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#circling the floor under the counter where we put the dehydrator
starship-squidlet · 3 years
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🌻
I got a new houseplant today!!! It’s an umbrella tree, and it’s adorable. Unfortunately, I didn’t realize that it’s super toxic to cats (I had one before, but it was while I was in college, so I didn’t need to worry about pet friendliness), so I have to keep it on a high shelf and make sure our two boy cats stay out of my room since they’re the ones that eat plants 😅 (they’re already banned from my room because they like to munch my plants; Bunchy is a good girl and doesn’t consume my leafy children)
(Send me a 🌻 and I’ll tell you something!)
#max actually more goes after fish when i have them then plants even#but he does like plants#he also eats lettuce#loki prefers dried plants but also likes flowers#we had an african violet on our kitchen windowsill for a while but it never had any flowers and also coincidentally loki wasn’t eating much#and would throw up every few days and we were like ??? and then we caught him eating the plant#he also once ate the entirety of a baby (like 2 little 3-inch leaves) aloe vera plant that i had after breaking into my room#but those aren’t toxic so he was fine#he also ate sunflower seedlings i was trying to start a few years ago#his favorite is dried kale and spinach tho#he goes crazy for the stuff#we dehydrate it ourselves in a dehydrator and he spends the day or two that it takes just#circling the floor under the counter where we put the dehydrator#it’s actually to the point where we get the dehydrator out and he starts going crazy and just... crying for the dried kale/spinach#and we’re just like sir it’ll be a few days yet but here’s some fresh stuff#sorry i went on a ramble there but our cats are weird and i love them but i also love my plants so i just have to watch out for loki#fortunately he knows he’s not supposed to be in my room and i keep my door closed to protect the plants#but sometimes he’ll sneak in if he sees it open so i have to make sure to block it when i go out because it doesn’t latch so it opens p easy#chit chat#asked and answered#claire’s tag
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redbirdbella · 3 years
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@clintasha-week  Advent calendar Day 9 - Emotions 
Very angsty. CW - guns, illusions to suicide, Avengers Assemble canon character death, drug use, talk of mind control. (If there's any more please tell me but those are the ones i can see.)
It takes Natasha 45 minutes to decide Clint's been alone long enough.
It takes two weeks for her to find him.
Phil's funeral had been tough on everyone, her archer especially. He'd been a broken man, tears staining his cheeks as he carried the casket. Natasha to his left, holding his hand as she helps bear the weight.
Barton, Romanoff, Rogers, Hill, Fury and May carrying the weight of a brother, a comrade and a true patriot July 1964 til May 2012 (or at least that's what the grave will say).
She gives him space, room to grieve, to bury his head into his hands and weep until shes worried he'll shrivel up. Like he'll faint from dehydration like when he was hungover that one time in Vegas. Happier times. Hill supplies the tissues and Steve the rousing speech. It's tasteful, Phil would appreciate it. But there's no flowers to hide the casket, just his stupid Captain America trading cards on, the ones that make Natasha's heartbreak.
Clint asks for space. After it's all over, once the coffins gone behind the red velvet curtains and the music plays. She agrees, resigned to him running. She can play the game. Follow where he leads.
Two weeks. Two damn weeks it takes. Europe, the Americas, Africa. She even checks in with Barney. The infamous Hawkeye is gone with the wind.
She goes on a whim. On a shadow of a memory of Tokyo. Of him stitching her up. Of safety and warm alcohol. A disconnected safehouse. Off the grid. Shelter, nothing more.
It's not there, replaced by a luxury high-rise. Last few units remaining the realtor declares. Great, he'll be near the top then.
She hacks the database. It's easy enough. Flat 804.
It's quiet. Eerily so, and she prays to whatever deity will listen to not have another funeral so soon.
She knocks hard, demanding a reply, but she's no surprised when no one answers.
Simple locks make simple work, the door creaking open in spite of her pleas for quiet.
He's up and in the doorway. He's armed, fingers gripping to his old Glock. Simple, effective but not if he looks so indecisive. Like its somehow difficult choosing between the intruder and himself.
"Clint" She whispers, pressing a kiss to the side of his mouth letting his stubble scratch against her, "It's ok. Just me."
"Tasha" he breathes, taking her head into his hands. She holds them, noticing the way they shake, the way it makes it easy to dispossess him. Too easy. She notices the razor burn on his cheeks like he'd tried, tried to find himself amongst the rubble, "He's- I'm- I've fought so hard Tasha"
"I know, you've been so brave, but you don't have to be. I'm here, together yeah?"
He nods, letting her push her way into the apartment. The way she moves past the bottle piles and cracked walls with an effortless grace ignoring the smell of BO and alcohol. The lingering stench of rock bottom.
"Let's get you clean huh?"
He nods leading her to the bathroom. The flat has a bath graciously untouched and running hot water that leaves Natasha whispering a silent thank you to the powers that be.
She's well packed, well versed in Clint and all his emergencies. Magnesium enriched Epsom salts with lavender and chamomile, to soothe his sores and the anxious energy in his muscles. Clint recognises the box and nods reluctantly.
"Want to put some in?"
He doesn't, but he doesn't stop her adding a healthy amount. He strips down without her request, he isn't scared of being naked. Not with her. She's seen worse. She's seen the bodies on the floor, even helped organise the men that had taken Phil away, leaving the red smudge that seemed to imprint into his mind.
"Hey" She whispers kindly as if the past didn't hang so heavy between them "the water should be warm enough now. Go on, it won't bite"
He nods and steps in, if only to see her smile his last connection to humanity reflected back to him.
"Should we lay down?" She asks but she's already slowly lowering herself letting her arm dangle into the water.
He follows her. A little less steady but it's a start. She kisses his head, "Whatever you're on its strong"
Clint shrugs. Not strong enough.
"How long?"
"How long?" Natasha echos "long enough that I've missed you"
"No, how long in here?"
"Until I say so"
There's no quip just a nod and Natasha's heart breaks just a little more. She clings to the outside of the bath under his watchful gaze, humming songs she remembers from better times. Before gods and monsters and mayhem.
It takes a while for the salts to work their magic, making his limbs grow heavier, back to his control. The bath should be cool, if Natasha hadn't constantly refilled bringing it back to a good temperature. The one that melts the trickster god's ice.
"There, I've got something to get you dry" She whispers when he stands, requesting to be let out. She'd got it at the airport, so it's still fluffy with its new novel smell. He wraps it around his waist and she throws his clothes into the water left in the tub. Cleaning the air of the smell and giving him no choice but to choose the fresh clothes she's brought. He agrees to the pants, black with a purple stripe out the outside leg, the pair he always wore for long nights in.
"That's better" Natasha praises, directing him to the toilet, seat down, "you tried to shave-"
"I look like him" oh the original him. Barton Snr. The only man she hated more than Loki.
"I only see my partner" she whispers pressing another kiss to his cheek, "let me show you-"
She brings out a kit. A long-forgotten kit, one that only comes out for him. Her Barbers kit from her time attending to the soldiers. It's not the same, her tools had been blunted through use but the idea is still there. Buried deep through countless repetition.
Clints not like the soldiers. Even now he fidgets putting himself at her mercy. It's a long process, a Turkish shave, but each time it's worth it for the way he smiles, blushing under her tender touches. It's different this time, there's no more smiles but he shuts his eyes letting himself be pampered.
"There." She whispers placing a mirror into his hands once the act is done "There you are. Back again"
He nods, avoiding the man that glances back at him and she places her hands against the back of his neck.
"You cant ever ask for space again"
He nods.
"Not until I say so"
He nods. He's taken something, something strong. Detoxing will be a bitch but that was tomorrows battle.
"Bed?"
He doesn't nod, but he doesn't object either just leads her there as if she just wanted to see it. To check for proof of its existence.
There's no more fresh sheets, but the spare bedrooms untouched. Natasha's doubt's he'd left the living room much, not in this state.
He lays on the bed and waits for her to follow. Then he surrounds her, hands desperate to touch, to reassure his trembling grip on reality.
"I'm here. I'm here" she soothes
"You've been here before" he counters.
"Not like tonight"
He's quiet until he can't contain anymore "They took my mind"
"And I took it back"
"I killed him.
"Loki killed him. You were with me"
He nods, "You would have saved him."
"I made my choice"
"It wasn't your choice to make!"
They settle into the silence that follows. She doesn't expect an apology, she doesn't need one. She knew what it was like for someone to take your brain and play.
"Did you really think I wouldn't know you? That I wouldn't come looking" She whispers "I fought a god for you."
"And do you like your prize?"
"Now you sound like him"
"Cause he's still in there! I'd blow a hole in my head to let him out! to make it stop!"
"Don't- I need you" She's not beyond pleading, not for Clint.
He's quiet, until the tears come. They burn his freshly shaved skin so she stems them, blotting them out with her fingers.
"I'm here, it's ok" she's writing cheques she can't cash, making promises she can't keep "It can stop now, let me take it from here"
She offers out her arms as he'd done all those years before. His arms were bigger. It wasn't such a tight fit but her skills lay elsewhere. She lets her hands creep down his bareback. Recalling every last detail she can remember about her massage class back in Russia, when they'd promised her only gentle hands could wiggle out secrets. Before they corrected the lie.
He startles as she begins, if the sobs that shudder against her shoulder are any indication.
She shhs him, cradling him like a child
"It's just me"
She draws circles against his back, letting him strain away when she touches somewhere tender.
"Please, please don't fight me like you do him"
She lets her own tears slip away as he surrenders to her touch, feeling each muscle relax against her.
Until he surrenders to the deep sleep that pulls him under.
