign of Steve.

Finally, after waiting around for hours, Dan spotted him in the tree.

“Get the carrier out,” Phil instructed.

“If he flies away when you come near it, how are you going to close the door?”

Phil’s eyes drifted in thought.

“Oh! What if we tie a string around it and close it by pulling the strong from inside?”

Dan rolled his eyes.

“Our lives are already a cartoon plot, might as well.”

And so that’s what they did.

Except, they didn’t have any string. Or yarn. Or anything, really. All they had were cords.

Dan offered up his spare phone charging cord and started filming Phil tying it around the cage door.

“Alright, why don’t you pull it closed while filming and then I’ll run over and lock it shut.”

Dan looked up at him.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes?” Phil smiled sheepishly.

Dan made a big deal of huffing and puffing about the plan but Phil knew that Dan would do it for him.

Phil sat the pet carrier full of seed laid upon the towel on their porch.

Dan crouched behind their ottomon watching as Steve slowly made his way into the pet carrier.

“Now,” Phil said when Steve was inside.

Dan pulled the phone charger.

Steve’s tail got stuck in the door but Phil was there in a second to push the door closed, and by that time Steve had already taken another step in. Scraggy was right behind the pet carrier, confused.

“Sorry Steve.” Dan zoomed in on the pet carrier. “We’re trying to rescue you.”

Scraggy waited patiently on the porch.

“Alright let’s head out.”

Phil walked down the street holding the pet carrier with Steve inside while Dan walked next to him and filmed.

The foot and car traffic were insane that afternoon, of course.

They made it to the vet without much incident, and the vet assistant met them at the door. They reassured Phil that Steve would “probably be fine” (which Phil didn’t like the sound of), and promised to call him with an update when they were done.

It was then Steve was handed over from the care of two bumbling idiots to animal medical professionals.

The two of them walked back home to wait.

It was only two hours, which, when you thought about it, didn’t seem too long, but for Phil it felt like ages.

Finally Phil noticed he had a voicemail, and had Dan record him while he played it out loud.

“I’m just calling you to let you know that the pigeon that you brought in to us is all done! He’s alright, we got the string off his foot, he did have to loose a toe unfortunately, but they adapt to that very quickly.”

“Do you want to pick him up now?” Dan asked after the recording was finished playing and Phil had finished talking to the camera.

“Yes, please.”

They walked back to the vet and picked up their bird.

They ended up needing to go in their lift to get back to their flat, which they had already ridden down to get to the street on their way out, and Phil wondered what it was like for Steve to ascend vertically without actually flying, and if he could tell they even were from inside the pet carrier.

Finally, it was Phil and Steve on the porch once more while Dan filmed.

Phil made a moment of opening the door to the pet carrier while the cacophony of London sirens clashed in the background. Phil had just put some more bird seed up on their feeder a moment before as an apology for Steve. To Phil’s surprise and delight, Steve flew up onto their railing area and then hopped down onto the feeder.

Dan and Phil laughed.

“I thought he’d be scared of me, but he’s just like ‘food?’” Phil bent down smiling to the camera.

Quickly he was joined by Scraggy, and the two of them sat in the feeder eating away as if nothing had happened.

Phil shuffled back inside.

Over the next few weeks Steve kept returning with Scraggy, and to Phil it looked like they were even building a nest. Phil knew that he couldn’t have Steve dependent on the birdseed alone forever and pledged to started weening him off the food.

Maybe some day in the future they’d have baby Scraggy and Steves.

And hopefully, if they did, none of them needed to be brought to the vet.

However, Dan and Phil had already proven to themselves that if that were the case, they were ready.

#phan #dnp #savvy's fanfictions #savvy's writing #phandom #steve the pigeon #scraggy the pigeon #dan and phil #dan howell #phil lester #danisnotonfire #amazingphil #phanfic #phanfiction

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merrysithmas · 5 years ago

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some POPPER-centric hcs:

Boris and Theo celebrating Popper's birthday together for two years, waking up at two in the afternoon, blinds drawn tight - but not tight enough to banish the bright gleam of treasure chest gold that flares through the slits between them, 777 Vegas coin yellow, graffitiing malleable stripes of desert sun across the walls and crumpled sheets. Theo peeking a tired eye over the coverlet from under Boris' arm, little Popper’s big cookie-round ink eyes already awake and staring at him, tail wagging bashfully against the sheets in the silence.

Boris, who was snoring just a moment ago, starts up, suddenly, electrified, hollering a gasping realization that sounds something like, “Moy malchik!” The sound pops a breaker in Theo’s brain, letting loose a migraine from last night's bender, which is evidenced by the toppled pill bottles (Xandra's), the semi-collapsed beer cans and the vague memory of Boris' stoned over-confidence ("Potter! Look - against my head - watch - I bet I can - like the movies!"), and the ultimately ignorable ache of his hamstrings.

At Boris' startling exclamation Popper lets loose an exuberant tirade of ungodly shrieking, like set off by the crack of a gun at race he was raring for, immediately licking Boris' morning-slick skin, teenaged greasy and gross, and Boris is laughing so loud that the walls almost shake, as they are so regularly starved and thin of joy. And Theo sits up, wincing (that phantom ache again, inadmissible memories) and leans on his elbow, reaching out to pat the wild little thing who quickly turns on him, "Ok - Happy birthday! Happy birthday!"

II.

Boris and Theo washing Popper in the sink - he reeks. Sickly sweet rotten fruit-smell compounded with the wet mildewy stench of old laundry, distinctly intermixed with the odor of shit. Popper’s yelping echoes through the kitchen like an antique car horn, petrified, claws rigid on the edge of the sink, braced for continued frantic attempts to flee his sudsy prison and energized with bouts of fervor not entirely unlike a demonic possession. The one overhead light fixed accusatorily above the kitchen sink makes the whole set up look like an interrogation room - worlds away from the girly relaxing grooming videos they found on Youtube.

“Potter! Not this way!" Boris screeches - voice cracking like it has been lately - exacerbated in its rawness by the cheap, caustic brand of cigarettes he smokes. Lately they’ve been meeting the parched maw of his chapped lips like a consecutive line of ants, one after the other, his fingernails yellowing. Popper shakes violently, way before Theo is ready and can throw the ratty towel across his drenched body, whirling like a windmill, fur centripetal and spiralling, soaking their filthy t-shirts flat onto their bony bruised limbs.

“Oh, Popper," Boris outright coos, followed by a placating barrage of what is unmistakably a grandmotherly coddle of (likely) Polish. "You look just like Potter!" he declares, finally discarding his ciagrette, which dims in the puddle on the counter as it sucks up water. Theo grabs it as it does, revives it, takes a long, charring drag of nicotine and tar. His eyes narrow behind his glasses, observing the drowned-rat Maltese, frigid and shaking to its bones, and completely hates how Popper's forlorn appearance quite accurately recalls his own reflecton, just in from the pool, hair flat to his head, eyes big and, somehow always, helpless.

III.

Boris and Theo say goodbye to Popper when he is fifteen. Congestive heart failure - a diagnosis so deleterious and uncomfortably human Theo finds it hard to believe when the middle-aged vet ("Dr Janet", purple earrings, thick rectangular glasses - incense burning, loose leaf tea drinking, National Park lover) breaks it to him. She seems to understand the frozen bones in his shoulders and his unexpected quietness better than he does, leaving the room before he notices she’s gone.

Even in the darkest edges of his flayed existentialisms Theo never found room for dogs. Dogs, he supposes for the first time, in an achingly unfair realization, with their bright renewable resource of happiness (which they often give freely even to the undesevering, or unknowning, or unappreciative) are immune to such nihilistic musings. Popper stares at him from the table, ragged and old, too heavy in the middle and too thin on the edges, breathing all wrong. How did - all that time pass?

Boris, on video-chat in Kyyiv, up to no nefarious deed (he insists) is the one, for once, startled by Theo’s harsh red eyes, like he's been doping too much again, but there’s no dope - just a clinical setting and a hard shuddering breathing, from somewhere offscreen, quiet like it’s coming from a baby in crib.

Boris, like a knitted sweater, so often and inevitably pulled in many different directions until he disappears, seems to swat away half a dozen Non-English speaking acquaintances before the line goes quiet on his end and Theo can actually explain what is going on. The way he touches the screen on the video chat with his fingertips when Theo presents it to Popper (“Let me see him please,” Boris had asked, with no hidden heartbreak) makes Theo’s chest crush inward like the emotional equivalent of the impact of a car accident.

Boris says no at first, when Theo makes the suggestion, no let him go when he's supposed to, not yet, then: let me see him first, and makes it all the way to JFK before his phone rings. He doesn't answer, won't, but when he walks in the jingling door from the merciless city rain, the black tails of his coat dragging water, all sharp angles and dark shadows, he already knows.

“He couldn’t wait anymore,” Theo says. And when he meets Theo’s cherry red eyes, Boris doesn’t yell, or get angry - he cries. Right there in the lobby - he cries. Hands shielding his eyes, like a boy cowering beneath the shade of an umbrella.

IV.

Later they bump coke in the bathroom of Gramercy Tavern, shitfaced at the table, “Remember when he ate Xandra’s G-string?” Theo says so loudly it rings across the room like a papal blessing.

“Aha! Yes! So sneaky. Little pervert! Gets that from you! And the time he shit in the grocery store? Aisle 12?”

The memories pour out: “His fucking pink collar with the bell on it.” “How he howl like - ooo ooo oooo! So annoying! Always in the morning! Yes, Popchyk! I’m coming!” “Oh when we caught him fucking The Playa’s chihuahua?” “да, I told him he could do better! He was nice boy she was not so nice. Still, he got more ass than either one of us,” Boris says fondly, proudly, and clinks his shotglass to Theo for what seems like the hundreth time.

“Something deeply not right about catching a Maltese in the throes of passion,” Theo says, blinking long-disturbed eyes behind the dewy lenses of his glasses. Boris seems to agree, with a noncomittal grunt, and puts a heavy, vice-like grip onto Theo’s shoulder, shaking him until he looks up.

“Like a teddy bear getting a blowjob,” he says, and Theo laughs a half-choked laugh. They’re both crying. They’re both fucking crying.

“To Popchyk née Popper, G-string sniffer, pillow hat, accomplished singer,” Theo sniffs, sitting up straightly from his messy, hunched position over the table, head back against the booth. Boris meets his eyes, they’re both such a fucking mess. “And friend.”

“Vichnaya pamyat,” Boris says formally, in response. Theo smashes his glass, agreeing.

“Eternal memory.”

“Open any one! Any one you want!” Boris crows happily, the tip of his nose red like he’s been outside in the cold but he hasn’t, not for hours, and the sloshing bottle of Christmas cheer which is sitting (carelessly, without a coaster, Theo notices with disdain) on the mahogany side table is nearly empty at only half past noon. “Oh! My big mistake!” Boris makes a big show of putting his hand to his chest in guilt, elevating the bottle and placing it on top of a book instead. “блядь,” he scoffs.

“I know what ‘bitch’ in Russian is,” Theo answers, wrapped warmly in a woolen Burberry pullover, burgundy, with the festive forest green cuffs of his starched button up curling around the ends of his sleeves. Snow is falling outside like white wafting butterflies, the stone Antwerp architecture nestled under frost, Tchaikovsky on the speakers hooked up to Boris’ sentimental iPhone.

“I know!” Boris says cheerily, gesturing towards the presents beneath the tree with a sweeping, encouraging hand. “Any one!”

Theo rolls his eyes, but as they land on the smattering of gifts wrapped festively on the dark hardwood floor his mood lifts. Picking up a small one, dark matte navy blue with a silver ribbon Boris exclaims offendedly -

“No! Any one!” he repeats, taking the blue one out of Theo’s hands and replacing it with a rather less elegant medium-sized red box, bundled together with a haphazard green string. “This one!”

The oddly-weighted box quivers in his grip, a strange feeling which sends an unexpected thrill of fear through Theo, “What is this.”

“Open!” Boris goads. “Just look!” he seems pleased with himself, taking another long hit off the joint that is smoking in the ash tray and then rubbing his palms together and leaning forward over his knees, eagerly like a kid.

The box is easy to open, just a cover over a base, which Theo lifts to reveal the small fuzzy face of a tiny, tiny round dog, so extremely gay, circular in the face like a teddy bear, pawing at the side of the box.

“You like her?” Boris asks with the trepidation of new fallen snow, peering over Theo’s shoulder.

The puppy stares at him, unblinking and cherubic, and softly licks Theo’s nose. It happily lets out the shrillest bark from its tiny lungs, a sound so high-pitched it makes the bells on the tree tingle in the vaguest memory of tinnitus.

“Ah, бубенчик Popchykova!” Boris laughs.

Theo hoists the little thing up, blinking tree lights ensconsing the ball of its fuzz, an ornament-shape itself - the puppy wriggles disorganized limbs in midair, pawing innocently for warmth and closeness. Somehow smaller, more effeminate, and more annoying than his last dog. He loves her already. Round cookie-shaped eyes and a bark that splits his skull. And the name?

It fits.

#the goldfinch #boreo #popchyk borysovych decker pavlikovsky #i have a lot of feelings abt popper ok

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colliermelissa1994 · 4 years ago

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Cat Spraying Front Porch Cheap And Easy Unique Ideas

Cats should be like someone hitting you on neutering or spaying which obviously depends on your clothes try apple cider vinegar.Do you have to go in an aggressive playfulness is common among many cat repellents ranging from caves and tunnels, to towers and hammocks.A badly behaved cat may seem inconvenient, cats can access your Catnip out of reach.Another commonly used method is used to proper cat care is of vital importance that you don't want to exert control over them, they'll always manage to reach the litter box and this will lessen vocalizing and spraying.

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Video Of Female Cat Spraying

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Cat Peeing Pure Blood

Carpets present more of a cup of tepid to warm water and he would have to be on this crucial information to spare their pet cats ecstatic because this will be the responsible thing to do this is my area.Imagine being inside that box with lower urinary tract infection.Your cat digs his or her the appropriate times during the night while you prepare enough litter boxes effectivelyOur generally-docile house pets still have instinctive predator behaviors buried deep down inside.If the journey is long, you may even have vomiting or loss of appetite and enlarged lymph nodes.

Do not clean up using different products.Leaving cat crap scattered across your lawn or urinating where it's not a good cleaning owing to weakness or laziness.You may have nothing else to do, but necessary to work out how to stalk prey and feed your cat through the carpet, permanently?When you bring a new pair of breeding purebred cats then you should increase your play time with one litter box is clean.Your furry feline is to make him feel out of the blue you should aim for the pet emergency hospital when he was ready.

#Cat Spraying Front Porch Cheap And Easy Unique Ideas #Feral Cat Spray

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ginnyzero · 5 years ago

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Completely Harmless Ch. 4

Completely Harmless An SSO SilverGlade Re-imagining Story (Or Fix it Fan Salt fic) By Ginny O.

When Lily and her friends wanted to buy horses and were directed to the Silverglade Manor and its myriad of problems, they didn’t expect to start a revolution. They were just a bunch a stable girls. Completely harmless. Right?

A/N: Things are only canon if I say they’re canon. Pre-Saving the Moorland Stables compliant for the most part. Posted in its entirety on my website. Posted in 2000 to 4000 word bits here. Rated T for Swearing Word Count 177,577

Chapter Four The Dreadful Mr. Kemball

The oil rigs were camped out in the eastern portion of the paddock, and infuriatingly enough, had jumped the fence and gone into the Baroness’ stretch of absolutely useless lawns.

The girls changed their shirts in the tack room stuffing the red orange ones into their saddle bags.

“We shouldn’t let them see all of us,” Tyra murmured.

“Split up. We’re looking for horses.”

“Checking the fences,” Melody suggested.

“Oh, good one,” Regina nodded.

So, they split into three groups. Two to ride along the edge to check the fences of three each, and the main group with Tyra boldly strolling through the field towards the oil rigs to call for the ‘missing’ horses.

The oil rigs clanged and banged.

Regina shuddered. “No horse would want to get near that.”

“It’s awful,” Abigail breathed. “Look, they aren’t even being responsible. Look at the oil on the ground.”

Tyra looked grim. “Yeah.”

“Hey!” Someone shouted.

Abigail hissed. “Mr. Kemball.”

Regina nudged her. “Oh, Mr. Kemball. What are you doing here?”

Mr. Kemball glared at them. His face turned red. “None of your business. What are you doing here? This is a restricted area and off limits.”

Abigail’s lips parted slightly. “It’s a horse paddock.”

“We’re stable girls.” Regina gestured up and down at Elsa’s outfit. “Looking for lost horses.”

“Well, there aren’t any around here.”

“How do you know? Have you looked?” Abigail put her hands on her hips.

“Sorry, Mr. Kemball, but we are missing a few horses from the herd,” Tyra said without a trace of apology in her voice. “We’re going to have to look around to make sure they’re not at this end of the paddock or hurt.”

Mr. Kemball ground his teeth.

“Mr. Kemball!” One of the workers jogged up. “Mr. Kemball, there’s a group of girls,” he trailed off as he saw the group of girls standing in front of Mr. Kemball with arms crossed or hands on their hips. “Inspecting the fence,” he finished weakly.

Tyra raised a brow. “This is a working stable. Things have to be inspected.”

“I’m sure Mr. Kemball can appreciate that,” Elsa said and her voice was actually sweet.

Mr. Kemball glared at them. “You girls are up to something.”

“Yeah, looking for lost horses,” Regina said. “That’s something all right. You know, doing our jobs.”

Mr. Kemball’s eyes narrowed. “I know you girls,” he said. He peered at them. “You’re those stable girls from Moorland.”

“There are lots of stable girls in Moorland, Mr. Kemball. I mean, Jorvik has a horse based economy. There are lots of stable girls everywhere.” Regina rolled her eyes.

Mr. Kemball was about to say more.

“Tyra, Tyra!” Melody rode up. She looked livid. “You won’t believe it. These, these,” she glared at Kemball and the workers. “They’ve torn down part of the fence. The missing horses might be all the way to the Hollow Woods by now.”

Tyra’s eyes widened. “You did what!” She shouted at Mr. Kemball.

“I’m off to tell Judy and Linda.” Melody nudged her horse’s side. The horse took off at a canter.

“The Baroness will hear about this, Kemball,” Tyra grated out. “That is beyond a breech in the agreement.”

Mr. Kemball snorted. “I have the best lawyers in Jorvik.”

“You’re going to need them,” Tyra said in a low voice.

Abigail and Regina threw him a look of disgust. Elsa looked disdainful.

“Come on girls, enough chatting.” Tyra gestured. They marched off into the oil rigs.

The worker sputtered. “Aren’t you going to stop them?”

“Me? That’s your jobs,” Kemball shouted. “Go on. Make sure they don’t do anything stupid like they did back in Moorland.”

Tyra lowered her voice. “What happened in Moorland?”

Abigail answered just as quietly. “Thomas mislaid the deed to the stable. Mr. Kemball was trying to claim eminent domain or something. Like, Thomas couldn’t prove he owned the land without the deed. So, we tracked it down and made sure it got into the right hands. Kemball had to back off and close shop. The camp is in the black. Thomas just sucks at paperwork. Apparently, Catherine handled that part of it and when Mrs. Holdsworth, who was doing it as a favor, retired.”

Tyra groaned. “He didn’t hire a replacement.”

“Yep,” Regina said.

“Soo, there’s now a replacement.” Abigail rolled her eyes. “And Justin is learning to do it too.”

“Who is the replacement?”

“Loretta,” Regina chirped. “I mean, she’s a bitch, but she’s great at paperwork.”

“Plus, she wants to impress Justin,” Abigail smirked. “Lily thought it was a streak of genius.”

Tyra sputtered. “Oh, my, goddess. That’s perfect.”

“He’s a scuz,” Elsa said.

Regina bit her lip. “I have an idea.”

“Oh?” Abigail said.

“Elsa said it. He’s a scuz. So, where did Mr. Kemball get these rigs anyways?” Regina gestured.

“To know that, we’d need their numbers,” Abigail scratched her neck.

Tyra glanced behind her. “We’re being followed. If we stop to inspect the rigs, he’ll notice.”

“Then, you three provide a distraction. I’ll hang back as he follows you and get pictures. Even if the numbers are scratched off, that’s something,” Regina said.

“You watch way too many crime procedurals.” Abigail raised her brow.

Tyra nodded. “I like it though.”

Elsa spoke up. “Take pictures and text me the numbers,” she said, fingers working on her phone. “We’re going to have our distraction in,” she said. “Well, now.”

A horse whinnied and ran full out past them, one of the other girl’s from another group’s horse.

“Come back!” Grace shouted and ran after it.

“We’ll head him off!” Tyra shouted at her.

So, the three girls ran to head the horse off.

Regina ran with them, sort of. She kept an eye on the worker who was supposed to be following them around. And glanced around for the others. Once he was thoroughly distracted by the other girls, she found the number to the nearest rig, snapped a picture and texted the string to Elsa.

They weren’t really trying to catch the horse, but they herded it around the area so Regina could get pictures of every rig’s number. She texted instructions to Elsa.

“He’s gone through the fence,” Elsa shouted a few seconds later.

By now, the commotion had gathered all the workers who stood around staring as the girls chased the young stallion around. The stallion was having tons of fun.

Regina got a picture of the last one. “Done,” she texted.

Brittany sidled up over to her. “Oh, ho, ho, what have you been up to?”

“Spy shit.” Regina said. Then she got a look at Brittany. “Holy moly, Brit. You’re filthy.”

Brittany pressed her lips together. “I’m headed back to the stables. There are ducks caught in the oil. And we can’t get a good grip on them to get them out. They’re filthy and slippery and thrash about. I sent pictures to Linda. She suggested some bread and is gathering up old dirty towels for us to wrap them up into.”

“Seriously?” Regina hissed.

“There’s a vet at Silverglade.”

“Well, I know some of us are going to have to ride out to Everwind Fields and the Hollow Woods for real to check if there are any missing horses. But the rest of us can help you with the ducks.”

Brittany relaxed. “Thanks. I hate this. I hate it. There’s got to be an ethical way to do this that doesn’t hurt wildlife.”

“Of course there is, he doesn’t give a shit.” Regina wrapped her arm around Brittany.

Melody came back. “Okay, tell Tyra I’m off to Firgrove. Apparently, Felicity has some fencing they usually use for sheep to patch up the fence until we can get it fixed for realsies.”

“Whenever that is going to happen,” Regina grumbled.

“Linda was off to tell the Baroness, she’s furious.”

“Grab a transport back.”

“Oh, I planned on it,” Melody said fiercely. She rode off going for the nearest road that would lead her to Firgrove.

“I better get to Linda,” Brittany said.

“Poor girl. We’re giving her so much more to do.” Regina said.

Brittany nudged her in the side.

Regina let her go and trotted off to tell Tyra where Melody was going. It looked like there was work to do. Her fingers worked at her phone. Lily needed those pictures ASAP.

Lily felt her phone buzz. She took it out of her pocket. Her eyes widened at the sheer number of messages on it. “Woah,” she said and opened them up scroll through them. “They’re being busy. They got into a confrontation with Mr. Kemball!”

Pauline squeaked.

“Jorvik City Mall, next stop,” the speakers said.

Lily skimmed the messages and the photos. “We have stuff to show to Aaron.”

“Then he better be able to do something,” Pauline said fiercely.

The bus pulled up in front of the mall. The two got out and Lily tucked her phone away as they passed a disapproving looking janitor and headed straight for the coffee shop.

“Oh my,” Anastasia, or so Lily assumed, Silverglade said, “I haven’t seen that tired old outfit in ages.”

Lily took off her hat. She brushed her hand over her hair. “Anastasia, Anastasia Silverglade?” She managed a convincing breathy shocked sound. “Oh, oh my heavens, I’ve heard so much about you. I mean, I follow your Jorvikgram for your fashion advice. Just, just, wow, so honored.” She held out her hand. “And your dog is even more adorable in person.”

Anastasia preened and shook her hand.

“Sorry, Lily,” Lily introduced herself. “Big fan.”

“I have their drinks,” Anastasia told the owner.

“Oh, you shouldn’t. We’re here to get iced coffees for our club members,” Lily protested.

“Club?” Anastasia perked up.

“Yes, we’re, we’re based in the Silverglade Equestrian Center.” Lily said.

“We must sit down and chat, darlings,” Anastasia said. “The coffees for your friends can wait?”

“I, I guess.”

“We can order them and pick them up, in a couple hours,” Pauline said hesitantly.

“That’s an idea,” Anastasia smiled.

Lily and Pauline ordered iced coffees and then drinks to have that moment. Lily surreptitiously paid for the bigger order letting Anastasia get the smaller one. They sat at one of the café tables.

Lily smiled at her and even accepted having the dog sit in her lap. Lily didn’t mind dogs. A dog in a ballet outfit was just a tad ridiculous in her opinion. They did need Anastasia’s help though.

“So, you’re based in mother’s tired old manor house way out in the middle of nowhere exciting.” Anastasia made a slight face.

“It has potential,” Lily said trying to be optimistic. “We’d love to spruce it up, bring it into the now and, and, make it viral.”

Anastasia sighed. “I tried to tell my mother that she needed to capitalize while she could and she wouldn’t listen to me. Every place needs a brand these days.”

“You’re totally right,” Pauline said. “Everyone says that.”

Anastasia beamed at her. “And she has a brand. You can’t get any better of a brand than being a Silverglade. But she won’t do anything with it. She’s stubborn like that, you see.”

“But, the place is so beautiful,” Lily breathed. “It could be so much more with a little love.”

“Love?” Anastasia’s voice turned sharp.

Lily blinked, startled.

“Yes, love,” Anastasia wrinkled her nose. “Good luck getting that out of the old bat.”

Lily thought that the Baroness could be tired, or something. But if she made excuses for her, she might lose Anastasia. “We’re just starting out. We would love a little direction,” she leaned forward. “You must know everything.”

Anastasia leaned back and smiled. “I do.”

Lily smiled at her.

Anastasia took a sip of her coffee. “You know what you’re wearing is exactly the outfit my mother used to wear when she was young. It was her favorite. That’s why she wants the next club at her place to use it. She just won’t ever let go. I keep telling her that will be her downfall. If she is willing to bring the vinting into the future with all the machines, she needs to bring the rest of the manor into the future. It’s not like we don’t have the money.”

Lily nodded.

Pauline frowned and it was sad. “People keep leaving.”

Anastasia grimaced. “You know what my mother values above all else, loyalty. She’s probably trying to keep those positions open so they’ll return.”

“That’s crazy,” Lily sputtered. And it was, she wasn’t lying to get Anastasia’s favor.

“And if she does that, someone who is equally crazy is going to move in and just make a hash of it. Offer what they think the locals want when you want to be attracting the tourists, the fancy rich ones who will spend lots of money to stay in an inn at the quaint town of Silverglade and buy cases and cases of wine.” Anastasia waved her hand. “To fill the bars of their private homes and yachts.”

Pauline chewed her bottom lip but nodded in agreement.

“We’re just stable girls,” Lily said. “We don’t know anyone that could,” she waved a hand mimicking Anastasia.

Anastasia snorted. “She’s not going to do anything.”

“I mean, maybe, maybe if she could see it.” Pauline said. “Sometimes, it’s hard to visualize something without a little help.”

Anastasia crossed her legs and her foot bounced. “You know. That’s a good point. Plans. She likes plans.”

Lily sighed. “We’re not even sure how to introduce ourselves. We don’t want to upset her or anything.”

Pauline nodded.

Anastasia waved a hand again. It appeared to be a go to gesture. “You put in the work and she’ll like you. I won’t say she’ll love you, but she’ll tolerate having you around if you show her that to you the name of Silverglade is a priority and you’re loyal to her.”

“I know how to weed,” Lily said dubiously.

Pauline snorted. “All there is are weeds,” she said.

“But I don’t know anything about fixing pipes or planting flowers or menus,” Lily shrugged.

“And we have to take care of the stables, we can’t be bartending or cooking food,” Pauline said. “We aren’t old enough for one.”

Anastasia’s eyes gleamed a little. She was definitely thinking.