There's no more need to fight, for she grants him rest.
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darlingandmreames · 3 years
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A Thousand Ways to Say It
(also on ao3)
Prompt: Love Languages (a bit of a loose take on it, but my brain latched onto Arthur telling Eames he loved him in ways other than outright saying it and just Ran With It, so here we are)
Summary: Arthur loved Eames. He knew that, and he tried to tell him in his own way. Just never in so many words. Or 5 times Arthur didn’t quite say “I love you”, and 1 time he didn’t need to
@arthureamesmonth
Arthur reloaded his clip and got off four shots before the incoming fire forced him to duck back down behind cover. They would've been fine, the mark's subconscious was only partially militarized so stealth would've been effective enough for them to do the job without any major resistance, but then the other extractor had managed to run directly into the mark. That'd been more than enough to alert his sub-security, and now they were stuck facing a load of gunfire on what should've been an easy job.
“This is why I hate working with amateurs." 
Arthur nodded, glancing over at Eames. He had a few cuts, likely from flying glass, but thankfully seemed otherwise fine. "Issue is when you don't find out they're an amateur until after you start the job."
Eames let out a clipped laugh. "True." He raised up briefly, taking out two projections before dropping back down again. "Any idea where our lovely colleague is?"
"Probably dead."
Eames nodded. "You have any sort of plan? Because all I've got currently is 'try not to get shot'."
Arthur looked at his watch. Just over 15 minutes. That was more than enough time to get the information if they could get the mark's projections off their backs at least a little. Which, given the current state of things, was a pretty big if. He peered around the corner of the bench they were currently hiding behind. "How do you feel about our chances of making it to that hallway over there without getting shot?"
Eames followed his gaze, ducking back down just in time to avoid a bullet. "Questionable, but if we lay down enough covering fire we might be able to make it."
"I'll provide cover as we run." Arthur held a hand up to cut off the objection he knew was coming, flinching as a ricochet sent bits of stone flying in his face. "You're the dreamer. If I die it'll just be a little inconvenient. If you die the dream collapses and the job's fucked." He paused, taking advantage of the lull in incoming fire to take out another projection. "Once we get into the hallway and have more cover we'll split up. The projections will follow you while I find the safe and finish the job." 
Eames grimaced. "I'm not a particular fan of this plan."
"Me neither. You ready?"
Eames nodded again, crouching. "On your go."
Arthur gripped his gun, body tense, and waited for another lull. It was slowing…slowing… "Now!"
He stuck close to Eames' back, providing a general round of fire as they started running. He switched to more focused bursts as the projections took cover, targeting whatever figure he saw first. Cover fire was only useful as long as he had ammo after all, no point in wasting it. The distance between where they'd been taking cover and where the hallway started was thankfully relatively short, and the return fire had only just started up in earnest when they reached it. Arthur turned and ran normally as soon as he was out of line of fire, keeping pace beside Eames as they ran down the hallway.
He stopped at the first intersection they came to, looking around the corner carefully in case it was being patrolled. The hallway was empty though, the only sounds coming from behind them. He turned to Eames, reloading. "You good to distract the projections?"
"Course."
"Eames." Eames had already started off down and hallway when Arthur called after him. He turned to look at him, confused. "Be careful."
Eames gave him a small smile, expression softening slightly. "You too."
Arthur nodded and turned, setting off down the other side of the hallway. "See you in 15 minutes."
I love you.
XXX
Arthur was already in bed by the time Eames got back to the hotel. He had been for a while. It'd been a long couple of days, waking up early and staying late to finish up his research, and it was starting to catch up to him. He could normally stay up until the early hours of the morning with no issue, but now it was barely 10pm and he was already having trouble keeping his eyes open. 
Eames opened the door and slipped in quietly, looking at Arthur with surprise. "Figured you'd be asleep by the time I got in." 
"Almost, but not quite." Arthur stretched out under the covers, trying to stifle a yawn. "Productive evening?"
"Very. Business dinners are always a great context to observe someone in." Eames took his jacket off and dug through his bag. "Guy's your average run of the mill slimy businessman. I could probably forge him in my sleep."
"Hm, we do work with quite a few of those, don't we?"
Eames grinned at him. "Practically our bread and butter."
Arthur went back to scrolling mindlessly through his phone as Eames disappeared into the bathroom. He'd spent the past hour half-heartedly reading through the news as he tried to stay awake, and that seemed like a good way to continue occupying his time until Eames had finished getting ready for bed.
"You heading into the workshop tomorrow?" Eames' voice drifted out of the bathroom over the sound of the sink.
 "No, I was thinking of working in a cafe somewhere." He shrugged. "We're in Rome, I might as well take advantage of the quality espresso."
"You," Eames wandered back out, drying his face with a hand towel, "don't need espresso. You're sleep deprived enough as it is, you don't need to add more caffeine to the mix."
"I'll get a good night's sleep tonight, it'll be fine." Arthur sighed. "And I'll try not to drink more than four shots tomorrow. Sound fair?"
"I suppose." Eames pulled the covers back and climbed into bed, turning the lamp off as he did so. "Mind if I join you?"
Arthur smiled and moved closer. "You're just trying to make sure I don't overdo it on the espresso."
Eames laughed. "Maybe." He shifted, making space for Arthur as he nestled against his side. "Can't I just enjoy your company though?" Arthur hummed happily as he curled against Eames, not even bothering to reply. He could already feel sleep pulling at him as Eames' arm settled around his shoulders. Eames laughed again quietly, pulling him close. "You really are tired, aren't you?"
"Mm, a bit."
"Why did you stay up? You could've just gone to bed." 
Arthur gave a small shrug as he started to drift off. "I sleep better next to you."
I love you.
XXX
“You’re okay.” Arthur brushed Eames’ hair back from his forehead, his other hand rubbing gentle circles on Eames’ back as he threw up. “You’re alright.”
Eames rarely got sick. He might get the occasional cold or bout of food poisoning if he wasn’t careful, but that was usually it. When he did get sick, though, it was bad. The sort of bad that knocked him out and put him out of commission for a week or two straight. Or, in this case, had him bent over the toilet throwing up for hours at a time for the third day in a row. They were supposed to be working a job right now, a quick and easy one extracting information from an old man on behalf of his estranged son, but Eames had come down with whatever the fuck he’d gotten on the the second day and that had put a quick end to their involvement. Well, to Eames’ involvement technically. But someone had to help take care of him until he was a bit more recovered because Arthur learned rather quickly that Eames would do a terrible job of it if left to his own devices. 
Arthur filled a cup up with water and handed it to Eames once he seemed to have gotten through this round of throwing up. “Try and drink at least a little. Otherwise you’re going to get dehydrated.”
“‘M not going to be able to keep it down.”
“I know.” He crouched behind Eames, going back to rubbing his back gently. “But you should try to drink a bit anyways.” Eames managed to get half of it down before setting the cup of the floor and resting his head against his arm. Arthur moved the cup up onto the counter. “Do you think you’re going to be sick again soon?”
“Don’t think so, no.”
“Why don’t we head back to the bed then? That’ll be more comfortable than the bathroom floor.” Arthur helped Eames up slowly. He looked terrible, with dark circles under his eyes and his skin pale and clammy. Arthur remembered the first time he’d seen Eames properly sick; he’d been shocked by the change and had briefly and irrationally wondered if he was maybe dying. He’d gotten more used to the sight, as uncommon as it was, over the years, but he still felt a stab of concern each time. 
Eames was curled against Arthur’s side as soon as they were back in bed, face pressed against Arthur’s t-shirt. That was the other thing he'd learned: when Eames was sick, wearing anything he actually liked was inadvisable at best and downright stupid at worst. So until Eames was more recovered it would be sweatpants and cheap t-shirts that he didn't have to worry about keeping clean and could just throw out when they invariably got something gross on them. Arthur could still feel the slight heat of Eames’ fever through the cloth, but it was far better than it had been the past few days. Hopefully it would break for good sometime this evening. He looked down as Eames muttered something, his voice too muffled to actually make out what he was saying. “Come again?”
He tilted his face up slightly. “Said you’re going to get sick too after this.”
“Maybe. I’ll be fine though.” Arthur ran his hand through Eames’ hair. He was, to be fair, absolutely right. There was almost no way he was getting out of this without catching whatever it was Eames had. When he got sick though it was usually far milder. He'd feel like shit for a few days, but nothing like what Eames was going through. “I don’t get sick like you do.”
“Still. You don’t have to stay.” Eames started to sit up unsteadily. “‘M fine.”
Arthur sighed. “Don’t be an idiot. I’m not going anywhere. Now lay back down." Eames was back against him almost immediately, arms around his waist. Arthur laughed quietly and went back to running his fingers through Eames' hair. Eames was quite affectionate to begin with, and when he got sick he was almost downright clingy. It was sweet, honestly. "Someone has to take care of you."
"I can take care of myself." Eames' voice was muffled again, but at least a bit more understandable.
"Not when you're sick, you can't." 
"You had to drop the job though."
Arthur settled back against the pillows. "Well, it's not like either of us really needed the money. And it wasn't a particularly exciting one, so I doubt we're missing much." He was about to say something else when he felt Eames tense. Arthur gripped his shoulders and pushed him up; he knew all too well what that meant. "No no no no do not throw up in the bed."
It was close, but Eames managed to make it back to the bathroom in time. Arthur crouched behind him, rubbing Eames' back gently as his shoulders shook. He moved back and sat against the tile wall after a few minutes when Eames seemed to have finished throwing up, shifting so that Eames could lay between his legs, head resting on Arthur's chest. "Maybe it's best if we just stay in here for a bit."