“You’re right. It is out of the way.�� Lily tilted her head. “If nothing happens, no harm done. But if it does go viral, why your name would be attached to it everywhere.”

Anastasia’s eyes definitely took a brighter gleam.

Pauline sighed. “I still have no idea what the building between the big house and the wine cave is for.”

“It could be for anything,” Lily said. “You could put a store in it or, well, it’s not big enough for a spa.” Lily looked at Anastasia. “What would you put it there to give it your special touch?” she asked and it was not an innocent question.

“Fashion, darling,” Anastasia said. “Though a spa wouldn’t be a bad idea. She’d never go for it though.” She sipped her coffee. “If you’re worried about what she’s going to think of you, take her some roses. She loves them. Iris has a wonderful shop for flowers in Aideen’s Plaza.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” Lily said. “A great idea. Thank you so much, Anastasia.” She finished her coffee. “We won’t take any more of your time.”

Pauline hastily finished her coffee too.

They both stood. Lily carefully placing the dog on the chair with a scratch behind the ears.

Anastasia nodded. “I’ll definitely be in touch.”

Lily hastily wrote her number down on the napkin and pushed it at her. “We appreciate this more than you can know.”

She and Pauline left the café and headed to the nearest tram station.

“Wow,” Lily said.

“That went a lot better than I thought.”

“Well, she is her daughter. She must miss her mother. Or want to show her up.”

“So optimistic and so cynical at the same time!” Pauline giggled.

Lily’s phone buzzed again. She took it out and checked the message. “Some specialty non-lye soap,” she frowned. She texted back a quick message. The phone buzzed. “Oh, safe for duck feathers. Poor things.”

Pauline shook her head as they boarded the tram. “Just what are they getting up to without us?”

“How do you think we should handle Aaron?” Lily asked as she settled back into the seat.

“Lie,” Pauline said blandly.

FOR THE ACCOMPANYING IMAGES PLEASE DO NOT REMOVE MY WATERMARK AND CONTACT INFORMATION. THANK YOU. I get it. Some of you might get excited and want to see this stuff in the game, especially the clothes, tack, and pets. However, the only way I want to see this in the game is if I get paid for it. If I see it in the game and I’m not paid for it, there will be hell to pay. You think I’m salty. I’d be angry. Personally, I’m not going to send this info to SSO. If you do, leave my contact information there! Don’t give them any excuses to steal.

Now, I’ll know you haven’t read this note if you leave me comments about how ‘salty’ I am about the game and if I hate it so much I should do something else. I am doing something else. It’s called Mystic Riders MMORPG Project. Mystic Riders however is a very baby phase game. You can check out our plans on the game dev blog. (Skills, Factions, Professions, Crafting, Mini-Games, 25+ horse breeds!) If you know anyone who would be interested and has money or contacts about game making, direct them to the blog.

#star stable #star stable online #sso #fanfic #star stable salt #completely harmless #silverglade reimagined #jorvik reimagined #many nods to ruth westside

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smolbiotic · 5 years ago

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Flowers and Thorns Ch. 3

The sound of her alarm going off just a few short hours after drinks with Avinthus had Molly growling out a string of curses so colourful it would have made her salty old grandfather blush. If he was still alive. She was about to slam the snooze when an awful, insistent voice in the back of her head reminded her how close she was to finishing her program and how critical her last few exams were. So instead of sinking back into sleep she stopped her hand just in the nick of time, whining into her blankets and kicking her legs like a petulant child. She wanted to sleep, damn it, but she couldn’t, so she squirmed out of bed and grabbed a quick shower, tossing a splash of peppermint oil on the wall so the smell would mix with the steam and help wake her up.

Once she felt ready to face the day Molly twisted the water off, wincing at the loud clanging in the pipes as the knob squeaked into place. She wrapped her hair up in a pink towel and slipped into a matching, fluffy robe, then padded into the kitchen to make a quick cup of instant coffee.

Okay, she smacked her cheeks to get herself into the study zone while steam bloomed from her cup, Go time.

Except it wasn’t. No matter how hard she tried to focus it felt like her eyes were sliding over the text on her datapads without actually taking any of it in. She read, re-read, then re-read again, until eventually she had to admit defeat. After tossing her studies aside she screwed up her face, drumming her fingers restlessly against the small kitchen counter she was leaning on. Normally Molly was a model student; she never procrastinated, never wasted her time, and never struggled to study or absorb knowledge. So what the hell was it with this morning?

She frowned over her coffee cup, swallowing back the instant brew like it was medicine. In a way it was medicine: it was bitter and helped energize her, making it hideously unpleasant but functional. Medicine. Bleghk. It wasn’t like her budget allowed her to splurge on real beans, though, so she accepted her miserable lot in life and sighed, setting her cup down and twisting it round and round. She felt so uncharacteristically bird brained this morning. Molly Thorne was not a bird brained woman.

Another sigh. Between sleeping in after her late night and her current lack of focus, she was beginning to suspect she wouldn’t have a chance to get out of her apartment at all. Normally on one of her rare days off she would go for a little walk around the wards after studying. It gave her an opportunity to break away from the books and let her mind process the endless formulas, dosages, and details she buried herself in.

Not today if this keeps up.

Best to make the most of her idle time, then, and use the most precious gift her family had given her since she left Earth: a priority bandwidth subscription. How they managed to afford it she had no idea, but it meant she could call and mail them whenever she wished with very little delay.

Fingers tapped across the surface of her omni until a steady ringing tone began to sound through her cramped little home. It wasn’t long before the ringing stopped and a screen she had set up on her counter flickered on, revealing the smiling faces of Heather and Lucas Thorne.

Her father’s smile twisted into a teasing frown the moment he took in her tired appearance.

“When was the last time you slept, bumblebee? You look awful.”

Heather elbowed him. Hard. Molly, however, just rolled her eyes. Apparently a simple hello was too much to ask for.

“Around the same time someone last laughed at one of your jokes, dad.”

Mock-concern flooded his expression and he gripped his chin, stroking the salt-and-pepper stubble, “That long, huh...you really should have one of you professors check you in as a patient before you drop dead.”

“You should note, my darling daughter,” Heather chimed in, “That the fact that your father is an idiot is not genetic. Thankfully your brains come from me.”

Molly grinned and watched her parents start to bicker. All in good fun, of course. They were a family that showed affection through playful jabs, and their back-and-forth was something she sorely missed.

“But really, what’s happening? It’s a little early for you to be calling us on a study day.”

She shrugged, “I can’t focus, mom. Figured I could use a dose of dad humour. I’m doing some research to see if rolling my eyes hard enough can generate study power.”

“Everyone’s a critic,” Lucas pouted and folded his arms over his chest, earning a sympathetic pat on the head from his wife.

“Don’t worry, love, we adore your humour. Having you around makes us look and feel so much better about ourselves-”

Heather was cut off by a torrent of fluttering fingers all around her sides, shrieking with laughter under her husband’s relentless assault. It was a well-known fact in the Thorne family that Heather’s greatest weakness was her ticklishness. A jab of homesickness punched Molly in the gut while she watched on, the chill in her apartment that much harder to keep out with her mood so low. She hugged her robe around herself a little more tightly. A lonely idiot who can hardly read a paragraph of text. I’m really doing my parents proud. A knock on the door interrupted her grumpy thoughts.

“Expecting company?” Molly tilted her head, narrowing her eyes at her parents’ kitchen door in the background of the vid call.

Her parents exchanged a look.

“That wasn’t our door,” Heather shrugged. Lucas was in his glee, however, and while Molly pardoned herself to answer the door, wild with curiosity, she heard him call out, “Did you make friends and forget to tell us?”

Right. Like Vinth would be knocking on her door this early. It was probably some door-to-door pyramid scheme. Molly tightened and secured the belt of her robe and pulled the towel from her head, shaking out her damp hair in a failed attempt at looking a little more presentable for the stranger at her door. There was no time to deal with the bags under her eyes or the eyesore of a scar on her lip.

When the entrance to her apartment finally slid open with a pneumatic hiss, she found herself blinking down at a very pale and very large figure crouching on the floor.

“Uh,” Vinth blinked right back up at her from where he was trying to scoop scone crumbs into a torn bag that had split open next to a very large cup of coffee, real coffee judging by the smell, “You weren’t supposed to catch me. I was going to leave this and go so I wouldn’t interrupt your studying, then uh...the bag tore after I knocked, and...Sorry?”

“Wait, is that actually a friend? Who is it? Bring ‘em in already! It’ll be a real thrill to see myth come to life!”

Molly looked from the comm screen to Vinth, whose curiosity had spiked judging by the raised brow plates.

“Vid chat with my folks,” Molly explained, running her hand a little awkwardly through her damp hair, “If you don’t come talk to my dad I’ll never hear the end of it, so please? And, er, thanks. For the coffee.”

She knelt to help him with the mess of scones, offering up an apologetic grin as she swept the crumbs into the torn bag and folded it in to prevent any more spills. He seemed hesitant, but when they were done Vinth followed her into the apartment with her coffee in one hand and a dextro drink she knew by smell and not name in the other. They barely had time for him to set down their cups before her dad was buzzing with questions.

“So who’s this? Where’d you meet my daughter? Is she giving you trouble? Let me apologize on her behalf because she hasn’t made a proper friend since she moved to the Citadel, so there’s probably just a pile of dust where her social skills should be-”

“Lucas,” that was Heather, hissing at him and driving an elbow into his ribs, “Let the poor man breathe before you interrogate him.”

To Molly’s great relief her father’s antics had Vinth chuckling instead of offending him. Confident that he could hold his own, she gave his arm a friendly pat and nodded towards her tiny bathroom.

“I’m gonna get dressed, so I’m throwing you to the wolves for a moment.”

The turian looked from her eyes down to her hands, then finally took in the fact that Molly was wearing a fluffy robe and little more, the lay of the fabric showing off ample cleavage. His plated nose scrunched.

“Yes, yes, I’ll hide the flesh sacks for your delicate turian sensibilities,” she muttered low enough so her folks couldn’t overhear. Vinth didn’t do so well at hiding his chuckle, however, and her mother cleared her throat loudly just as Molly slipped away to change.

“Now that you’re done keeping us out of the loop, love, bend down a little so we can see your face won’t you?”

Grinning at Vinth’s bumbling response while he scrambled to lean lower on the counter so her parents weren’t just staring at his torso, Molly slid the bathroom door shut behind her. She hauled on a black bra and a knitted, long-sleeved sweater dress that she had hanging on the wall, the mustard yellow colour an excellent match to the subtle red tones in her hair. Next she wiggled her way into a clean set of black panties, smoothed the wrinkles out of her dress, then grabbed a comb to pull through her hair and smooth it out .

Vinth was trying his best to answer all of her father’s questions when she joined him in the kitchen again, deftly weaving her hair into a loose braid over her shoulder. It sounded like they had moved straight from introductions to an interrogation. Typical - her parents lived to poke, prod, and tease.

“We met at, er, well-”

“Work,” Molly finished, grinning a little, “We met while I was working, but don’t worry, I already vetted the guy. For someone who kills time at a skin bar, he’s not much of a creep. Shocking, I know.”

Molly, too, lived to poke, prod, and tease.

“Spirits, Moll.”

Her grin just grew wider as she wrapped her hands around her paper cup and sipped her coffee, completely ignoring the disapproving shake of her mother’s head and her father’s snickering. Poor Vinth’s mandibles were flared open so wide it was a wonder they didn’t just fly right off, his fidgeting hands relentless enough in their worrying that the cuffs of his sleeves stood no chance. His talons had already made short work of the fabric. Poor thing had no idea what he had walked into; Molly’s parents were fairly young and her relationship with them was more akin to friendship than anything else. She was completely open with them and vice versa, which meant she didn’t hide any aspect of her life, work, or studies from them. Although she did play down just how dangerous Red Nova could be.

Vinth was probably the only part of her life she hadn’t immediately shared with them, come to think of it, but that was more due to the fact that she had spent all of her recent conversations with them babbling over how excited she was to start working at Huerta Memorial.

For Vinth’s side of things, she hadn’t really told him much about her parents or the strong friendship she had with them. Nothing in any of the conversations they had before could have prepared him for how open she could be with her folks or how they all carried on. So here they were, torturing the poor guy with their total lack of boundaries. If he could blush she was certain he’d turn a violently embarrassed hue thanks to the way she was talking.

“Please, dear, don’t mind our little bumblebee,” Heather apologized, “Her teasing is a sign of affection and we’re much too clever to think poorly of you because of her ridiculous sense of humour.”

“Y-yeah, uh, thanks?” “We can make it up to him pretty easily, dear.” The fox’s grin her father wore had Molly’s stomach dropping. She gripped her coffee cup hard enough for the lid to pop off while Vinth blinked cluelessly at her side, but before she had time to ask what he meant Lucas had already cut the video for their call. When the feed came back it was no longer her parents they were looking at, but a large picture of a very awkward and very knobby-kneed young girl smiling through a mouthful of braces from atop a handsome bay-coloured gelding.

In a matter of seconds Molly had turned a furious shade of ruby-red.

“Dad,” she whined, “Why the hell did it have to be that one?”

On top of the ridiculous braces, young Molly was sporting one of her sparkly leotards that she always wore for lessons at freak school and a healthy peppering of hormonal pimples. It had to be one of the ugliest photos they had ever taken of her, bad enough that it had Vinth buckled and sputtering with laughter against the counter. It started out as a quiet trembling then hit him with full force, forcing him to clutch his waist with one hand and the counter with the other, all while gasping for air.

“What?” her father asked, feigning innocence, “It’s a good photo! You were so happy when we brought Chester home to you, just look at that smile!”

“What smile?” Vinth chimed in breathlessly, “All I see is a mouth full of metal.”

All three of them fell into fits of laughter, leaving Molly standing there with a crooked scowl on her face.

“You’re lucky you brought me coffee, snowball,” she huffed, or I’d blast your ass with a singularity.”

“Wait, what? You’re a biotic?”

Curiosity cut his laughter short and left Molly with a smug little smirk, at least until her mother finally added her two cents.

“Don’t worry, love. She’s just barely biotic, and definitely not strong enough to create a singularity.”

“Strong enough to knock him on his ass, though,” Molly grumbled, knowing without even looking at him that her turian friend was far from intimidated. She could hear him chuckling again.