Eames groaned, gripping his shirt tightly. "Sorry for making you do this."
"Don't be. I'm certainly not sorry for being here." Arthur wrapped his arms around Eames' shoulders, holding him close. "Let me take care of you."
I love you.
XXX
The fourth drink was, as were most things with Eames, both a wonderful and terrible idea. Arthur hadn't planned on getting drunk, in fact he'd planned on specifically not doing that, but Eames had asked if he wanted a second drink with a smile that had made it clear he was hoping the answer would be yes, and Arthur had never been very good at saying no to that smile. Two drinks turned into three and eventually into four and at some point Arthur had ended up back at Eames’ place, settled quite happily on his lap, the world warm and blurry around him. He wasn’t exactly sure when or how that had happened, but he wasn’t going to complain.
He leaned his head back against Eames’ shoulder. “If I’m hungover tomorrow I’m absolutely blaming you.”
“All I did was ask if you wanted another drink.” Arthur could see Eames grinning out of the corner of his eye. “You could’ve said no.”
“Not when you’re asking, I can’t.”
“Really?” Eames wrapped his arms around Arthur’s waist, holding him close. Arthur moved with him easily. “I had no idea I had such an effect on you.”
Arthur laughed. “Yes you did.”
“Well, okay. I maybe had some idea.”
Arthur hummed contentedly in response, settling back against Eames’ chest. It was wonderful laying here like this. He knew he’d regret those extra drinks in the morning when he’d almost definitely wake up with at least a mild hangover and have to go back to working on the job, but right now he couldn’t think of anything better than sitting with Eames' arms around him, curled against him. Eames chuckled, leaning back against the arm of the couch. “You’re cute when you’re drunk, you know that?”
Arthur tried to cut off the giggle he could feel building up in his chest, but was only partially successful. “I’m not cute.”
“You get a couple of drinks in you and you start blushing and giggling and invariably end up on my lap like some sort of intoxicated cat. You,” Eames kissed his temple, “are an adorable drunk and you absolutely can’t convince me otherwise.”
“And what about you?” Arthur looked up. He tried to fix Eames with a serious glare but based on Eames’ grin he seemed to have failed. “You’re just as drunk as I am.”
“That’s true.” Eames raised an eyebrow. "You saying you think I'm also cute when I'm drunk?"
"No." Arthur frowned. That hadn't been what he'd been trying to say but, to be fair, he wasn't entirely sure what he had been trying to say. He searched for some sort of comeback. "You're always cute. Not just when you're drunk."
Eames stared at him for a moment, surprised, before laughing and pulling Arthur in close. "Shit, you really are drunk."
"Hm, maybe. You're still cute though." He slipped his hand into Eames', train of thought derailing slightly as Eames squeezed his hand back. "You have…you have this smile. It's not your normal one, you know, the polite one you use when you're trying to be nice or friendly. Your real one. The one you use when you're happy or something made you really laugh. Or sometimes you just look at me and suddenly that smile is there for no reason. Your entire face lights up and you…" He shrugged. He knew there were probably better words he was trying to find, but none of them seemed to be coming. "You're cute."
Eames ran his thumb over the back of Arthur's hand, tracing small circles. "Apparently you're a sentimental drunk too." His tone was teasing but even through the haze of alcohol Arthur could hear the fondness behind it.
"Shut up," he giggled. 
"Never." Eames shifted and Arthur slid off his lap slightly and onto the couch beside him, draping his arm across Eames' stomach and nestling against his side. Eames kissed his forehead. "You're a cute, sappy, sentimental drunk and I refuse to ever let you forget it."
"I can't stand you, you know that?" Arthur buried his face against Eames' shirt as Eames laughed. It truly was wonderful laying here like this. It struck Arthur as Eames ran his fingers through his hair that he would be perfectly content to lay here in Eames' arms for the rest of his life. "Can't stand you in the least."
I love you.
XXX
Arthur had some strong opinions about Toronto's downtown architecture, most of them rather negative, but he'd always liked the train station. It was a classic building, with it's high, arched ceiling and wide open atrium, and Arthur may have gotten his start in extraction with strange and paradoxical architecture but he still appreciated a well made classic when he saw it.
He hated it now though. Being at the train station meant morning had come already and it was time for him and Eames to part ways. Again. Three days together after almost four months apart hadn't been nearly enough, but it was all they'd been able to manage. He leaned against Eames, trying to savour the feeling as best he could. 
"Don't look so sad."
Arthur looked down, trying to hide his expression. He both loved and hated how easily Eames could read him. "I'm not sad."
"Yes you are." Eames chuckled and tilted his chin up. "You get sad every time we do this."
"I just don't like goodbyes, that's all." Arthur kept his gaze down, not looking at Eames. It felt childish but if Arthur looked at him he'd see the soft expression he knew was on Eames' face, and that would just make it worse. "I've never liked them."
"It's just a couple of weeks. A month at the most." Eames' hand was against his face and Arthur leaned into the touch, trying to commit the feeling to memory. "We've had longer goodbyes before."
"I know." Arthur reached out and adjusted Eames' collar, frowning slightly. Anything to occupy his attention. "Doesn't make it easier though." His hands drifted slowly down to Eames' waist, fiddling with the hem of his jacket. Finally Arthur looked up and met Eames' gaze. His chest hurt slightly as he saw Eames' expression; it was just as soft and gentle as he'd imagined. "I'll miss you."
Eames grinned at him. "Careful, or I might start to think you actually care about me."
Arthur frowned again. "Careful, or I might decide I don't." 
"Empty threats, that's all you have." Eames' expression softened again, and he ran his thumb over Arthur's cheekbone. "I'll miss you too, darling. I always do." He looked up as an announcement echoed over the loudspeaker. "Well, I think that's you."
"Yeah, it is." Arthur looked back down, fingers still playing absentmindedly with the edge of Eames' jacket. He knew he needed to go, but he couldn't quite bring himself to pull away. Part of him was tempted not to. To stay here, miss his train, forget the job he was supposed to start tomorrow. To not say goodbye. Not again. He was tired of that, tired of weeks, of months, apart. But that was their life. Maybe it wouldn’t be one day- he hoped it wouldn’t be one day- but for now it was. After a moment he sighed. "Be safe?"
"Always." Eames kissed his cheek before pulling away. "I'll see you around, love."
"Yeah." Arthur gave him a small smile that he knew was laced with sadness. "See you around."
I love you.
XXX
Arthur was pissed.
Well, not really. He was worried. Eames had been gone for over an hour. Which wouldn’t be concerning under normal circumstances, but it most certainly fucking was when they had people trying to kill them. They’d been laying low in a safehouse Eames had used in Amsterdam previously for the past few days without any issues, but the client who’d put the hit out in the first place had deep pockets and access to resources. Arthur doubted three days was enough for things to be even remotely safe again.
They’d needed food though. There hadn’t been much in the safehouse when they’d gotten there, and it hadn’t been long before they’d worked through most of what was there. Arthur had tried to insist on going but Eames had pointed out that his Dutch was better and they needed to attract as little attention as possible right now. Arthur had begrudgingly agreed; he knew Eames was right, but that hadn’t done anything to calm the discomfort in his chest as Eames had closed the door to the rundown apartment behind him or tamp down on the restlessness that had made him start pacing back and forth in the small space as the minutes ticked by.
By the time an hour had passed Arthur was well and properly anxious. There was a store nearby, it shouldn’t have taken Eames this long to pick up enough food to last them another few days. Unless something had gone wrong. Unless he’d been made. Been captured. Been killed. Their client had a reputation and Arthur had met men like him before, men who were vengeful and violent and cruel; he didn’t want to think about what would happen if he got his hands on Eames. Couldn’t think about it. His mind wouldn’t leave it alone though, running through the possibilities. Of how Eames might’ve been killed. Of what might happen to him if they had taken him alive.
So Arthur wasn’t angry. Not really. But anger was easier than the worry and anxiety that was gnawing at him so he focused on that instead, letting it build until he could almost ignore the growing fear that something had happened. Not quite, but almost. 
He stopped in his tracks, hand dropping to his gun as the door lock turned, tense and alert. He relaxed as he caught a glimpse of god awful but familiar paisley though, and a moment later Eames was in the apartment closing and locking the door behind him. “Well, we won’t be eating great, but we should be-”
The relief didn't last long, anger flaring in Arthur's chest. “Where the fuck have you been?!”
Eames blinked, clearly surprised by Arthur’s tone. It was admittedly a little harsher than he’d intended, but not by much. He gave Arthur a confused look. “I went to the store, darling. Thought we’d already discussed that.”
“The store is three blocks away. You’ve been gone over an hour!” Arthur tried to take a deep breath but couldn’t quite seem to manage to get a full one. “It shouldn’t have taken that long!”
“The line at the store was long and then I thought I might’ve had a tail so I-”
“A tail?!” Arthur wasn’t quite yelling, raised voices attracted attention and they very much did not need that right now, but it was getting harder to control his volume. “How careless were you?!”
Eames set the bags he was carrying on the floor with a frown. “Arthur, calm down, I wasn’t-”
“No, I’m not going to fucking calm down.” It was harder to take a breath now and he knew he was getting louder despite his best efforts to stay at a normal speaking volume. “You could’ve been killed, Eames, you can’t be this careless! You can’t…”
“Arthur.” Eames’ voice was quiet but firm as he took Arthur’s hands. “It’s alright. I’m alright. Just breathe.”
Arthur gripped Eames’ hands, trying to take a deep breath again. The anger drained out of him as quickly as it had flared up, leaving him feeling shaky and unsteady. “I just…you were gone for so long and I…”
“I know, I’m sorry.” Eames pulled him into a hug and Arthur leaned into the touch gratefully. “I didn’t mean to worry you."
Breathing was a little easier with Eames' arms around him, the pressure grounding him. Still a bit shaky, but easier. "I kept thinking something had happened." He relaxed slightly, the solid feeling of Eames against him helping dissipate some of the anxiety in his chest. "Sorry I got…worked up. I just…I worry sometimes. About you."
"It's alright." Eames pulled back just enough to kiss Arthur's cheek. "I love you too."
Arthur blinked at the words, surprised, before smiling slightly. He'd known how he felt for a while, but he'd never said it out loud. He hadn't known how. Leave it to Eames to figure it out anyways though. He buried his face in the crook of Eames' neck, a gentle warmth replacing some of his worry. "Am I really that easy to read?"
Eames laughed quietly. "Absolutely."
“I do, you know.” Arthur pulled back and looked at Eames with a serious expression. “Love you. I mean it.”
"I know, darling. I've known for a while.” Eames kissed him gently. “And I mean it when I say I love you too.” He smiled. "Now what do you say we eat something? Like I said, it won't be the best meal ever, but it'll be better than the stale crackers we've been eating the past few days."
Arthur smiled back. The anxiety in his chest hadn’t fully disappeared, but it was far better now, and Arthur knew it would be gone soon enough. It was alright. Eames was alright. "Sounds good to me."
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seafleece · 4 years
Text
funnily enough, one of the first things they do is go to bed.
jester’s still shoving them along all the way into caleb’s dome, cheerful edging on a snarl, and there’s this freshly awful silence while everyone’s waiting for him to draw the circle.
“where are we going?” he says, and no one answers for a moment.
“i need a place, or it won’t work and i will have to start over. where are we going?”
“the xhorhaus,” jester says from besides beau, and turns to beau when she speaks again. “home.”
caleb looks up at her, between the two of them, and sucks in a breath between his teeth. “ja, okay, home it is.”
“beau.” they’re barely out of the lucid bastion, and jester reaches for her coat. “beau.”
“later, jes, okay?”
she’s still shaking.
jester gives her a look. it’s funny, how she’s been waiting to see jester angry, and now all she is is scared. “later.”
she doesn’t let go of beau’s coat the whole walk back.
and it probably seems like she’s avoiding jester, still, when they get back, but honest to gods she really does fall asleep in the bath.
the big clawfoot one down the hall from her and jester’s room— there are running faucets here, it’s always such a luxury after time on the road or in inns— she fills it and lets her hair down and even dumps in some of the citrusy-smelling stuff on the counter and sinks down, wincing.
mom would laugh, she thinks. if they did the thing they did with jester’s mom, stayed and listened to her tell stories about how their friend grew up, her mom would laugh and tell everyone that beau always hated baths. that beau hated having her hair fussed with.
but she doesn’t. she never did.
she hated how quiet they were. how her mom would hold up the stained ankles of her trousers and click her tongue and make that face, the one she always made when she knew dad would be mad but had no intention of standing in the way.
mom tugged at her hair, too, not because she didn’t like putting it up, but because dad never gave her enough time to do it in the mornings. she’d wake beau so early, and when she was too sleepy to get ready properly, mom would get angry because she was scared. dad would still be asleep, and still his anger, the fear of it, flowed all the way through mom and into her, suffocating and cold.
the first time she cut it short was to help— if she had less hair, it wouldn’t take so much time, right? but mom had crawled her fingers over her mouth like it was her arm she’d cut off, and not her hair.
(the second time she did it was because a guard had almost grabbed her by it.)
the xhorhaus is one of the only places since that’s had faucets— she watches it drip for a few long moments before tipping her head back against the edge.
she doesn’t need it. the metal basins at the soul were perfectly fine, she could go back to them— or would she not be there, either? would she even remember it? what would she have left?
what would there be left of her?
“i don’t know what it’s going to take.”
she comes to blearily. it’s dark out, not that it’s any indicator of the time, but the water’s still mostly warm.
jester’s pulled up one of the low stools to the side of the tub and is looking heavily at the floor, chin propped on her fist.
“what?”
“i don’t know what i have to do, beau.”
she sniffs, and godsdammit, she made jester cry.
“you keep not getting it, you know?”
“jes, i’m sorry, i—”
“you know, sometimes the rest of us do know what we want? that when we say— when i say i want you around, i mean it? that you would actually hurt me more by leaving, even if you think it’s better, or whatever.”
she turns to look at beau, and her face is flushed the same deep purple as when she’d scried on yasha, all those weeks ago. “sometimes you are really stupid, you know that?”
“yeah.”
“i’m really sorry that we made you go home, and i think your parents suck and we never have to visit them again and i think it’s really sweet that you did it anyway for nott, but we’re here, too, this time.” she reaches out, rests her hand on the rim of the tub, and beau takes it immediately. “it was really scary when you shut us out again. it was like before we knew you. it was like you didn’t want to know us anymore.”
“i’m sorry.”
“and you’re wrong, you know. or that witch is, if she told you. we’re not going to split up when this is over— we have this house all together and you can come and live at the chateau with me and momma, and we’d figure something out even if you couldn’t, because we don’t do that anymore, okay? the being along thing. we’d be dead if it wasn’t for you, so many times. we need you.”
jester squeezes her hand, and her eyes drift to beau’s shoulder, the curling green lines.
“i know you like to tell that molly story, about leaving better than you found something, but it’s not the same, okay? we’re not a town waiting for a god, we’re your friends. we can come with you.”
“i just—” she’s on the edge of tears, too, again, dammit. “if i leave when it’s good, i won’t be able to mess it up again.”
jester scowls at this, drops beau’s hand to grip both on the edge of the tub and pull herself forward, almost into beau’s space.
“why don’t you believe people want you around for more than what you do for them, beau?”
“i—”
now she really is crying. stingy, irregular tears merging with the cooling water. she thinks of mom gasping when she’d cut her hair, she thinks of the first days at the soul, before she’d given up on getting out. it’s your dad’s money, they said.
but then. she thinks of dairon, watching her with that half smile. offering a hand after beating her into the ground. the look in her eyes when she told beau she’d made her an expositor.
caleb and nott, clinging to each other under the grey sky and clinging to her, in front of molly’s grave. fjord laughing on the deck when he was teaching her sailing knots. caduceus next to her on watch, leaning on his staff— “you know, miss beau, i think you’re my favorite.” yasha reaching to touch her shoulders in the little room past the cathedral, yasha uncurling in sleep between her and jester in the rexxentrum cottage.
jester. clinging tight to her back on the ship under the wide, grey sky. pushing her knees into the hollows at the back of beau’s when they went to bed. holding her by the face when she healed her. cradling her head in her lap when she’d passed out under orly’s needle.
marching into the den of a witch after beau had offered to give them up. after beau had offered to leave her.
“i don’t know.” she looks at the water again. “i’m scared to think other things.”
jester tips forward further, so her forehead knocks against beau’s.
“just. remember this, next time you think about it, okay? imagine me crying because you are gone, because i would, beau, i would never stop crying and i would die of dehydration and it would be your fault and i would haunt you forever. i want you around all the time, i promise. i always will.”
beau reaches up to wrap one arm loosely around jester’s neck, hovering partway over the tub as she is. if jester minds that she’s dripping water onto her sleep clothes, she doesn’t say.
“okay.”
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ma-lark-ey · 4 years
Text
((Remember that brief post I made on Lark(?) getting sick? Yeah here's a whole chapter. But this time its angsty))
CW; for sickness, mentions of vomit, dry-heaving, minor panic attack description, spoilers for Episode 39-40. Theres some Oakson if you squint, I dunno if that counts at a trigger,,, but yeah
Henry couldn't remember the last time Lark was the twin to get sick. He had such an impenetrable immune system he thought he was incapable of the thing. But here he was, fixing Lark a bowl of soup while he laid on the couch under a fuzzy blanket.
"Here, Birdie. Don't eat it too fast, alright?" He brushed Lark's bangs back and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Sure, his boy was nearly fifteen, but no child is too old for a sweet forehead kiss.
That usual fire Lark had boiling in him was dessimated by his case of some virus, and instead of his usual extravagant response to Henry, he just nodded.
"When's Ma gonna be home?" He asked, pushing himself to sit up enough to eat comfortably. His eyes looked like a raccoons, deep dark circles around them, sunk and dull. His skin was pale and lifeless. He could pass as a vampire. And that's his the boys went, either they were perfectly healthy, or they nose dove into being couch bound for a week.
"Somewhere around seven, she's bringing dinner. But, I may have to leave here soon. I have a meeting for something. You think you'll be alright by yourself for a little bit?" Henry hated the thought of leaving his boy when he was so vulnerable. Anything could happen in two hours. Especially with how quickly Lark's health could plummet. Last time one of them got sick, Sparrow was fine Friday morning and by Sunday evening they were taking him to urgent care because he had fluid in his lungs.
"I'll be fine, Dad." Lark set his half eaten bowl of soul on the coffee table, snuggling right back down into his blankets. "Hey, could you go get me the plush on my bed? The- the Pichu one."
"Of course, Lark. I'll be right back." Henry stood, making sure Lark was cozy in his blankets and went to grab the stuffed animal. It was rare the twins had toys un-destroyed as kids, but that Pokemon bear Nick had gotten Lark as a birthday gift when they were six? That thing always stayed perfectly in tact.
He picked the old, well-loved toy up off the bed. He could see the stitching on its ear where Sparrow had accidentally ripped it when they were seven. Lark cried for hours, wouldn't talk to Sparrow for thirty whole minutes over it.