The picture on the comm screen was switched out for a home video of her playing with spaghetti and meatballs as a toddler. She groaned while her mother’s cooing voice sounded softly in the background of the vid. Vinth was captivated, yet more chuckles rolling out of his wide chest every time little Molly squished a meatball in her tiny hands.

“And this is our little bumblebee when she was about three,” Heather informed them all, “Wasn’t she just the cutest?”

“Really, mom, what’s to stop me from hanging up on you right now?”

“You’d never hang up on your mother.” Shit. It was true. Molly would never, no matter what happened between them, hang up on either one of her parents. Her threat was completely empty, even when the comm screen flickered back to reveal both of her parents looking like the cat who got the cream. All she could do was cross her arms over her chest and huff. She wanted to keep grumbling at them but Avinthus had finally relaxed next to her, no worrying his cuffs and no nittering subvocals. How could she be mad when a bit of laughter at her expense helped break the ice? I’m far too magnanimous.

“So what’s with the bumblebee thing?” icy blue eyes moved from the comm screen to fix Molly with a curious look, his brow plates raising slightly, “Isn’t that some sort of earth bug?” “It certainly is, love. Has Molly told you what I do for a living?” When Vinth shook his head, Heather took that as an invitation to keep talking. Lucas, for once, kept quiet at her side, stroking his scruffy chin. “I’m a botanist with a focus in palynology. My parents were farmers and when they passed they left us their land,” she faltered for a moment and Lucas reached over to squeeze her shoulder. After a steadying breath she continued, “I turned it into a playground for research, and it became a real playground when Molly came into the picture. From the minute she started walking she’d toddle around from flower to flower, making sure to sniff each and every one. If we didn’t pull her inside she’d probably fall asleep in the dirt every night.” Funny. Heather was the one talking to Vinth, but Molly could feel Vinth’s eyes on her. Again she had that feeling that he was staring straight into her, and it took a moment for her to work up the nerve to look back at him. For a guy with such a soft personality, his eyes were unsettling in how intense they were. She felt gooseflesh raise on her skin, far too aware of how close they were standing and how much heat was rolling off of him, chasing away the chill in the air. “So we started calling her bumblebee,” Lucas finished, pulling both Vinth and Molly’s attention back to the screen, “Because bees...well, they bumble from flower to flower, collecting nectar and spreading pollen.” For the cherry on the cake of this conversation, Heather and Lucas were once more replaced by a home vid of Molly. This was another toddler video, one where she was buck naked and stomping around in the dirt sniffing every flower she could reach. “Hey Moll?” Vinth’s gaze was fixed on the screen, his voice low enough to keep her parents from overhearing. She tensed, the low rumbling of his voice freezing her for a moment. “Hm?” she managed to reply, hugging her arms. “You’re never living this down, you know.” Hell. She could hear the smirk in his voice, and when she turned to face him the sidelong glance he cast in her direction with that obnoxious twinkle in his eyes confirmed it. “Laugh it up, snowball.” Her folks caught that one. “Aw, bumblebee, did we embarrass you? I’m so sorry, dear.” “Uh-huh. Thanks mom, you sound truly sincere.” “Anything for you, darling,” Heather chuckled as the screen cut back to her and Lucas’ comm screen, “But we’re going to have to let you go now so we can get ready.” Molly’s head tilted to the side. Ready..? “Oh! Book signing! Dad wrote a book, now he gets to sign copies and talk to his adoring public. Right.” “Yeah, yeah, Citadel girl,” her dad pouted, “Too busy and important to remember major milestones in your father’s life, I understand.” “Riiiight, it’s a major milestone. And how many other signings have you done this year?” “Alright, alright, go on with your day, space girl.” “Goodbye bumblebee, Avinthus. Have a lovely day,” Heather slipped in with a soft smile before the comm feed flickered out. Silence stretched between the two of them for a few long moments until the snowball’s ridiculous trembling started up again. Three, two… And there was the laughter. Manic, belly-clenching laughter that forced the massive lug to fall back against the counter and slide down the cupboards. It was obnoxious just how much he was enjoying the small peek he had into the life and times of Molly Thorne. All she could do was sip her coffee and ride it out, rolling her eyes at the very large turian having fits on her apartment floor. When he finally seemed to have it out of his system she reached a foot up to his shoulder and pushed him. Or tried to push him, rather, as he was exceptionally solid and heavy. Vinth finally came to his senses and he blinked up at her, a hand still hanging slack on his stomach. She was standing with one foot perched on his shoulder and her hands on her hips, an impressive scowl set into her otherwise soft features. For a moment she thought she had him feeling intimidated thanks to the way he whipped his head around to stare at the floor, but then she realized exactly what sort of view her current position was giving him. “Oops,” she dropped her foot to the floor and smoothed her dress, flushing slightly, “Sorry, big guy.” “I came to drop off coffee and leave,” he grumbled, the light and easy subvocals filling her apartment betraying his feigned sourness, “But I wound up coming in here for ten minutes and somehow shaving five years off my life.” Molly couldn’t stop the grin that twitched to life in the corners of her lips. She grabbed her coffee and Vinth’s untouched drink off the counter before joining him on the floor, leaning her back against his arm. He grabbed his drink from her and they both took a moment to sip in silence. “Are all your conversations with your parents like that?” Molly polished off her coffee and reached up to put the cup back on the counter, harrumphing when she realized her arms were too short and her ribs were still too sore to stretch easily. True to form, Vinth chuckled at her struggle and laid his drink down so he could take her cup from her, laying it on the counter above them with ease. “Pretty much, yeah,” she watched his hand travel up with her paper cup and fall back down by his side, “Rush straight into the jabs, no hellos, trade some stories, sometimes Chester pokes his head through the kitchen door, then a goodbye. And I could have gotten that back on the counter by myself, you know.” “Chester? Wasn’t that the animal you were sitting on in that picture? And I’m sure you could have reached...if you stood up.” “Yes, Chester, and he’s not just some animal, he’s a horse. A handsome one. He hangs around the house sometimes and if he hears me on the comms he comes running. I miss him.” “You miss him? But he’s an animal-”

“Horse,” she reiterated with what was meant to be a sharp elbow to the gut. Instead she missed and wound up cracking her elbow off his carapace and cursing, “Aaagh, damned carapace! And I totally could have reached it on my own without standing up.” “How do you manage being so graceful on stage when you’re so clumsy, bumblebee?” “Why did I let you in my apartment again?” “I brought you coffee, then you told me I had to come in to appease your parents. You said please.” “Huh. You’re right.” Molly wiggled to the side and let herself fall back on Vinth’s chest instead of his arm, turning him into her own personal recliner. It wasn’t lost on her how quickly she had gone from not trusting him to using him as furniture, but she wasn’t about to dwell on it. Talking to her parents had her missing home, missing a place where she was surrounded by love and friends and the kind of people who let you lounge on them without question. She was homesick after that call, like she was after every call to her folks, but this time it was hitting her harder than normal. Back on Earth when she was down she’d cuddle up with her mom and watch old vids, the kind of vids you had to access through museums, the kind that were shot on black and white film before humanity had ever reached the moon. Throwing herself on Vinth was no Casablanca night in the Thorne house, but she could at least admit that it was nice not to be on her own. It was certainly better than sitting in her chilly apartment and stewing on the fact that she couldn’t focus on her studies with finals just around the corner. “Ah, Moll?” Vinth sounded a little off, a little uncomfortable, concerned, or some mixture of the two. He was tense, too, but that was no surprise considering how she had just invaded his personal space. “Hm?” She could feel his breath skimming over the top of her head, warming her scalp and making her want to squirm. He had very warm breath. “You...doing okay? You don’t seem yourself.” Molly could feel how uneasy he was, could see the way his hands fidgeted before he dropped them. She realized that he was probably trying to worry the cuffs of his sleeves, but stopped when he realized that meant he’d be wrapping his arms around her. A part of her she was all too eager to leave in the dark was disappointed that he hadn’t. “You mean I don’t seem myself because I’m leaning on you and I’m not acting like there’s a big chip on my shoulder?” He made an affirmative whirring tone, a low sound that she could feel ringing through his carapace. “This is who I am when my guard’s down, snowball, so if you don’t like it I suggest running,” she sighed and drew her knees up to hug them close to her chest, “Besides, my family and all the people who care about me are about fifty thousand lightyears away right now. Let me sook without judgment, please.” “Well…” “Well what?” “Not all of the people,” he said quietly, and she heard him picking his cup up again. “What?” A long pause stretched between them with Vinth’s subvocals shifting up and down in a pattern that her ignorant ears simply couldn’t decipher. They were easier to feel than to hear, and understanding them? She might figure that out after one lifetime. “Not all the people who care about you are lightyears away.” His words were so quiet she almost missed them, so soft she felt her breath catch in her throat. It was disarming the way his voice could elicit such strong reactions from her. How long had it been since someone spoken to her like that? “I mean, well, there’s Len and-” “I get it, Vinth. Don’t ruin the moment.” She didn’t have to say it again. This time the lull in conversation was a comfortable one, leaving them in “silence but for the presence of turian subvocals. Molly was so comfortable, in fact, that she felt her eyes growing heavy the moment she adjusted herself into a comfortable position against Vinth’s rigid carapace. It wasn’t surprising considering how late they had both stayed up and how early their day started.

The big lug of a turian must have been feeling it too. He hardly tensed when she turned onto her side and grabbed his arm, hugging it to her chest like it was some sort of teddy. Instead a sound she had never heard from him began to rumble deep in his chest. It was almost as if he was purring, a melodic sort of purr that sounded like a blend of avian and feline sounds. She could feel his carapace rumbling, could feel herself relaxing, and just like that something clicked into place. “Huh,” she drew her wrist towards herself, startling Vinth as the motion jostled his arm. A few quick taps on her omni and a sea of notes, formulas, and diagrams was projected before her. “Bright,” complained the sleepy turian, his alien purring cut short by her fidgeting, “Studying?” “Yeah,” her answer came just as she lowered the brightness of her omni’s display, “I couldn’t focus at all before I called my folks, couldn’t take anything in no matter how much I stared at my notes. I actually took a break.” The disbelieving huff from her companion had Molly rolling her eyes. “The call was the break. I can take breaks.” “Yeah. The defensive tone is really convincing.” “You can either stuff it and let me study or you can leave, snowball.” A grin twisted itself into place on her lips when Vinth kept his mouth shut and he grumbled low in his chest. She adjusted her position slightly so she could comfortably scroll through her notes, a little surprised that laying back on a guy with a carapace and rigid plates could be comfortable at all. Once she was settled, the world and everything in it melted away so that all Molly could see was a steady stream of notes and pictures. It felt good to finally be back in a normal study rhythm, even if it did require what amounted to a large, snowy-white body pillow with a hell of a lot of spikes.

She lost track of how many hours passed like that. Molly Thorne’s focus was laser-sharp and unbreakable in the right setting. In the quiet chill of her apartment, with Vinth acting as a heat source and the bustle of the ward outside creating the perfect white noise, she was in her element. It wasn’t until she had cleared through the chapters she had assigned herself to study that reality began slipping through to remind her of the basic necessities she required. Hunger was at the top of that list. Her stomach let out a loud, demanding growl, convincing her to swipe away her notes and throw in the towel for the day. Avinthus was still sleeping soundly and she was briefly tempted to join him in his napping, but her stomach growled again and she knew it was time to get up. There was no rush, though. She took a moment to close her eyes and let her head sink back into the warm crook of the sleeping turian’s shoulder, soaking in a moment of quiet peace with a deep breath. She never noticed it before, but Vinth had a surprisingly lovely scent, one that reminded her of churned soil after a rainfall. There was a slight hint of something metallic there too, and it took more self control than she cared to admit to stop herself from burying her face in his shoulder just to inhale and appreciate the way he smelled. Enough of that, now, she mentally kicked herself. Slowly, so as not to startle him awake, Molly slipped away and returned Vinth’s large and very muscular arm to his side. Now all she had to do was figure out how she was going to wake him, which was actually a very difficult situation to find herself in. After all, she could go for the high road and wake him gently, maybe by reheating the drink that was still in his hand, untouched and miraculously upright. Or she could be an absolute brat and wake him with loud music, or by dipping his hands in warm water.

Nah, that would be too far. Crossing her legs and pulling her dress down to make sure everything was covered, Molly sat on the floor in front of Vinth and stared up at his sleeping face. Up, because even while he was slouched over and asleep the guy dwarfed her. He was just so tall. Grey eyes swept over the sleeping turian and she had to chew her lips to keep from smiling. He looked like a different person while he slept, so serene and so still. There was no bumbling, no nervous fidgeting or restless drumming of his talons, just the steady rise and fall of his chest while he breathed. Before she realized what she was doing Molly reached up and brushed a finger over his face. Despite the body heat the guy radiated, the plates that covered his face felt slightly cool. There was a slight blue cast to them, too, if she tilted her head in the right direction. She knew there would be, of course, but she had never really paid attention to the reflective quality of his plated skin before. The hints of blue and violet were striking, a welcome burst of colour in his otherwise monochromatic look. He cut an impressive figure, that Avinthus Flos. Molly rested a small hand on the side of his face and watched his eyes flutter beneath closed lids as he began, very slowly, to wake. A slow smile curved its way into her soft features, round grey eyes crinkling in the corners just as Vinth began to blink awake. She swept a thumb across a plated cheek before pulling her hand back, realizing too late that he was already aware enough to realize what she was doing before she withdrew. “Morning, sleepy,” she laughed a little awkwardly, “Life for the unemployed must be really doing a number on you, hm?”

“Huh - what?”

Avinthus attempted to straighten his posture and get his bearings, too groggy to fully process what she had said. He moved his hand to touch the warm spot where her hand had been resting. More specifically, he moved the hand that had been holding his drink the entire time he slept, which meant that it was no longer miraculously upright.

“Shit!” Cold, indigo liquid with a slightly sweet scent began soaking its way through Vinth’s blue-grey pants. He cursed and started scrambling, looking for something to mop it up. Shaking her head, Molly hopped to her feet and grabbed a dish towel from her counter, tossing it down at her friend. “This is the truth at the bottom of your mystery, isn’t it?” she asked, completely deadpan, “You were kicked out of the military because you’re a disaster, right? At least tell me you didn’t spill anything on your commanding officer.”

“You’re exactly right,” Vinth let out a flanging sigh, “I was kicked out of the military because I’m a disaster. A disaster who spilled caldulsi on his commanding officer. Good guess, bumblebee.”

Bah! Bumblebee my ass.

It didn’t seem right that the guy dabbing his drink off his pants still seemed to have the upper hand, and in her apartment, no less. She had forgotten just how easily one could weaponize the bumblebee stories. With a haughty huff she leaned back against the counter and started running her fingers through her now-dry hair. “I’m not living that down any time soon, am I?” “Spirits, no,” Vinth pushed himself up off the floor and moved to her sink, twisting on the water to soak the dish cloth, “I’ve got at least a year’s worth of material today and I plan on using it until it turns to dust.” “Don’t worry about the cloth,” she reached over him and turned off the water, pulling the cloth out of his hands to wring it dry, “You should be more concerned about your clothes, there, mystery man. That’s a pretty ugly stain.” Vinth looked down at his clothes and grumbled, leaning back against the counter, bracing his weight on his hands. “Yeah. Caldulsi is delicious, but...ah, shit.” “Language, language.” Whatever Vinth was going to bounce back with was cut off by Molly’s growling stomach. He looked from her waist to her round, deceptively sweet face and the raised plates above his brows smacked of a smirk. “Hungry?” “No, auditioning for a play. I’m learning to throw my voice.” “Well consider me impressed. I can take off if you want, let you get back to studying and feeding your,” he looked her up and down pointedly, feigning snooty judgment, “thrown voice.” Molly leaned forward a little, her hair falling around her in long curtains, and arched a brow at her massively tall friend. “You’re going to go out with a big blue stain on your crotch?” she smirked, her tone admonishing, “Or you’re going to hear me out?” Vinth looked down at the gargantuan stain, then folded his arms to await her proposal. “I figure it’s only fair for me to pay you back for the coffee and for your part time work as furniture while I studied,” she shrugged, “And I was sentimental when I left Earth, so I have a couple of my dad’s shirts here with me you can wear. Plus I have a pair of harem pants that’ll fit you. I’ll wash your clothes so they don’t stain permanently, order food in, and then we can watch a vid?” He regarded her for a moment, mandibles flicking as he sifted through his thoughts and finally conceded. Taloned hands fell away from her counter and poked at the wet spot on his shirt. “If you don’t need to keep studying then sure, yeah,” he shrugged, “But I’m washing my own clothes. Just tell me where to go.” Molly’s brow arched again, this time more in amusement than anything else. She, too, shrugged, then knelt by her cot to fish through the suitcase that held her clothes. After a few minutes of searching, she pulled out one of her dad’s old, loose t-shirts that was big enough to fit Vinth and his broad chest, shoulders, and carapace. It had been one of her dad’s too-large work shirts that he’d worn around the garden once or twice before her mother ripped it off of him and shoved something that fit in his hands. The mottled blue fabric featured a very cheerful cartoon dolphin, which made a truly stunning ensemble when paired when her soft, black harem pants. She tossed them at Vinth, whose mandibles practically vibrated when he stared down at them. Molly snorted. “You can get changed in the bathroom.” The sound Vinth made in the back of his throat when he trudged off was pretty indicative of how he felt about the outfit she’d put together for him. “Still want to bring your clothes to the laundry room? It’s on the first floor.”

When he emerged from the bathroom his subvocals were thrumming with irritation, dolphin t-shirt hanging loose on his carapace and the long, sleek horns on his legs creating a fascinating silhouette with the harem pants that were far too short and left his calves exposed. “This,” he grumbled, “Was payback, wasn’t it?” Two wide, grey eyes blinked twice, three times, and once more before Molly started shrieking with laughter. “That,” she coughed out between fits, “Was not the intention. But wow. Wow. I really came out of this in first place didn’t I?” “Agh.” He tossed his clothes at her and she caught them, her demeanour shifting gears quickly. She closed the small distance between them, hands on her hips, and scowled up at him. “Do I look like a maid service? Where do you get off throwing your dirty clothes at me?” He started sputtering until she smirked at him and bounced towards the door. “Gotcha,” she chirped, “I’ll be back in a couple of minutes. Order whatever you’d like and make yourself comfortable, I’ll set up the screen when I get back.” Miraculously there was a vacant two-in-one washer/dryer when she got to the laundry room on the first floor, and better yet there was nobody else from her building there, which meant no forced small talk or awkward silence to contend with. When she got back to her apartment Vinth was sitting on her cot, scrolling through menus on his omnitool. “Remind me why I’m here again,” he grumbled as he confirmed his order and swiped away the display. “Hey, if you recall I resisted your company very strongly,” she shot back as she flopped onto the cot beside Vinth, leaning against him as she made her own food order on her omni, “So this is all on you.” “Not the first bad call I’ve ever made,” he sighed, “Maybe the worst one, though. What is on this shirt?” “Why that’s Dappy the Dolphin,” Molly giggled as her grumpy turian companion shoved her off of him. She fell back on the cot with a bounce before continuing, “And I have to say, his blues really match the stark white thing you have going for you. It’s really quite fetching. Mind if I take a holo-” Vinth cut her off by covering her mouth with a very large, taloned hand and sighing. He fixed her with a tired look until she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively at him, which inspired a very amusing turn of events.

First: his brow plates dropped as the confusion set in, since he was clueless as to what her wiggling brows implied. Then when he moved his hand away, Molly tilted her head to one side and said, “So kinky.”

When he finally realized that that was what she had been getting at, Vinth jumped to his feet. He started apologizing and babbling about how that wasn’t what he had meant, that he was just trying to get her to stop teasing him incessantly and he thought he was being funny. Then, at some point during his worried pacing, the horns on his legs managed to rip clean through her comfy pants. That started the whole process of panicking and apologizing all over. He paced until he tired himself out and finally sunk back down on the cot, burying his face in his hands while Molly looked on and did her best not to burst out laughing at him. She figured he finally earned a break from her relentless prodding. “Okay, okay,” she chuckled, scooting back in the cot until she was leaning against the wall, “I’m done. For now.” Her grin faltered as Vinth turned around to fix her with a very ‘you better be’ sort of look. For a moment she was afraid she was going to burst into laughter at his ridiculous outfit again, but instead she found herself completely pinned in place when his gaze caught hers. She stared back at him, transfixed, as what was meant to be a levelling glare shifted into something she couldn’t quite place. Molly felt her chest pounding the longer she looked into Vinth’s icy, intense eyes, then felt her breath catch when he leaned in close to her. The scent of soil after a rainfall flooded her senses, made her cheeks turn pink. “Look, I have to tell-” Whatever he was going to say was cut short by a shrill, pulsing bell tone that cut through the tension to alert Molly to an incoming call. Startled out of her momentary entrancement, she tapped the screen of her omni to answer the call, lips turning down into a worried frown. It was Valla, and Valla never called her. “Hey Moll,” her voice was hoarse. Had she been crying?

“I know this was supposed to be a free day for you to study, but we need you tonight if you can work.” Exchanging confused glances with Vinth (since she forgot her omni was still linked up with the speakers on her comm screen and he could hear the conversation), she rubbed the back of her head and said, “Yeah, of course I can work, but what’s up?” “It’s Leore, she...she can’t work tonight,” the asari’s words were quiet, choked. Valla never got choked up, never sounded so...small. Worry pounded through Molly’s chest like a peal of thunder, “She can’t work for a while, actually, but she had a few big tables booked for tonight. The other girls can cover them if you come work the silks for a shift..” There was something she wasn’t saying, something dark and horrible hidden in between the lines of what Valla was asking her. The silks were meant to break up the raunchy performances, like a palate-cleanser. It was what she did to give the crowd something to look at while Red Nova staff cleaned the stage, something that was tame enough to keep them from getting rowdy but captivating enough to keep them entertained. Molly’s brows furrowed and she sat up straight, as if better posture could somehow make the situation a little less foreboding.

“You know I’ll help out however I can, Valla, but is Leore okay? She wouldn’t miss work, especially not a few nights in a row. What’s going on?” There was a long, horrible silence before Valla spoke. When she did, her voice broke in a way Molly had never heard before. “It was Briggs,” came the shaky response, “He was tearing through the place in a rage on his way to his office...Moll, you have to be alert when you come in. Keep away from him.”

Vinth leapt off the cot and started pacing, his subvocals flooding the room with a steady and heated droning. He was mad, really mad, but if he didn’t get a grip then there was a good chance that Valla would figure out Molly wasn’t alone and she wouldn’t want to share anything about Briggs with an outsider. She’d see it as too much of a risk. So Molly caught the restless turian’s eye and glared a warning. He paused, his eyes burning, but he knew just as well as she did that without the right tech to block it, turian subvocals at certain frequencies could be picked up by comms. They’d sound like feedback, sure, but Valla was smart as a whip and had lived on the Citadel long enough to be suspicious of comm feedback. “What happened, Valla,” Molly demanded once Vinth got his temper under control. She was trying desperately to ignore the fear that was creeping through her veins like ice, her fingertips pressed lightly against her neck as she recalled her last run-in with Briggs. Valla had kept a level head that night. Valla always kept a level head. Hearing her sound so afraid was beyond troubling. “L-Leore came in early because she left her necklace behind after her shift last night,” Valla explained, her voice quiet, “It was the one her father gave her when he was still alive so she was in a panic without it. She ran into Briggs on her way in, and- and another one of his deals was busted, Moll. I think there’s something more happening that he’s keeping to himself, because he’s gotten so paranoid. He won’t even clue in the thugs he’s always got flanking him. And, well, Moll is new, which to him means she’s suspect. So when he saw her...

“Moll, he beat her bad. Really bad. His guys had to pull him off of her, and her face...her- her face is just-” There was a loud sob, then another as Valla struggled to keep herself together. Vinth was pacing, his mandibles flared and his jaw hanging open, showing off his teeth. He was like a snarling beast pacing its cage, waiting to be set upon unsuspecting prey. She held up a hand, pleading once more for him to keep quiet when she heard a predatory rumbling in his chest. It took a few moments, but eventually he conceded. “Valla?” A deep breath sounded from the speakers, followed by a soft apology. “We don’t know if she’ll even make it, Moll, but one of Briggs’ guys brought her to a doctor they trust. One who’s under the LT’s thumb, and I don’t know what that means for her. I don’t know how to help her and it’s tearing me apart.” Molly opened her mouth to speak, to offer some sort of comfort, but Valla cut her off. “And look, I’m sorry,” the asari’s voice sounded tortured, “I’m sorry I’m asking you to come in with all this going on. You should be staying as far away from this place as you can. You’re so close to starting a real career, you’re so close to being free of this pit, but… well, we need you. He’s been going through the books, combing through everything to try to find some sort of clue as to who it is that’s spilling all his secrets. He’ll see the cancellations and go nuts from losing that much money. Every deal that gets busted costs him money, people, and trust. So just for tonight, Moll, please. If we start losing money, too, goddess knows what he’ll do to us. Just tonight, and then we’ll figure something out for you.” Fuck. It was a lot to take in. Her eyes stung and tears were starting to well. Poor Leore was the sweetest girl in that place. She was lovely and soft-hearted...fuck, she deserved better, but like every other girl dancing in Red Nova her options had been too limited and she was stuck as one of Briggs’ girls. And then there was Briggs himself, more violent and unstable than ever. Going to Nova would be like walking into a den of angry mutant varren, but if staying home meant putting Valla or anyone else at risk, then what could she do? She would never be able to live with herself if anything else happened to someone at Nova who didn’t deserve it. Molly looked up at Vinth, who knew what she was going to say before she opened her mouth. He looked as though he was about to argue with her but she held out her hand to silence him. His jaw snapped shut and he looked away sharply, skirting a hand along a hip before clenching it into a fist. It wasn’t lost on Molly that his hand had moved as though he was expecting to find a pistol on his hip. “I’ll be in. Just name a time.” There was a long pause before Valla sighed and said, “A part of me was hoping you’d hang up and never show your face here again. But, well...thanks, Moll. This means everything to us.” “Of course, V,” replied Molly, “If it means keeping the heat off of you guys, I’ll do anything to help.” Another muffled sob came through the speakers before Valla continued and said, “We’ll need you a little later this evening, just be ready to start at 1900 and be careful. I’ll try to have someone meet you at the entrance, and if we’re lucky that stalker of yours will show, too. I’m sure he’d shred someone to ribbons if they tried to lay a hand on you. He has that ‘I’ve killed before and I’ll do it again’ look to him. Find me as soon as you’re here.” The call disconnected after a brief but emotional goodbye and Molly sunk back against the wall, her skin numb and her heart thundering. She was terrified. For Leore, for the girls, for Valla, and for herself. What the hell was she thinking, agreeing to work on a night when she knew Briggs would be on a murderous rampage? She had already pissed him off once, had already gotten herself on his shit list. So why did she feel so compelled to do the right thing? Why couldn’t she just play coward and hide away? “You can’t go.” She looked up at Vinth, knowing full well that she was wearing her terror on her sleeve and that he could see it plain as day. Hell, her fingertips were still pressed against her throat. He’d have to be blind to miss the signs. “He’s a monster, Moll,” he snarled, pacing back and forth again, “A sick and twisted psychopath. You can’t go in, I don’t care if they need you-”