The young granola-crunching dad trotted back downstairs. Lark was laying limp on the couch, breathing short and shallow. He looked horrid. Henry's going to have to cancel his meeting, he knows that. He's not leaving Lark alone when he looks this bad. Henry should recheck his temperature.
He set the Pichu down in the gap between Lark and the back of the couch, placing his palm on his forehead. God,,the kid felt like fire.
Lark gagged suddenly, throwing the blankets off himself and grabbing the pot he kept on the floor next to him. The soup he'd just eaten came right back up, he sat there, hunched over, crying and dryheaving for a good five minutes. Henry rubbed circles in his back and tried to soothe him. But, Lark couldn't even keep water down anymore. Henry knew he was dehydrated, and he didn't know what to do anymore.
Lark let out a sob, leaning into his dad. Henry held his boy against him, not daring to give a gentleman sway like he usually would.
"It hurts... Everything hurts..." He whimpered. He sounded so small, which wasn't a way Lark Oak-Garcia should sound.
"I know, baby. I know." Henry reached for thermometer he'd been keeping on the coffee table. He pulled it out of the protective case.
Lark looked at him, his eyes looked so tired. He opened his mouth and let Henry put the device under his tongue. It took a minute, but the thing beeled and Henry checked.
106.7. Oh hell no. Oh heeeell no.
"Get some shoes on, Lark, we're going to the emergency room." He said quickly, pushing himself to his feet and going to grab his keys, phone, wallet, and own shoes.
"Dad, I'm fine, I-"
"You're temperature is one hundred and SIX! That is not fine! Get some shoes!" Henry felt his hands started to shake. No, not now. He felt that familiar crushing feeling of his chest caring in on itself. Not now. Stupid panic attack disorder.
"Dad, really, itll go down in the hour I'm-"
"Lark Oliver Oak-Garcia, do not argue with me on this please, we are going to the emergency room and thats final. Now put on your shoes!" He knew he snapped, but he was freaking out. He didn't know anything about his stuff. In the Realms, when someone was this sick you'd cast a healing spell and bada-bing bada-boom, hes fine! But this isn't the realms, and there isn't magic! He pressed trembling fingers to his temples, trying to ease himself out of the coming panic attack before he really got consumed in the anxieties. He needed to be Dad right now, not Henry.
He looked around the room, listing off things he could touch or hear or see. Just like Mercedes had taught him.
Deep breath in.... Deep breath out. Its good. Lark's good. Focus on getting him to the doctor.
Henry snatched his keys and phone off the table, grabbing his wallet from the counter in passing and shuffling to get on his Birkenstocks.
Lark was shuffling awkwardly to the door, holding his Pichu plush. He looked nauseous just standing, but both Henry and Lark knew there was nothing left in his system to come back up.
Henry helped him into the passenger seat and buckled his seat belt, leaning it back so he wasnt sitting straight up and making himself light-headed. Then, he got himself in the drivers seat and pulled out of the driveway, handing his phone to Lark.
"Call your brother." He said sternly, eyes focused on the road as he moved to the urgent care clinical as fast as possible. Of course Lark listened, and Sparrow came through the Bluetooth of the car.
"Hey, Dad. What's up? How's Lark doing?"
"Hi, Sparrow. Letting you know, Lark's fever is almost 107, so we're going to the emergency room. Don't know when I'll be home, you can stay with one of the boys, or stay at home. I don't care. Mom's gonna be home around seven."
"Uh- oh! Okay. Um... Okay. Thats- okay, Dad. Is he okay? Just a high fever?" Of course Sparrow immediately sounding absolutely terrified.
"Don't panic,,Lark's good. He's just... He's low on fluids, his fevers high. I'll send you plenty of updates, promise. But, I gotta let you go cause we're here and I need to get him in. I love you so much, Sparrow."
"I... I love you too, Dad. And Lark. I- okay. I'll probably stay at Terry's."
"That's fine, call me when you get there, okay?"
"Okay... Bye."
"Bye, Sparrow.
------------
Henry paced the waiting room. Its not that they were doing anything major to Lark, just running some standard health checks and getting him settled in a room for the night. But, your pride and joy, your beautiful son whom you love more than life itself being in a hospital room without you? Terrifying. Fucking terrifying.
Darryl had arrived about five minutes ago, and was currently trying to get Henry to stand still.
"Darryl, Darryl, darling, you're wonderful but you really need to shut the fuck up. If I sit, I will stop the adrenalin rush and when I stop the adrenaline rush my thoughts start going-"
"Henry-"
"and that means my brain turns back on and when my brain turns back on, it means I'll probably have a panic attack and I really don't want to have one right now,"
"Henry!"
"at this moment, because for the love of god, Darryl, I need to know when my boy is okay and I can't know when my boy is okay if I have a panic attack because then I won't be able to-" Darryl grabbed hold of Henry's shoulders and stared him right in the eye.
"HENRY!" Thank god he finally got him to stop going down the rabbit hole, it took Henry long enough. He stared the other father in the eyes. His mind stopped for a moment. Just a moment. But it was a long enough moment.
Darryl knew the tears were coming before Henry ever showed signs of beginning to cry. He pulled him into a tight hug and just held him there, in strong arms.
"Its okay, Henry. He's fine. Just a high fever and some dehydration. He'll be fine." Darryl promised him.
------------
And, Darryl was right. Lark was fine. Henry freaked out over nothing. Late that night, Lark was discharged again. After his fever went back down and they gave him fluids.
It was now well past midnight, and Henry was exhausted. He got his just as tired son in bed, tucking him in and making sure the pichu was tucked in Lark's arms. He gave yet another forehead kiss, turning off the lamp.
"Goodnight, kiddo. Hope you feel better in the morning."
And, Henry dragged himself back to his bedroom, where Mercedes laid already asleep. He changed into a pair of pajama pants and crawled in next to her. Like her sixth sense, she rolled over to use Henry as some kind of large teddy bear like she did everything night. It was so nice. He took a long, deep, satisfying breath and settled into his pillows. His eyes became heavy, and he fell asleep faster than he had in years.
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canumoveurseatup-no · 5 years
Text
say ‘i love you’ before you leave
summary: you and bucky are going through a rough patch in your marriage
word count: 2.5k
pairings: bucky x black!reader
warnings: ANGST, fighting, mentions of a divorce
Tumblr media
———————
“I’m not understanding why you’re making such a big deal out of this, babe,”
“Of course you wouldn’t!! When was the last time you actually tried to see things from my point of you?”
Everyone sat in silence. It’s been the same for a month now and it’s all just white noise now. They’ve tried mediating but it goes nowhere and it doesn’t help that your son has become immune to the screaming of his parents.
Four years old, he shouldn’t be experiencing this. He just wants his mommy and daddy to love each other and go a day or two without arguing and crying. Kadin sighed when he saw his dad storm off in a different direction of your shared room. Steve held in tight and turned the tv up louder so he didn’t hear your cries or his dad swearing loudly.
He just wanted it all to stop.
————————
“You shouldn’t be going out tonight. It’s your night to read him his favorite story. You know he loves that, only you can voice his characters how he likes,” You tell Bucky when you find out at noon that he was going out instead of staying in. 
Every Thursday was your family night, you go out to your favorite food spot and watch movies until you all get sleepy and take Kadin to bed to read him his favorite story. 
“Y/N, he’s four years old, he can go a single night without the story and if he wants it so bad he’ll let you read it to him. I just need to breathe and clear my head and a night out will do it,”
He hated going out, he hated the modern day clubs, he couldn’t even get drunk, he drank it “for fun”. It was quite pointless. You looked at him like a kicked puppy and his demeanor softened but he shook his head and went to the bedroom.
Bucky went out anyway and you tried to toughen it out for Kadin but you couldn’t really keep yourself together at dinner. You cried so hard you got sick in the restaurant bathroom, Kadin just stood sad outside the stall, he just wanted his mommy to feel better . He didn’t even want you to try to read him his favorite story. You called your best friend and sobbed to her all night.
“I don’t know what I did,”
“You didn’t do anything, babes. This is just a rough patch. Every marriage has these. It will run its course and things will be better. He doesn’t hate you,”
“What if he wants a divorce? I-I don’t know what I’d do,” 
The thought of such a thing hurt your chest and you tried to be quiet as best as you could so you wouldn’t wake Kadin but it was hard. This was hard. You couldn’t run to Steve or Nat or Sam because they’d all run back and tell him how you were feeling and you were terrified that it would only fuel his anger more and push him over the edge to leave. 
You couldn’t talk to Pepper or Tony because they had enough on their plate with their marriage and their child. You were losing it, you just wanted to talk to him but everything turn into a screaming match as of late and that is something you never wanted your marriage to become.
“Listen, Y/N/N. I know things are hard right now, but I doubt he’d ask for a divorce. Buck is a man of his word and he said for better or for worse and right now this road is looking a little rough and a little worse but I know you two are strong enough to stick it out. Ya hear me?,”
“Yeah I hear you,”
“Great,” you could hear her smile through the phone, “Now please get some rest. You sound exhausted, I love you,”
You covered your mouth to keep from crying, hearing I love you from other people hurt when you needed to hear it from one person in this moment. 
“I know, I l-lo-love you too,”
She hung up and you sat there drying your tears until you had to go to the bathroom to put some eye drops in your eyes due to them being so sore and dry. 
Later that night you waited up for Bucky while he was out with the guys, even though you told yourself you wouldn’t. They stumbled in drunkenly and his smile faltered but he was surprised when you just got up and went to the guest room.