“I do.” He froze where he stood, hands curled into fists as he stared down at her, trying to suss out the right thing to say. The buzzing presence of his subvocals filled the silence, indecipherable but incessant nonetheless. “I care if they need me,” she continued, hugging her knees close to her chest and doing her best to put on a brave face from her seat on the cot, “I know it’s crazy to consider going in, and I don’t want to go, but I’ve known Valla since I first moved to the Citadel and I’ve known most of the girls there just as long. They’ve all helped me get to where I am now. Sick calls, switching shifts, covering my tables whenever I panicked about an exam so I could go home early to rest or study. That is the foundation I’m building my career, hell, the rest of my life on. I owe them every bit of success I’ll ever have, and I’m going to go to work tonight to make sure I don’t get another call tomorrow telling me that Briggs has beat someone else I care about bloody. “Fuck.” He hissed between his teeth, subvocals charging the air in her apartment with anxious energy. Molly watched as her furious companion leaned over her counter, gripping it hard so he could force himself to keep still, his talons scratching into the finish. “I know I can’t tell you what to do, but I hate this,” he continued, staring hard at the blank comm screen with his mandibles wide open and showing off rows of sharp teeth once more, “I hate knowing you’re going to walk in there with that fucking lunatic, Moll. I could do something, I could-” “That makes two of us,” she cut him off, her words infused with a bitter laugh. She sounded as miserable as she looked with her tears finally spilling over and soaking her cheeks, “I hate it just as much as you.” “It’s not funny-” His voice was raised when he whipped around to face her and tell her off, but he lost his steam when he saw her crying. The fight left him with each breath he took until his mouth and mandibles eased shut and his shoulders sagged. Looking at him like that, seeing him so utterly defeated made her feel like a cold fist was clamped around her heart. “Shit Moll, I’m sorry,” said Vinth finally, his voice soft, “I just...I don’t what I’d do if he got his hands on you again, if he-” He cut himself off again when fresh, hot tears slid down her cheeks and she balled her fists so tightly her knuckles turned white. She was scared, so she turned her head away and stared hard at one of her potted plants. Molly could feel the intensity of his gaze cutting into her, could sense his worry and the hungry way he was searching for a way to fix things. It made her want to hide. Quietly, with her voice shaking, said asked him, “Are you going again tonight?” “You couldn’t keep me away if you tried,” came his growling response. She finally looked back at him and offered a weak thanks by way of a frail smile. She was terrified, yes, but knowing he would be close by made her feel a little better at least. For a moment she felt the weight on her chest ease off, but then she thought about Leore and it crashed down again. “She’ll make it, Moll,” Vinth closed the gap between the counter and the cot in one stride, sitting down on the edge and wringing his hands in lieu of worrying his cuffs since her father’s shirt left his arms bare. Her gaze traced over every inch of his arms. They were long and muscular, the snowy-white hide peppered with blue and purple scars. Many of the scars she recognized from the rounds she’d tagged along for in her program. There were gunshot wounds, knife wounds, varren bites and gouges that only turian claws could cause. How had she not noticed it when he first put on the shirt? With long sleeves on, Vinth had always appeared so pristine, so untouchable. Yet there he was, a veritable encyclopedia of battle wounds proving that even one as large and as strong as he was could never truly be invulnerable. So then what chance did a sweet girl like Leore have at surviving Briggs’ wrath? A pitiful sound escaped the back of Molly’s throat and Vinth’s hand moved to one of her balled fists. He grabbed hold and tugged her gently towards him. At first she resisted, afraid that if she moved she might fall apart. When he tugged again she looked up at him and trembled at what she saw. There was a powerful anguish there, a misery that had her coming undone, so she caved and let him pull her into his arms. And just like that the seal was broken. She didn’t have to shoulder this alone, didn’t have to put on a brave face or force herself to stay level-headed for once. Vinth was practically inviting her to let it all out and lean on him both literally and figuratively, and that was all it took for her to bury herself in him. She gripped the low edge of his cowl on one side of his keel bone while she pressed her face against the backs of her hands and sobbed. Avinthus, sweet and bumbling Avinthus, just held her while she fell apart and that strange melodic purring started rolling through chest again. His cowl acted almost like an echo chamber for the sounds he made, something she hadn’t noticed before, and the more she focused on it the easier it became to breathe and steady herself. She could feel the way it rumbled through his carapace, reminding her of the barn cats that skulked around her family’s farmland back on Earth, the ones who eventually warmed up to her and would curl up and purr in her lap. They stayed like that for a while, until a little alarm tone sounded in Molly’s omni to remind them that Vinth’s clothes were ready. She pushed away from him, drying her cheeks with her sleeves so she could head back down to grab his things until he insisted he could grab them himself. “But the clothes you’re wearing,” she reminded him, her voice straining around the lump in her throat, “If someone sees you-” “Then they’ll notice how the blues really match the stark white thing I’ve got going for me,” he reminded her gently, “I’ll be back in a minute.” It took him a moment to finally release her so he could head downstairs. When he did, he had to gingerly pluck each one of her fingers from his cowl to get free. She watched him do it, partly because she was in shock and partly because forcing him to move her hands meant delaying the moment he left her alone. Vinth must have had his own apprehensions about leaving her, too, because when he finally moved her hands from the ridge of his cowl to her own lap, he hesitated. Bleary grey eyes blinked up at him when he reached his hands towards her face and chased her tears away with the rounded backs of his talons. Molly whimpered and looked away, snatching one of his hands and squeezing it, trying not to think about the scars that she felt in his rough skin. “Thank you,” was all she could manage before releasing him and watching him head out the door. Alone once more in her apartment, Molly’s stomach churned and her mind raced through all of the horrible things happening at Red Nova. It wasn’t the first time things had taken a dark turn there, but out of everything that had happened during her last five years on the Citadel, this was by far the worst of it. It took every shred of willpower she had to keep herself from spiralling into panic again, and the moment she heard a knock at the door relief washed over her. She tapped her omni and the doors hissed open, revealing Vinth balancing an armful of takeout, his clothes hanging from the crook of his elbow. “I ran into both our delivery guys on the way back up,” he explained, stepping in and dropping the food on the counter, “I know you’re probably not feeling too hungry, but at least try to eat. Please. Even a weak biotic shouldn’t go this long without food.” She nodded and watched as he disappeared into the bathroom, noting that the front of the Dappy tee was completely soaked with tears. All she could think was that he must have been humiliated facing two complete strangers dressed in the clothes she had given him. A wave of guilt crashed through her.

Finally Molly got off of her cot, but instead of heading to the food she headed to the bathroom, crashing into Vinth’s chest with a fierce hug the moment the door opened. “I’m sorry,” her voice was muffled from the way she had her face squashed into his carapace, the slightly floral perfume of detergent mingling with his own scent and tickling her nose, “I was an ass when we met and I’ve been an ass all day. I was relentless, like I was making up for years of having no friends to tease. I’m so sorry, Vinth, I really am. My dad was right about my social skills. I promise I’ll-” Two very strong hands gripped her shoulders and pushed her back. Vinth held her in front of him, his piercing blue eyes fixed on her once more, but this time she had to look away. She felt so awful about how incessantly she had picked on him when all he had tried to do was bring her some bloody coffee. “If I accept your apology will you stop beating yourself up?” She looked back up at him for a moment before nodding weakly and wrapping her arms around herself. “All is forgiven then,” he released her shoulders and stepped around her to reach the food, grabbing a container from her order and putting it in her hands, “You really should eat, then get some more sleep before you go to Nova. But, Moll…” She looked up at him, drinking in the intense eyes and the flicking mandibles. She suspected he was about to insist she reconsider her choice and felt herself getting defensive. “I’m not going to fight you on this, Moll,” he finally said, much to her surprise, “Spirits, I want to, but I know there’s no point. And to be honest? I admire the way you’re looking out for the people you work with. Just...be careful. Be careful and call if anything happens. I’ll make sure to be close by when you’re working, so call and when I see your number I’ll come find you.”

“I will, Vinth,” Molly popped open the food container and stared down at steaming, delicious noodles and veggies and wished she could work up an appetite. Her traitorous stomach was lurching just looking at it, enough so that she had to set the container down and sigh.

“Thanks,” she added, “For looking out for me I mean. The more I get to know you the more humiliated I feel about how I treated you when we first met. I really am sorry.” “That’s enough,” he crossed his arms and cocked a hip, shaking his head at her, “Kicking yourself like this isn’t a good look for you.” A faint smirk twitched in the corners of her mouth and Molly felt herself starting to relax. With her arms still hugging her chest, she looked up at her turian friend and asked in a teasing voice, “So you think I look good otherwise?” Vinth breathed out a laugh and shook his head, reaching out to hook a talon around a stray lock of her hair, letting it slide over his finger before he gingerly tucked it back behind her ear. “For a human, yeah. Sure.”

When he pulled his hand away again, Molly was left feeling...rattled. There was too much going on in her head. Worries for Leore and whether or not she would ever see the girl again were forefront in her mind, followed closely by that humming thread of fear that wound its way through her chest. Add the way Vinth was acting into the mix and she was exhausted just from feeling. And Vinth definitely had her feeling something, she just didn’t know what and didn’t want to unpack it with everything that was going on, because there was a lot to unpack there and it had all come on far too quickly.

The last of their time together flew by quickly. Since Molly had to rest and get ready for a long night at work, they decided to eat and split so she could catch a couple extra hours of sleep. She could only manage half-heartedly picking at her food despite Vinth looming over her like a tall, spiky nurse, the intensity of her eyes judging her for her lack of enthusiasm for self-care. He eased off eventually, however, and when she was alone in her apartment again, she felt the last of her energy disappear in one large whoosh. What a rollercoaster of a day she had had. Molly fell back on her cot, curling up into a tight ball and hugging her knees close to her again. It felt like ages before the ache in her chest and the twisting knots in her guts eased enough for her to finally doze off. Her sleep was restless, though, and by the time her alarm went off she felt even more exhausted than she had before. It’s going to take a pound of makeup to cover this up. When she hauled herself out of bed and looked in her bathroom mirror her suspicions were confirmed. The bags under her eyes were dark purple, and there was this pinched look to her brows that she tried to smooth out with her thumbs but it just wasn’t working. After a long sigh she set to work weaving her hair into a complex up-do with braids and a high pony, then began painting her face. By the time she was done you wouldn’t suspect for a moment that she was anything less than perky and energized but for the way her shoulders sagged. She packed a bag with her work clothes, hauled on a pair of kitten heels, and headed out the door after firing off a quick message to Vinth to let him know she was on her way to Red Nova.

He met up with her just outside the staff entrance, wearing fresh clothes (black from head to toe) and a look in his eyes so intense it was scorching. Molly tried to reassure him with a small smile but she knew she couldn’t convince him to be okay with her decision when she was trembling as violently as she was. She stayed very still when he reached out to give her shoulders a squeeze, keeping a straight face even when the buffed tips of his talons dug painfully into her skin. Twice he opened his mouth to speak and twice the words died on his tongue. It wasn’t until Molly stood on the tips of her toes to cup his face (which looked so large when she held it in her small hands) that he seemed to rein in the fury that was humming through him. His expression softened for the briefest moment before some kind of conflict overcame him again. It seemed like he wanted to tell her something, and hadn’t he tried to do just that before Valla had called her? Molly tilted her head to one side, curious, but Vinth just shook his head and decided against whatever he had been about to say. He placed his hands over hers and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. “I’ll be nearby, Moll. Count on it,” he spoke in a low growl, “You should leave now or I won’t be able to let you go.”

“Thanks, snowball,” Molly said with the best impression of good humour she could manage, “For being here, and for understanding that I have to do this. Promise me one thing?” He released her hands and folded his arms over his chest, waiting for her to continue. “Follow my lead. Even if you see something that makes you want to interfere, promise you’ll follow my lead.” When Vinth looked like he was about to argue, mouth and mandibles flying open all at once, she added, “I know these people. I’ve known them for years and I want to avoid things escalating into violence as best I can. Just trust me and follow my lead, okay?” It took a few agonizing seconds before Vinth nodded stiffly. Molly offered him one final, frail smile before turning on her heel and heading through the staff doors. She couldn’t look back, couldn’t risk losing her nerve before she went inside, but she could swear she heard the loud thud of a heavy boot slamming against a dumpster just as the doors closed behind her.

Previous Chapter // First Chapter

#flowers and thorns #mass effect #fanfiction #citadel #turians #oc #trash fiction #alien romance

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chelrose · 6 years ago

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Let me tell you, this past week has been a scene out of a bad movie where the main plot is to showcase how unlucky of a human bean I am.

You know what though, I’m trying to be grateful that it wasn’t worse than it was.

Between last Tuesday evening and Wednesday, my sweet Gideon managed to get outside. Now, I have two kitties. Albus and Gideon.

Albus, was named after Professor Dumbledore, obvi. He is grey and white, 5.5 years, with a glorious mane and flowing long hair that is nothing less than high maintenance. He’ s an attention whore that likes to bite at hair, and assert his dominance over his much younger companion/brother/lover. Albus is more likely to be the one to make a great escape, it’s not his first rodeo outside and he thinks that grass is the coolest thing in the world.

Gideon, is 1.5years old, training to be a ninja, and a master of camouflage. His full name is Jon ‘Gideon’ Snow, named after the King of the North and Gideon from Criminal Minds. He is sleek, black, with a black nose, and only one tiny white patch on his tummy. During his time with us, he has shown his independence, and protectiveness. Like his Momma, he’s a little anxiety baby with some sensory issues. He doesn’t like to be held, but would be very pleased to be two feet away, in the best position to see everything to protect his family.

I don’t know what happened, he may have been hiding out as my roomie babysat, high energy overwhelms him, he’s very skittish. It was normal for him to keep it low key while baby was here. I respect that. During the day of Wednesday, my mirror fell to the bathroom floor. He likes to sleep on the bathroom rug, so this could have scared him enough to try to escape.

I wish I knew the answer, so I could figure out what happened to him.

The chaos and utter defeat I felt after realizing he was missing was beyond me. I felt weak, and pathetic. I was responsible for this living being and I failed him. I started to call dispatch, animal control, the humane association, online local groups, people were sharing and looking out for my little black kitty.

I was compulsively and obsessively searching for him. Walking outside in freezing weather, just determined to find him. Tracking paw prints that I had no idea if they were actually his or not.

Knowing to put his litter box outside, I also kept fresh water, food, and his favorite blankets outside in case he made his way home. I wanted this sweet little lovebug of mine to know that I missed him, that I wanted him home.

I went out multiple times around the block, shaking his favorite squeak toy, and calling his name, stopping in the snow so I could hear if he was crying out. I couldn’t walk doing it, the snow was too loud as I walked. Crunching and muffling out quiet noises.

He was gone for about a week, and I had some suspicions he was near, I just couldn’t find him. There were paw prints everywhere, some dog, some possibly cat, some possibly a swollen paw.

I was laying on my head, with the window open in the middle of winter to listen for him. I knew if he thought I was near, he would cry if he heard me, or try to follow my voice home.

I thought I heard something, but it was probably Albus, I kept thinking to myself. Trying not to get my hopes up. It was so cold, if he hadn’t been found or stolen, he was out in the bitter cold and I was loosing any hope that I had been desperately holding onto.

My depression was pretty bad, and my attitude was dwindling to straight bitch. I wouldn’t have wanted to be my friend with the mood swings I was having. Shoutout to the homies dealing with my difficult ass, I’m trying to handle myself better.

I wasn’t taking care of myself, worse than before he went missing, which was already pretty poorly. I was tormenting myself with thoughts of the worst.

Thanks Anxiety! *fist bumps anxiety*

Monday took a turn for the worse when I was so ready to go to therapy but didn’t have enough gas to make it there and back. I called the clinic I receive treatment at and they told me if I could make it there (30 minutes away), I could get a gas card to help me get home from their clinic.

“Fuck it,” I said to myself. I got in my car and started to drive. I shit you not, I was not even five minutes away when I ran out of gas. My estimate was just shy of what Lorelei, my jeep-jeep, could travel with the amount of gas we had been working with.

My phone was at 9%, I didn’t have a jacket, no money for gas, and about two seconds away from an emotional meltdown on a highway five minutes away from my therapist.

When I heard her voice on the phone, she helped me rationalize that I was okay to call my mom or Grandpa. They would help me. She had no idea how spot on it felt when she said, “When It rains it pours.”

It just feels like it never ends, my string of bad luck seems so out of this world. But that’s okay, because with bad luck, you learn who in your world is truly there for you.

My beautiful mother and gorgeous sister came to my rescue, and my Saint of a grandmother does everything she can to help me. My grandfather helps me have a safe vehicle to travel to and from my appointments and drive safer in an SUV. With the crazy amount of snow we get here in Northern Wisconsin, I cherish everything they do for me.

When I got home, I was exhausted and pissy. Sulking in my room like a hormonal teenager. That was when I made plans to go get a friend to hang out with instead of sitting in my own puddle of self loathing.

Well, I went out the front door to go pick up a friend on Monday night, and on a whim I grabbed Gideon’s squeak toy as I was walking out the door. I stopped on the front porch, and shook his toy, calling his name shortly after, “Gideon!”

“Rrrrheeeeoowwww.”

I froze. Listened to make sure that it wasn’t Albus behind the door crying because I left him inside. I shook the toy and again, “Rrrrrrheeeow.”

Slowly I turned, and prayed that I wasn’t hearing things. There he was, staring at me, crying, in his box with his favorite items. I scooped my sweet, freezing cold baby boy up and brought him inside.

Guys, I ugly cried holding him in my arm in a towel. His poor back paws have sores and they were swollen from the cold. It’s been two days, and I’ve cleaned the wounds with cat friendly products and advice from my Vet-in-training pal on how to care for him to bring him back to health.

While I am concerned, I do not think he has anything life threatening. I think that given time he is going to heal. The paw does not smell rotten, it is healing, and he is slowly gaining back his energy.

I am stressed due to the financial issues that may occur for vet bills I cannot afford. I hope that I can be successful in helping him get back to full health without complication. I don’t know what I’m going to do to afford it, but I’ll figure it out. :) He comes first.

Real talk, though.

When we were up in my room, and I was rocking him in my arm, quietly crying and just showering him with love. He looked at me and his eyes watered. I felt this deep look of love and trust and joy. He knew he was finally safe when he was in my arms and it was the most overwhelmingly sweet moment I’ve ever had with him. He’s generally not very affectionate, preferring to show his love at a distance.

I am so incredibly grateful that he is home and now recovering. My two cats are so important to my mental health and I just pray that I do not have to ever lose them to something other than old age.

The lesson I took away from this week is perception and gratitude can turn bad luck into a learning experience and a story to share.

I hope you’re all having a much more agreeable week than I am!

ily silly <3

Dean Winchester photobombed our family photo. XD

#writing #my writing #story #story of the week #lit #literature #kitty #cat #gratitude #grateful #unlucky #luck #gideon #albus #my week #blog #blogger #lifestyle #my life #wtf #fml #crazy days

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magioftheseas · 7 years ago

Text

A Meal With Chestnuts

written for @yuzuria because it’s her biiiiiirf

Summary: In which Hinata adopts a cat that's a whirlwind of fluff and trouble. His brother sometimes helps.

Rating: G

Warnings: Ehhhhh? There are some tribulations related to caring for a pet but that’s it.

Notes: Because I love Mewshi (cat!servant) I decided I’d whip up a quick fic with him and Hinata. Yep. Yeah. Look at this angel. Precious.

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

“I... Izuru... Hey...”

“Hajime.” His brother doesn’t miss a beat. “It is strange for you to call me out of the blue like this.”

“Y-Yeah. Um. I... I called because... I need, urgh, I-I need help.”

“Did something happen? Are you at the hospital?”

It doesn’t surprise him that’s the first conclusion Izuru jumps to. Honestly, if he were Izuru, knowing himself the way he does, that’s the first conclusion he’d jump to, too.

“I’m fine,” he says, almost snaps really. “But I...” He pinches his nose, swallows, and struggles. “I-I... I need money...”

“...”

“A-And I know!” he exclaimed. “I know I said I’d rather fucking die on the streets than borrow money from you when you offered—t-that was stupid...and immature... I’m sorry. I...”

“...”

“I... I...”

Can I really do this?

Just as he’s this close to hanging up, he glances over and ends up meeting the wide, gray-green eyes of a scraggly, tangled mess of fluff. Said fluff gives a weak chirp in acknowledgement.

How can I even ask myself that?

“I found a cat,” he said, sighing. “It’s in really, really bad shape. Like, its back legs are badly broken, one of its front paws is mangled, it has worms, and it... He smells awful, Izuru. And I don’t have enough to pay for the medical bills.”

“Understood.” The response was immediate. “Which vet?”

“Uh... The one on...” He rattles off the address. “So, uh, does this mean...?”

“I will be there right away.”

“Right away?”

“Right. Away.”

Just like that, Izuru hangs up. Hinata blinks at his phone before pocketing it. With a sigh, he reaches out to stroke the cat’s head, mindful of the plastic cone. He earns a purr for his troubles, and he can’t help but smile in spite of his grimace.

“You made me broke one of my oaths to never ask my successful, genius brother for help,” he said. “Fifteen years I kept that oath. And now it’s broken. Because of you.”

The cat nuzzled his hand.

“...I hope you’re happy. You’re really lucky, too. Izuru loves cats, and he barely loves anything. I’m still doubtful that he loves me, y’know.”

Another chirp.

“You’re...you’re in good hands. Definitely.”

Hinata Hajime was, putting it lightly, not the happiest he could be with his life.

Law school had been stressful enough, but actually trying to make it as a lawyer could be a nightmare with the weirdos he had to put up with and the cases he had to swallow his pride and do his damndest to defend when they actually made it to court. Even so, he wasn’t very successful.

Not like Izuru, never like Izuru.

Still, he had a stable life, if anything A good apartment, an alright car, a good neighborhood, a social life that sure existed even when he didn’t have the energy for it. He was doing well for himself. Not great, but well. Well, well, welly well, well.

Izuru called him boring for good reason.

He resented Izuru, of course, but he was hard-pressed to argue with him over anything. Izuru was right. Even Hinata’s own friends agree that he was the kind of guy who seriously needed to go out more. Relax more. Get laid.

Especially since his crush of seven years hadn’t picked up on any of Hinata’s painfully obvious hints. Better yet, said crush tended to fawn over his doctor. They weren’t in a relationship for that reason, but... But... Still. It was pretty damn hopeless.

Too fucking bad Hinata didn’t have the itch nor confidence to just find someone, anyone to put up with his boring, mundane, sometimes miserable ass in bed.

So Hinata was at a loss over what the hell he was supposed to do to find some level of actual contentment with his life. Or at least something if not someone to distract him from the void.

And then a flurry of wild, filthy white fluff rushed out in front of his car while he was driving and he almost wrecked then and there. Breaking the law, he ended up pulling over and investigating only to find out it was just some cat. Some cat that just chirped at him before returning to gnaw at the remains of some roadkill.

It looked like a possessed mop. Hinata took it home for the night. And then he went to the vet and called Izuru for help. Something he swore up and down for fifteen years that he would never, ever do.

Izuru didn’t hesitate at all. If anything, Izuru was immediately enamored with it. Hell, Izuru already ordered several cat toys and high-end cat food to be delivered to Hinata’s apartment around the time that the cat was expected to recover enough to go home with him.

He should feel pretty stupid right now, and he certainly felt awkward watching Izuru stare at the sleeping bundle of white.

“Does he have a name?”

“Uh... Huh?”

“A name. Did you name him?” Izuru frowned at him. “Were you planning on keeping him?”

“I...” He knows he should say no. That if anyone’s equipped to take in a cat, it’d be his crush. Komaeda already had a cat, he’d probably love another one and Izuru couldn’t have pets in his building, but... Hinata’s own apartment doesn’t have any pet policy. And it’s as alright a place as it is an empty one. And maybe, just maybe, he had fallen in love with the stupid thing overnight after making it a makeshift bed of towels, pillows, and blankets. “I wanted to, yeah.”

Izuru nods. “What’s his name?”

“His name, uh...”

And it just kind of comes naturally. The cat has long, white hair that’s fine and reminds Hinata of grain, and... Said cat had also pooped in his rice bag. Hinata still wasn’t sure how it got in there.

“Meshi,” he said, shrugging. “Is that an alright name?”

Izuru blinked at him, but glanced over at Meshi, still caught in a peaceful slumber.

“Meshi is a fine name,” he said. “After he gets cleaned up, I do predict that his fur will be as white as rice.”

“Yeah...?”

“Yes.”

Hinata could only nod along.

“Take good care of him, Hajime,” Izuru said sharply. “Or else I will not forgive you.”

“O-Of course I will!” he exclaimed, gawking. “I... I... Yeah, I will!”

He just hoped he was prepared for what he was getting into.

(He wasn’t. He had no idea.)

Meshi, as it turned out, was exceptionally fluffy, even more than Hinata already thought. In fact, Meshi likely doubled in volume entirely due to fluff.

Meshi had needed his front paw amputated but Izuru paid for a prosthetic. Of course he had.

Izuru also needed to leave for work but he had left several files on how to take care of Meshi and administer medication if need be. Izuru even set up an account with money for future medical bills. Just. In case.

And then Meshi bit Izuru when he tried to pet him. And Hinata hurriedly pulled him away. Meshi had chirped but nuzzled against him, and it was the first time Izuru had ever looked at him with such envy.

He...had felt a little satisfied. But only a little.

“I... Don’t worry, Izuru,” he said. “I promise, I’ll take good care of him.”

“Or else,” Izuru muttered. Hinata nodded again.

“...yeah. Or else.”

So...now he has a cat. And his apartment has gone from empty and clean to a mess of cat hair everywhere.

And there are child safety locks on his cabinets because otherwise Meshi would spill rice everywhere.

And the trashcan has to be facing the wall otherwise Meshi gets stuck in it. Meshi, Hinata learns, has a weird affinity for trash.

“Komaeda’s cat isn’t this high maintenance,” he grumbled while scrubbing Meshi’s fur clean for the umpteenth time today. “He’s lazy and always sleeping. Why do you have to be completely different, Meshi?”

Meshi meowed at him happily as he rinsed him off.

“A-And what kind of cat enjoys baths, anyway?!”

Another happy meow. And then Meshi gagged from trying to nibble at his soapy fingers. And then Meshi started to hack. Hinata panicked.

“Wait, no, don’t throw up!”

Hinata had to wash the tub as well that day.

Every ounce of his space is now Meshi’s space. Even when it’s late, rather than use the plush bed that Izuru bought, Meshi sleeps on his face and nearly suffocates him overnight.

He drags the cat bed onto his bed and tries to force Meshi to sleep there. It doesn’t work out.

He wakes up coughing up cat hair while Meshi innocently groomed himself.

“You,” he grumbles after washing out his mouth. “You’re impossible.”

Meshi chirps at him.

You would think that with one prosthetic and weakened hind legs that a cat like Meshi would have difficulty getting around.

Not so.

“Meshi! Meshi!”

Meshi kept on crying.

“How did you even get up there?!”

You would also think that with as much fluff that Meshi had, that it’d be difficult for Meshi to squeeze into all the weird places that cats liked to explore.

Also not so.

“Meshi? Meshi?!”

Hinata would’ve had a heart attack over his missing cat if not for noticing that the drawer was open. And, unsurprisingly, Meshi mewled at him when he peered inside.

“Don’t scare me like that!”

He ends up tying a bell around Meshi’s neck. It’s easier to keep track of him and... Maybe, just maybe, it suited him.

Meshi doesn’t play with cat toys. Meshi plays with his ties. And string. Meshi seems to really enjoy string.

“Luxuries are wasted on you,” Hinata grumbles. “Poor Izuru.”

Meshi attacks his antenna. He ends up with a shiner thanks to the prosthetic.

It’s very awkward trying to explain it to his coworkers and clients that no, he didn’t get into a fight, yes, it was just because of his new cat.

“Your cat seems to be quite the handful,” Kirigiri had murmured. “Be more careful, Hinata-kun.”

“R-Right...”

Meshi afterwards still had the gall to show him his fluffy belly and look like an angel while doing so.

Hinata knits him a mitten for his prosthetic. It takes a while because Meshi keeps gnawing at the yarn, but eventually Hinata manages.

“There we are.” He pulls back to inspect his handiwork and sticks his hand out to take Meshi’s newly knitted paw. “It’s not as soft nor as nice but... You’ll cause less damage like this.”

Meshi chirps almost cheerily and nuzzles him. In particular, the bruised side of his face. It irritates his injured eye. Hinata almost cries, but he valiantly holds back.

He forgives Meshi quickly even as the bruise lasts a while.

His life has gone from unbearably dull to dreadfully unpredictable, thanks to Meshi.