“Just wanted to make sure you got home safe. Kadin missed his dad,”
He stood there shocked, ready to have another screaming match but you looked drained, dark circles under your eyes and lips dry. You couldn’t do it anymore, you couldn’t argue- that’s not communication.
“I love you, Bucky,”
He heard you say it before you went around the corner to head to the room. Even after all the arguments, you never failed to say I love you, he had to know that you didn’t despise him like all the fights had seemed.
Bucky walked down the hall to see Kadin sitting on the edge of his bed crying, he didn’t hesitate to check on his son.
“Kadin?,” he slowly pushed the door open so he didn’t scar his little boy, “Why are you crying?,”
He sat in the floor in front of Kadin and held his hands after wiping his tears.
“Is mommy going to be okay?,”
His question caught him off guard. Of course you’d be okay, right?
“Why would you ask that?,” it wasn’t a harsh question, it was pure curiosity.
“She was crying all night and then she got sick from crying too much. We went to our family food spot and she couldn’t even sit at our usual booth... she won’t eat. She just keeps saying sorry to me,”
The news hurt Bucky. He wish he had an answer for his actions, sometimes he just ignored what you said, you always had a valid reason for bringing things up but he always took it a step further and got loud.
“Th-then she called auntie Lynn Lynn... she didn’t know I was listening but she a-asked her if she was a bad wife and if she was how could she fix it because she can’t take you hating her anymore,”
Bucky didn’t even think how this all would impact his son... he didn’t take into consideration how this was hurting you. Bucky say quietly, thinking what he could say to assure his son everything was okay.
“What’s a di-div-divorce?,” he hiccuped. Bucky’s eyes widened in fear and he finally found the ability to talk again.
“What? Why?,”
“Mommy is scared you’re gonna ask for one soon because you hate her so much. Why do you hate mommy? She didn’t do anything!,”
Bucky cried. He took swings his little boy delivered and cried before holding him tight, “I don’t hate mommy, I don’t, I don’t,”
——————
You didn’t leave the guest room all day. You were afraid to leave and face Bucky, afraid to face Kadin after how you were yesterday.
You missed Bucky’s touch. You missed his lips, feeling his scruff on your skin. You missed him making love to you and holding you right after. It’s been so long, you felt he was disgusted with you. He barely looked at you and it made you self conscious.
You didn’t know he was drowning in his own insecurities as well.
The place was quiet, aside from your sniffles. You got sick of sulking so you ran yourself a hot bath and cleaned yourself up before roaming around the compound. You found Natasha and Sam before you found anyone else.
“Where is Kadin and B-,”
“They went out and spent the day together. Something about giving you a break and him not spending enough time with Kadin,”
You’d be lying if it didn’t worry you, simply because you felt he was only out with Kadin to break it to him softly that he and mommy were gonna break up.
And that thought has been in your mind for days after that. You and Bucky tiptoed around each other and you truly began to worry about your marriage and what would happen next. Bucky didn’t know how to approach you or how to apologize for doing shit to egg you on.
One morning everything came crumbling down when Kadin was sitting down eating breakfast and Bucky was getting ready to leave to handle some tedious paperwork at shield and he didn’t give a “bye, see ya later” or an “I love you”- that mattered the most.
You two always said I loved you before you left the comfort of your home and you’d been taking the hits of him not saying it for the past month now and today was the last straw, so when you heard the door shut, you couldn’t keep the sobs in anymore. You didn’t care that Kadin was sitting there watching this but he did want to comfort his mommy- you were a wreck.
The sound of the front door opening caught his attention though and he ran to see his dad coming back in, he forgot his wallet.
“Help mommy, daddy” he begged, “I don’t know what to do, help my mommy!,”
“What’s wrong?,” he followed Kadin into the kitchen seeing you bent over the counter, wailing and clenching your chest. You didn’t know he was back so when you felt his hands on your arms you jumped and yelled, stopping for a second. You looked at him and your chin began trembling from trying to keep the cries in.
“I’m sorry,” you shake your head. You didn’t even know what you were apologizing for but you figured it was something you did to make Bucky treat you with such disdain, “I don’t know what I did for you to hate me but I’m so sorry, please... j-just please,”
You were exhausted, you couldn’t even hold yourself up. You fell against his chest and Kadin ran over to you, holding your face in his hands
“Mommy! it’s going to be okay, you’re gonna be okay,” he sniffles, “Daddy do something!,”
“Kadin get me a bottle of water for mommy, please,” he spoke calmly and proper you up against the cabinets and held your hands tight.
“Baby, I don’t hate you,”
“Y-you don’t l-love me either,” you snatched your hands from him to angrily wipe your face, “When was the last time you touched me, Bucky? W-we haven’t been intimate in months, you stopped looking at me and calling me doll. If you want to leave me please just say so because I ca- I’m sorry,”
Kadin’s feet carried him back over to you two fast, handing his dad the cold water, he flipped the cap and held it up to your lips, helping your drink it, “Sips, baby. You’re gonna choke,”
You didn’t want to mention you were dehydrated and starving all because of stress and fear. You couldn’t just sip, your body was telling you to gulp it all down and grab another bottle to do the same with that one. You mewled when he pulled the bottle away and set it down.
Your cries were hushed when he kissed your knuckles, “I’d never want a divorce,” he hated to see you like this, Kadin sat beside you and curled into you, just like you do with him when he’s not feeling well.
“I’d never want to break our family apart,” he got choked up at the thought. He could never turn his back on you two and what you all have built, “And you’re not a bad wife. Believe me when I say I miss touching you, I miss holding you..”
Your eyes widened at his words, wondering how he knew that’s what you were feeling.
“Kadin told me about your trip to our spot weeks ago and how he heard you on the phone. The night you waited up for me,” he blinked his tears away and held your hands up to his chest.
“I’m so sorry I drove you to this point... where I wasn’t doing my job as a husband. I neglected you and made you feel small. I vowed to never do that. I didn’t take your feelings into consideration and I will forever apologize for that and try to make up for it,”
He squeezed your hands and you couldn’t help but squeeze back. It was habit.
“You didn’t say ‘I love you’ before you left,” you bit your lip to try and avoid more tears, “You’ve been not doing it but today I... I just really needed you to and you didn’t and I- I was hurting, Bucky. I needed you”
The attempts to hold in it were futile. Kadin hugged you tighter and whined at the sound of your cries, “When you walk out that door I never know if you’re gonna come back to me. I never know if you’re gonna get hurt or if you’ll just get sick of me and leave and never look back. I thought today was that day and I-,”
“I’m so sorry, baby,” Bucky moves you into his lap and moved Kadin into yours so he could hold you both.
“Please just say it, Bucky. I need to hear you say it,”
“I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you and I mean it, I’ll always mean in,”
Kadin reaches up to wipe his dad’s tears.
“And I don’t just love you. I’m securely in love with you, I’m so positive about it and I’m an ass for not assuring you like I should have been,”
You three sat in silence, except it wasn’t tense. Your eyes were heavy and your breathing had evened out.
“I’m so tired, Buck,”
You sounded weak but you were feeling a little better
“I know and I’m so sorry. We’re gonna get through this,”
—————-
And you did, you two took time off work, dedicated more time to each other and your son. You two would sit down at the end of the day and have a private intimate talk about the day you two had.
You made sure to hear each other out and never invalidate each other’s feelings like what had been happening prior. This was the hardest thing you’d gone through in your years of dating Bucky so it made sense that you were worried to the extent that you were.
You two talked to someone to finally have that good mediation and everything was smooth sailing after that. The sex was back and so was the spark. The Thursday family nights. Even reading Kadin his favorite story was something you two did together now. 
You were doing some spring cleaning when Bucky mentioned he was running out to get a few ingredients for lunch when he came up to kiss your lips and grab his keys. 
He opened the door and stopped to look back at you running around cleaning with Kadin helping like he loved to do. This was his family and he was grateful to say so. You took a quick break to relax when he called for you.
“Hey doll,”
“Yeah babe?,”
He smiled and opened the door wider before taking a step out.
“I love you,”
-------------------
bexie needed angst so that’s what bexie wrote.
comments and reblogs are highly encouraged and appreciated!!!
tags- @retroxvailles @blackreaders-assemble @yournonlocalpoc @hisxblackxqueen @dumbchick @mbaku-babygirl @veryhellshdia @here-for-your-bullshit @valkyriesnymph @persephones24 @vozit @spideys-wife @disaster-rose @xye-weirdo @alyssaj23 @warmchick @chonisberonica @valentinevirgo @crawlingnightmares @mokacoconut @eratotalles @micki-smiles
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fandomfic-galore · 4 years
Text
Stuck on you.
Sequel to “I’ll let them loose on you.”
Warnings: noncon, hostage, Dubcon, smut, angst, a bit of fluff.
Summary: things had taken a turn for the worse. How was Y/N going to escape?
Word count: 1601
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“WAIT!” You screamed for your life.
The Hydra agents stared at you. Death engulfed in their eyes. The three men with shook turned to you.
“Y/n, not now,” Steve whispered to you.
Taking a step forward, you raised your hand behind you. Warning the men to not move. Not to intervene. Taking a deep breath, you locked eyes with the hydra agent who had been torturing you. His smirk was spread across his face like a child at Christmas. Stepping towards the Hydra agents more, your legs shook with fear. You breathing was unsteady.
“Have me. Let my friends have a safe passage, and you can have me”. Closing your eyes at your words, you knew the reaction the three men behind you were expressing.
The arrogant Hydra agent stepped towards you. Taking in every curve of your body. Licking his lips as he did so.
“What makes you think we want you.?”
“I’m easier to break than two super spillers and a former spy”. The truth hurt you deep down. You knew that technically you were weaker than the three men. Breaking you would be a lot easier. The agent laughed and smirked as he stepped closer. His face inches away from yours. You could feel his breath on your skin, and it made you feel sick. Locking eyes with him, you didn’t want to show weakness at this point.
“Here’s my counter offer. We will hold all four of you hostage.”
“ No deal,” you said with pride. You didn’t want to have put the men through more trauma than they already had.
“It’s me or no one.” Gulping, you waited for an answer from the vile man in front of you.
“Aren’t you a feisty one” smirking his words made you mad. You wanted to punch him. Scratch him. Kill him. Anything. “We know as soon as we let them free” he pointed behind you. “They will come back with more. And kills us all...so darling you need a better offer than what you got at the moment. I’ll give you thirty seconds” he pointed to his watch. Indicating he was timing you.
Gulping, you looked back at the men. Fury had engulfed their faces. Blinking your mind was blank. What else could you do? What else could you offer?
“15” the counting made you nervous. Your anxiety was shooting through the roof.
“8” shit you thought to yourself. You were running out of time, and now all four of you could be dead.
“5”
“Take all of us.” You held your breath as you heard Clint behind you. “No one knows I am here. I promise. Take us all. We won’t try to escape again. Just don’t kill us.” Pleading for his life, you knew it was the only way. Your mind crossed to the thought that no one knew he had come to save you. It had to be wrong. He wouldn’t risk a mission like this on his own. He couldn’t Tony would stop. Hell, Nat would have come with him. Something about all of this did not seem right.
“Deal,” the hydra agent said with a smirk. “ we are going to have so much fun Agent Y/L/N.”
Hours had passed since that encounter. You had shoved into a glass cell. Clint was next to you. Steve opposite and Bucky next to Steve.
There was no privacy between the four of you. Each cell had a cot, a toilet and a basin. The cells were surrounded with a metal bridge allowing Hydra agents to watch you. Pass food through the ridiculous tiny flap at the back.
It was humiliating, to say the least.
You hated it. The white bright fluorescent lights started to give you a headache. Your eyes were becoming heavy exhaustion was washing over your body. But you didn’t want to give in.
Silence had surrounded you. You couldn’t hear any of the guys, and it was driving you mad. Hydra had somehow made the cells soundproof to one another. Out the corner of your eye, you caught Clint frantically waving at you. Sighing you turned to see what he could possibly want. Nodding in his general direction, he looked down to his hands. Following his eye line, he had one hand flat against his stomach. A finger from his other hand hovering over it. He started to tap. He was communicating via Morse code.
“At least we are not dead.” He tapped.
Locking eyes with him, you wanted to punch him right now.
“Tell me the other knows you are here.” Tapping back mirroring his actions. Looking down, he shook his head. Idiot, you thought to yourself. This was not like Clint at all.
Your head started to spin. Gasping for air something was wrong.
“Is she alive?”. A whisper could be heard, however, where it came from. You had no idea. You started to panic. The spinning had stopped. You could see everything clearly now. But something was wrong.
Looking up you saw the three men looking at you with such worry and sadness in their eyes. Clint was banging the glass cell. Trying to gain the attention of...anyone.
Two Hydra agents appeared out of nowhere. A hand scanner appeared in front of them, and a glass door opened. One of them pulled you out and injected a substance into your neck. Your world became very dark, very quickly.
Groaning in pain, you were strapped to a bed. The same bed you were strapped to the first day. Could this day get any worse? At least this time you had clothes on. A woman in a nurses office leaned over you. Shining a bright light into your eyes, you blinked a couple of times.
“She is fine, just dehydrated,” the woman said and left the room abruptly.
The agent from earlier appeared from the darkness you decided there and then to nickname him Dick. It seemed to suit him.
Dick stood over. Inspecting you. Without blinking.
It made you cringe. The feel of him looking over like this. It was uncomfortable, to say the least.
“Now, now now. What are we going to do with you?” Circling you body biting his lip. “Mm, maybe we should bring in the Captain. Make you feel a bit better?” Eyes widening you couldn’t handle that right now. Not Steve on sex pollen. Your body wouldn’t be able to cope.
Reaching out your arm was drawn back with the strap. A tiny pinch brought attention to your inner arm, a cannula was planted hooked up to fluids.
Steve was shoved through the door. Looking unimpressed, he stopped in front of Dick. Glaring at the man below him puffing his chest out he tried to intimidate the younger man.
With pleasing eyes, you were begging Steve to stop. Backing down, he stepped away from Dick and moved by your side. Taking your hand, he stroked the back with his thumb.
“Now, Captain. Agent Y/L/N here. Feels under the weather. Make her feel better...while I watch” the sick bastard you thought.
Steve looked down at you. Regret washed over his face.
“Chop chop Captain. I don’t have all day” Dick tapped his foot on the floor.
Steve reached up and moved a piece of your hair behind your ear. Leaning down, he whispered ”I'm sorry” you smiled at him and nodded. Consenting that once again, you knew he had no choice.
”Stay with me” a quiet sharp voice rang through your ear. What the fuck was happening right now.
Coming back to reality, you noticed Steves's lips gently brushing against yours and closing your eyes. You wanted more. Relaxing into the kiss, you moaned slightly. You could feel Steves's lips curl into a smile.
His hand travelled to the straps holding you down to the bed. In one quick motion, they were ripped from you. Sitting up, your hand went to Steves's hair. Tugging slightly it was Steve turn to moan.
Bringing his body closer to yours, you needed him. Steve moved both hands to the pants you were wearing. Without blinking, he ripped them and threw them behind him.
Grabbing under your knees, Steve motioned for you to wrap your legs around him. Walking to the nearest wall, he never broke the kiss between you. Dipping his head to your breast, he nipped and bit at your nipple. Arching Your back you needed him now!
Steve could tell your hunger for me. He could see it. Feel it. Shimmer out of his own pants. You moaned as Steve sucked on your left nipple.
The heat between your legs grew with every second. Grinding into his bare crotch, you needed him.
De-attaching himself from your breast, Steve looked at you with the darkness of lust. Smiling down at you, he lined himself up and entered you slowly.
Allowing you time to readjust to his size you both moaned at the fantastic feeling of being connected.
Thrusting into you at a steady pace, Steve was not going hard enough for you.
”Steve, harder.” you whimpered. Smirking down at you, Steve bit his lower lip. Pushing into you harder. Hitting your cervix. Over and over again. The tightness in your stomach grew. Your peak was nearer a lot quicker than you thought.
Tugging hard on his hair Steve plunged into you. Sending you both over the edge. Screaming your name Steves's head leant against your shoulder.
Panting both of you forgot about Dick in the corner.
”What a show, Captain. But I think you can do better.”
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turtlepated · 4 years
Text
The Handbook for the Recently Married (to the Deceased)
Chapter 4: 
[No trigger warnings in this one. Also not a whole lot of action, looooots of things to talk about. Y’know how it is, newly married couple, just moved in together, getting a feel for one another’s boundaries. Or total lack thereof]
Tag list: @sapphic-florals , @beetlejuicebeadoll , @do-ya-hear-that-sound , @imtherain , @imsuchahobbit , @pastelnacht , @tialanderrol , @sammyskip , @monsterlovinghours
Also tagging @hoodoo12 for helping me out by giving me 2 historical figures and a condiment! 
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It had been dark when I emerged from the fireplace, and I had no idea precisely how much time had passed since then, but it looked to be dusk when I exited the house with my new spouse. I was keenly aware that I was still wearing the rather gauche wedding dress and there was a very real chance of a coworker driving through and seeing the two of us walking down the road. I wasn’t entirely ready to try and deal with that sort of explanation, but I was still more than a little anxious to get back home.
Beetlejuice paused at the end of the Deetz’s driveway, arms akimbo, taking a deep breath through his nose and arching his back to exaggerate the effect. “Ah!” he burst out on the exhale, a huge grin on his face. “The sweet smell of freedom! Thanks a million, babes! I owe ya one! So, where’s your house exactly?” I pointed at it, just visible from where we were standing and he squinted, frowning in thought. “Oh, ok,” he said, nodding. “Funny I never noticed it before. Guess the set designers didn’t bother with it since it wasn’t part of the plot til now.” I blinked dumbly as he strolled past me in the direction of the house. “I’m gonna nod like I understand what you just said.” I trailed behind him all the way to the house. As I passed my mailbox I realized that I never did get my mail from the Deetzes. Beetlejuice was waiting for me at the front door, which I knew to be locked as I only ever used to side door, and I didn’t have a key hidden outside anywhere. “This way,” I told him, nodding toward the side of the house. “I didn’t lock it when I came out.” I decided against adding that it was because I hadn’t expected to be away for so long. Hopefully no one had gone in and stolen anything. I pulled the door open and Beetlejuice called to stop me.
“Ooh! Hold up, babes! Always wanted to do this!” Despite feeling like there was grime caked on every square inch of my skin, parched and hungry and desperate to crawl into my bed, I experienced a peculiar fluttering in the pit of my stomach as he hustled up to me by the open door, grinning. Was he planning to carry me over the threshold? Would he even know about that wedding tradition?
 I felt warmth creeping into my face as he draped an arm around my shoulders, and the next second I was yelping in distress and alarm as he swung himself up and deposited his full weight against me. I scrambled reflexively to catch hold of him bridal style, under the knees and around his back, straining under the unexpected burden. “Ain’t it just like in the fairy tales?” he giggled, batting his eyelashes at me as I staggered forward through the doorway into the laundry room. Mercifully, Beetlejuice lowered his feet to the floor and stood, striding through excitedly into the kitchen and turning in a full circle as he avidly examined what I supposed would now be our shared living space. I pulled the door shut, smiling despite myself at his infectious enthusiasm, leaving him to wander around and plunder while I padded to the bedroom to find my phone.  