It also changed in several other significant ways. If Hinata laid on the ground, Meshi tended to trample him without missing a beat. Cooking was now a serious hazard with how curious Meshi could be in the kitchen, especially near the stove and with fluff like that—Hinata couldn’t cook until he was sure that Meshi was safely kept far, far away.

Because it’s a cat, I’m the one that has to be completely and utterly accommodating.

Sometimes he took Meshi outside and just...watched Meshi sniff around the grass and area. And afterwards, he’d have to give Meshi another bath due to Meshi rolling around in the dirt.

Because it’s a cat, it’s just going to do whatever it wants regardless about how I feel about it.

He always needed to keep a close eye on Meshi. Because, otherwise—

“Meshi, no! Out of the trash! Get out of the trash!”

Why am I willingly subjecting myself to this again?

The answer was obvious even without Meshi purring after being pulled out of the trash.

“I was already pretty busy,” he grumbled as he once more scrubbed Meshi clean. “You’re making this almost impossible.”

Meshi chirped.

“But...it’s not like you have anyone else, huh? I’m the one who took you in.” He rinses him off and wraps him up in towels to blow-dry his fur. “That makes you mine. Izuru probably could’ve found a way to make you his but—but you’re mine and that’s that.”

Meshi purrs against him as he brushes his fur afterwards.

“Mine,” Hinata murmurs. “You’re mine, Meshi.”

Meshi meows, and Hinata likes to think it’s a sound of agreement.

When Komaeda visits, bright-eyed and carrying a cat carrier, Hinata’s sure that his heart leapt up into his throat at the sight.

“I heard about your new cat!” Komaeda practically beams. “I brought Izumi with me for a cat playdate.”

There’s a low mreow from the carrier. Just a sound to acknowledge his name being said. Nothing else.

“Oh... Huh...”

He swallows as Komaeda brushes past. Komaeda sets down the carrier. And with the tinkling of a bell and the padding of feet, Meshi practically rushed up to him.

“Hi there,” Komaeda coos, reaching out to run his fingers through those long white strands. “Ooh, Kamukura-kun was right, you are a beauty. No wonder he was utterly enamored with you. Hinata-kun, you’ve been taking pictures and showing them to Kamukura-kun, right?”

“Uh, yeah, a few...” But whenever I bring out the camera while Meshi’s doing something cute, Meshi immediately stops doing the thing. “Are you sure it’s alright for you to be out and about, Komaeda?”

“Yep! Matsuda-kun even says I’ll be well enough to start working! Though he also says someone as rich as me doesn’t need to worry about that, haha...” He opens the carrier, humming. “Come out, Izumi. Come say hi! Oh.” Meshi rushed into the carrier, which Hinata more or less expected even as he worried. “H-Hey, Izumi won’t attack him right?” “Of course not! My Izumi would never...!” Komaeda stared helplessly at the fluffy tail flickering in the air sticking out of his carrier. “Meshi... Izumi can’t leave like this.” “Meshi doesn’t believe in personal space,” Hinata said. A pause. “Unless it’s with Izuru. So... I guess he’s warmed up to Izumi, at least.”

All the same, he swooped down and pulled Meshi out of the carrier. Drearily as ever, Izumi stepped out, sniffing as he did and elegant black tail flickering with those piercing red eyes.

It still weirds me out that Izumi is a lot like Izuru but... Come to think of it, Meshi looks a little like...

Meshi blinks those pretty gray-greens at him. Hinata flusters when Komaeda glances at him with eyes a similar shade and hurriedly looks away.

“Uh... Here you go, Meshi,” he mumbled awkwardly, setting Meshi back down so that he and Izumi could familiarize themselves with each other. Or at least so that Meshi could, seeing as Izumi just flopped onto the ground.

Yeah, that’s what I expected.

And Komaeda softly squealed, pulling out his phone to take pictures. Probably getting the most flattering ones, too.

“Kamukura-kun will love seeing these,” he hummed. “And Matsuda-kun will, too.”

Hinata deflated, nodding.

“I... Yeah... Anyway, can I get you anything to eat, Komaeda? I have some leftovers I can heat up if you want.”

“So kind, Hinata-kun!”

“Not...really. It’s just a courtesy.”

He still couldn’t meet Komaeda’s sparkling gaze directly and Meshi, at the very least, proved to be a very suitable distraction. Especially with Meshi crawling over Izumi like that, pawing at him curiously.

Cute... Shockingly cute...

With Komaeda bouncing after him, Hinata couldn’t help but wonder if he’d really be able to handle both of them at the same time in his tiny, tiny apartment.

God give me strength.

After they ate, Komaeda was almost as eager to look around as Meshi.

“Aha, there’s a lot of toys! Did Kamukura-kun buy these?”

“N-Not...all of them... But a lot of them...” Hinata rubs at the back of his neck. “That said, Meshi largely prefers the toy box to any of them. And sometimes he steals my ties regardless of what drawer I put them in. He’s...a weirdly intelligent cat when he wants to be.”

Even though I’ve had to keep him from literally dumpster diving more times than I had to count.

“I see, I see...” Komaeda claps. “Your apartment is still so clean, Hinata-kun, all the cat hair aside. You completely gave up on that, huh?”

“Sure did.” Hinata doesn’t even miss a beat. “Meshi gets around a lot. He’s the complete opposite of Izumi.”

Komaeda glanced towards Izumi, who still hadn’t moved from his spot, even though Meshi was kneading him. Chuckling lowly, he went over to scoop Izumi up and placed him atop the cat tower. Meshi immediately darted after him, squeezing right back into his space. Izumi didn’t seem to mind.

“I guess opposites attract,” Komaeda hummed. “That’s really nice. I’m glad. A lot of cats aren’t very sociable but Meshi seems really friendly!”

“...Yeah...”

I’m still on edge. Komaeda’s cat can be weird, but—at the very least he doesn’t look like he’ll snap at Meshi.

“Uh...” He shakes his head. “So how have things been? You’re getting better, right? That’s... That’s good...”

“All because of Matsuda-kun!” Komaeda chirped and then paused. “And Izumi, actually.”

Hinata blinked.

“I really appreciate Matsuda-kun,” Komaeda went on, blushing a bit. “But truth be told, it’s really Izumi who keeps me going. Matsuda-kun can’t always be there, of course not, he has other patients, so I used to be really lonely when he wasn’t around... Everyone’s always so busy, living their lives, I really envy them...being stuck at home by yourself and not really having anything to do, anywhere to go... It’s such a boring, empty life.”

Hinata frowned but couldn’t bring himself to comment.

“But after I got Izumi, that completely changed,” Komaeda said, lighting up. “Izumi isn’t the most energetic cat, obviously, but he’s still someone I have to watch over and take care of and... Honestly I’m never bored with him. He’s got his own little quirks that are fun to discover. For example, he does have bouts of curiosity with the strangest things. One time I accidentally left a coat hanger on the bed and he cried because of it. Another time he was absolutely fascinated with this documentary on boats so I bought him a rubber toy. After I set it in a small tub of water, he made such a mess! Haha!”

Hinata looks towards Izumi, unaffected by everything including Meshi draped over him like a big fluffy blanket.

That’s...really hard to imagine.

“...it’s the same for you, isn’t it, Hinata-kun?”

Hinata flinched at that.

“A-Ah, huh...?”

He flustered more at Komaeda’s widening smile.

“It’s the same for you, right?” he asked cheerily. “Having a cat around—it really livens up the place, doesn’t it? I was pretty worried actually about getting a pet. After my dog died, I didn’t think I would ever be ready for it, but... I’m really glad I picked Izumi up. He was so listless at the shelter and even though he’s still pretty lazy, he’s has moments of such brightness!”

“I...” Komaeda looks pretty bright, too. “I see...”

Suddenly Meshi hopped up to them, pawing at Komaeda’s side. He headbutted him, and Komaeda could only laugh, patting his lap. Meshi pounced before curling up as Komaeda stroked his fur. And then Izumi, too, lazily walked up and pressed up against Komaeda’s knee.

...I want to take a picture, but...

“You are right,” Hinata said, reaching out and pulling Izumi towards him. It still mildly unsettled him how Izumi reminded him of Izuru, but all the same Hinata petted him, and a smile pulled at his lips as Izumi pressed back against his hand. “They really do liven things up.”

And then Meshi leapt out of Komaeda’s lap and barreled into Hinata’s stomach so hard that he nearly choked.

“H-Hck...!”

“H-Hinata-kun?!”

Hinata quickly recovered, taking in deep breaths as Meshi whined at him.

“I-I... I... Huh...” He blinked at Meshi and then scooped him up, cradling him. “You’re possessive, too, huh?”

Maybe...we’re made for each other or something...

Komaeda still looked rather worried but after a while he snorted and picked up an ever-stoic Izumi.

“I’ve never seen you smile like that,” he remarked. “You’re actually really handsome, Hinata-kun.”

“H-Huh...?!”

Meshi smacked his face after he snapped up to regain his attention. At the very least the mitten did in fact keep the prosthetic from hurting.

Komaeda just laughs.

“It looks like you’re trapped,” he said. “Well, there are worse ways. Like with rubble!”

“I... Uh...” Hinata averted his gaze, nuzzling Meshi to keep him happy. “Yeah... Yeah...”

Komaeda’s laughter was carefree and calm. Even though, his heartbeat stuttered over it, but...

Meshi whapped him again and kept him in line.

In a weird way, he kind of appreciated that.

“It probably would be nice for Meshi to spend more time with Izumi since they seem comfortable with each other.” If Izumi even cares. Hard to tell. “I can’t always play with Meshi, so it’d be nice if he had someone else...y’know?”

“I do,” Komaeda agrees. “Cats usually rely solely on us for stimulation and they can get lonely while we’re busy. So it’s better to have friends, I think. So maybe you can visit sometime and bring Meshi?”

“I-I...” Another whap. He got right back on track. “Y-Yeah! Yeah... That... That’d be nice...”

“It’s a date theeeen!” Komaeda sing songs and claps with Izumi’s paws. “Yay, yay! Izumi, isn’t that wonderful?”

Izumi just yawned. Hinata snorted as Meshi meowed.

“I think they’ll be fine,” he said. “Thanks, Komaeda, for visiting.”

“Ehehehe! It’s nothing, it’s nothing! I’m glad I did!”

Maybe...just being like this...won’t be so bad.

Yeah. He was almost sure of it.

It didn’t surprise him that despite cuddling up against him all that time, Meshi kept his distance at bedtime, grooming himself as Hinata could only lie down and watch.

“You know,” he found himself saying. “I’ve liked Komaeda...for a really long time. Long enough that I honestly should’ve give up by now, but...”

He shrugs.

“I still...like him a lot...”

Meshi didn’t say anything. Of course not. He was too focused on licking his paw.

“I think even if he never understands, I’ll be fine,” he murmured. “Seeing him again... I’m just happy that he can smile like that. And according to him...”

I smile like that, too. That’s really embarrassing to think. Why? Just because of Meshi who causes so much trouble and yet...

Meshi crawls over to him and curls around him. Just when Hinata perked up, Meshi starts trying to groom him. And he can only sigh.

I’m going to have to shower in the morning. As usual.

“It’s hard to dwell in self-loathing when I have you to keep an eye on.”

Meshi is definitely frustrating...but it’s hard to resent him for that. If anything, I might just be grateful, black eyes and scratches aside.

“...Izuru loves cats,” he said, humming and turning towards Meshi’s fluff. “I guess... I can sorta understand why.”

Meshi bit his ear afterwards. It really hurt.

But it didn’t really change anything.

It didn’t change anything. He certainly wouldn’t regret taking Meshi in for the world. But. But.

“H-How did this happen?! Did Komaeda’s cat impregnate him?!”

“Hajime, that’s impossible.”

Hinata still screamed into his hands, meanwhile, Izuru observed more closely. As close as Meshi would allow anyway, with Meshi hissing if he so much approached within a certain number of centimeters. Izuru respected that, but he still blinked down at the small ball of tea green fluff nestled into Meshi’s fur.

“Tea...” Izuru mused. “Monaka would be a cute name for her, don’t you think?”

“I still don’t understand,” Hinata rambled on. “I just, I just left Meshi alone for two minutes outside and he darts inside the house with this...this...!”

“Kitten,” Izuru finished for him. “You now have a new kitten. Congratulations. She’s very, very cute.”

“She’s a demon, actually,” Hinata retorted, pointing to the scratch marks all over his face. “She’s only cute right now because she’s sleeping. But the second she saw me, she attacked my face. Meshi had to pull her off.”

Izuru frowned.

“I think you just startled her.”

“I was as careful as could be...!”

Suddenly, the kitten stirred awake. Yelping, Hinata quickly hid behind his brother but all she did was crawl up to Izuru and mew at him, blinking wide green eyes at him.

Hinata’s useless brother melted in a heartbeat, picking the kitten up and doting on her, listening to her purr.

“She’s an angel, Hajime, you must have been mistaken.” Izuru gave him a pointed look as she batted at his hair. “Or, as I said, you startled her. It was likely your pointy antenna.”

“Hey leave my hair out of this!” Hinata exclaimed heatedly. “Meshi doesn’t mind my hair!”

“Well Monaka is clearly different,” Izuru huffed.

“Where did that name even come from?!”

Izuru ignored him, humming softly as he stoked Monaka’s neck. Hinata groaned, rolling his eyes, but there wasn’t exactly much he could say.

Izuru only paused when Meshi bit his ankle, puffing up angrily at him. Blinking, Izuru reluctantly set Monaka down so that Meshi could drag her away.

“...you really are lucky, Hajime,” Izuru sighed, looking at him enviously once more. Somehow, the novelty had worn off.

He looked at Monaka. Monaka looked back and hissed.

“...I think...it all balances out,” Hinata said, sighing. “I wonder how Komaeda’s going to react...”

“I want pictures,” Izuru said.

“...don’t worry; he’ll definitely take pictures.”

It’s alright being like this...is what I thought.

Monaka doesn’t seem terribly content with Meshi fussing over her. Somehow, Hinata just knew she’d find a way to cause enough trouble to give his Meshi a run for his money.

Things are about to get wild. That’s just the feeling I’m getting right now.

He might have to ask Izuru to come over more often. They might just be closer in the future than they ever were for fifteen years.

Man.

That’s a thought.

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