It was on the floor, presumably the vibrations caused by a missed call or two had sent it toppling off the headboard, but at least it was undamaged. I checked my messages, discovering with an unpleasant start that a full two days had elapsed between first going to the Deetz house and coming back. There were a few missed texts and calls from my mom, which I would have to quickly think of some explanations for or she’d be on a plane, train, or hot air balloon to come and make sure I was okay. I didn’t want Beetlejuice to overhear me, so I quickly typed out some malarkey about going to a movie Friday night and forgetting to take my phone off silent. It was watery and wouldn’t hold up, but she’d have no reason to suspect I was lying, and I did feel a guilty twinge at that. I sighed heavily and flopped face first on my bed. What a way to spend a weekend…. And tomorrow was Monday, back to the grind. But everything about my life had suddenly been turned completely upside down and no one knew. How could everything be so different and also still the same? My stomach gurgled angrily, reminding me that I was famished and dehydrated and so, so tired. I hauled myself up and returned to the kitchen, passing Beetlejuice in the living room examining the odds and ends on my bookshelves. “Nice digs, babe,” he said, taking a decorative ceramic ball from a pedestal vase, idly tossing and catching it like a softball as he followed me into the kitchen. I didn’t reply, going to the fridge and pulling open the door while he lounged against the counter, watching me reach in and pull out a bottle of water.  
Twisting off the cap and tossing it on the island I tipped my head back and drained the whole bottle in one go, not caring that some of it washed down my chin and onto the front of my dress. I tossed the empty bottle in the trash can by the still open fridge and dove back in for a second, going slower this time and gasping for air in between swallows. Beetlejuice was regarding me with hooded eyes, running his tongue over his teeth as he chuckled in amusement. “Gee whiz, babes, you sure are…thirsty,” he said, waggling his eyebrows and putting an extremely salacious emphasis on the word ‘thirsty’. I waited until I’d got my breath back, fixing him with a knowing look as I said, “Well someone, not using any names, but someone locked me in a cellar for two days.” At that his eyes widened, sucking his tongue back into his mouth and rolling his lips between his teeth. “Oh, right… Yeah, um… my bad,” he stammered. I raised my own eyebrows in triumph, harrumphing through my nose just so he’d know I wasn’t above calling him out. “I’m starved, too,” I said, turning my attention away from the fidgeting demon and back to the contents of the fridge. “But everything in here is either spoiled now or has to be cooked. I don’t wanna cook.”  
My stomach growled loudly again. Just for something to shut it up I grabbed a pack of hotdogs. They were already cooked and, while not exactly a filling or nutritious meal, they’d tide me over. I shut the door with my elbow, plucking a sausage from the pack and raising it to my open mouth, pausing halfway through the motion at a tiny whining sound. Beetlejuice was staring at me, his mouth hanging slightly open in a wolfish grin and, if I wasn’t mistaken, a bead of drool working its way down his bottom lip. Considering what I was doing at the moment I didn’t have to wonder what was going through his mind. With a disapproving scowl I bit off the end of the hotdog, my teeth audibly clicking together, gratified when Beetlejuice cringed and recoiled. He picked up on my metaphor, then. I sighed through my nose as I chewed, extending the package towards him as a peace offering. “Want one?” I asked around the half-chewed sausage. He eyed it dubiously, glancing from the proffered package to my face. “Is this innuendo?” he asked, and I rolled my eyes. “Just take one.”  
Grumbling to himself, Beetlejuice reached in and withdrew a sausage. I didn’t even care that I could see the dirt on his fingers when I reached in after him and took a second myself, it would give my immune system something to do. It was much more entertaining to watch Beetlejuice sniffing the hot dog like an exotic cigar. He leered suggestively as I watched him, locking his eyes with mine as he let his mouth fall open and slid the whole hot dog in right to his own fingertips, closing his lips around them and pulling them free one by one with soft, wet pops. I rolled my eyes again and shook my head hopelessly. The look that came over him, his eyes growing huge, his big, show of chewing slowing into almost stillness. He looked at me. “I can taste it!” he garbled. I frowned, not understanding. “Well… yeah?” He shook his head, making a vague gibbering noise as he rushed toward me excitedly. “No, you don’t get it!” he went on. “I’ve never been able to taste before! Why didn’t anybody tell me tasting things was so good?!”
Bewildered I obligingly held up the package as he delved back in with his dirty fingers and pulled out two more, shoving them into his mouth. He laughed, spraying bits of food. “Ha! This takes me back! There was this one time I was hangin with old Henry VIII, that was one wild sonovabitch, lemme tell ya! Anyway, long story short, me and King Henry and… oh yeah, Nikola Tesla got in there somehow or another… so the three of us and a jar of horseradish sauce, if ya know what I mean… Spiciest ménage of my afterlife! Literally… Holy crap, did it sting…” In fact I didn’t know precisely what he meant, but I was afraid that if I said so he would explain so I quickly changed the subject. “I have an idea.” Licking his fingers and then wiping them off on the ruffled front of his tuxedo shirt, Beetlejuice gave me a nod. “Shoot, babes.” I held up the hot dog pack. “Let’s get some real food.” His brows furrowed in confusion. “Real food as opposed to…. Imaginary food?” I laughed and clarified. “Something good, I mean. Something we actually want and not just what’s around.” Beetlejuice pulled a face as he eyed the nearly empty plastic package. “Yeah, it was exciting at first but I’m kinda over it now. That’s what she said,” he agreed, apparently unable to stop himself from making amorous asides. 
I sighed through my nose but smiled in a long-suffering sort of way as I chucked the remainder of the pack in the trash, plucking a menu from beneath the magnet that held it to the side of the fridge. “There’s a really good Cantonese place in town,” I said, my eyes scanning the menu items. “And they deliver. Chinese work for you?” He shrugged. “Babes, I ate a live duck once. I’m not picky.” I laughed out loud before I could think to stifle it, suddenly struck by just how crazy this whole situation really was. When I managed to get ahold of myself again Beetlejuice was watching me with a strange expression, smiling crookedly. “I gotta say, you’re taking all this surprisingly well,” he remarked. I sighed tiredly, the laughter still tugging at my lips. “I don’t think it’s really hit me yet,” I confessed before trying to get the conversation back on track. “How bout this: I already know what I want, why don’t you figure out what you want while I get a shower, I’ll order while you’re in the shower and by the time you’re done the food should be here.”  
Beetlejuice had been nodding along absently as I spoke but he gave a sudden start, taking a large step back from me and raising a palm in a warding off gesture. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! pump the brakes there, doll,” he said, his face unusually business-like. “You think this happens all by itself?” Beetlejuice made vague gestures up and down his person. “I put a lot of work into my aesthetic, babes. I been working on this patch of moss for months, and you want me to just scrub it off?” He pressed a hand over his heart as if deeply offended. I folded my arms and cocked an eyebrow at him, unmoved. Seeing my reaction, Beetlejuice frowned and mimicked me, crossing his arms over his chest. “Nope. Nothin’ doin’. I’m a demon, babes. Demon’s don’t do showers.” We glowered at one another in silence for a few moments, a stalemate. I sighed heavily and let my arms drop. Taking a hard line was getting us nowhere quickly, so I changed tactics. “Look, Beetlejuice,” I said, noting that he flinched marginally at the sound of his name. “We’re… married now. Which means my house is now your house. And I want you to be comfortable here. But if you’re gonna be making yourself at home; going through the fridge and using the dishes, sitting on the couch and so on, you need to practice at least some basic hygiene or I’m gonna be constantly having to clean.” His frown deepened, unconvinced, so I pressed on. “Call it compromise, isn’t that part of the whole ‘being married’ thing? I’m asking you to be squeaky clean all the time, just a shower like a couple times a week. That wouldn’t be so bad, would it?” He cocked his head to the side and made a face, a vague uncooperative groan emitting from deep in his throat.  
“Alternatively,” I added. “I could get those horrible plastic furniture covers like my Great Aunt Muriel used to have.” I dipped my chin and raised my eyebrows, looking up at him through my lashes. “Are you gonna make me be like my Great Aunt Muriel?” Beetlejuice’s stoic veneer cracked as he snort-laughed through his nose, letting his own arms fall to his sides with the longest of long-suffering sighs. “Fiiiiiiine, I can be a team player. If it’s that big a deal I guess I can…” His face wrinkled into a look of utter disgust as a shudder passed through him. “Shower.” He gagged on the word. I chuckled to myself, wondering again how much of it was genuine distaste and how much was just exaggeration. I gave an affirmative nod to his acquiescence and headed for my….our? bedroom. Beetlejuice followed me. “Hey, Beetlejuice?” I called back to him, hearing his breath catch and his footsteps falter. “Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?” I stopped at the foot of the bed, kicking out of my shoes while he took to looking around the bedroom. “I’m an open book, babes,” he said. “Just, uh… go easy on the B-word there, ‘kay?” I frowned to myself as I passed into the bathroom. Maybe there was a good reason why Lydia always called him by a nickname.  
“Okay, Beej,” I said, trying out Lydia’s preferred diminutive to see how he took it. “Can I ask if there’s any particular reason besides your moss that you don’t like showers? Is it like a phobia thing?” He laughed, a harsh sound. “Phobia? Me? As if, babe. No, nothin’ like that. I’m from the Netherworld. You know what they don’t have in the Netherworld?” I shook my head and he went on. “Well, they don’t have a lot of stuff, really, but the one I’m referring to in particular is showers. Everybody’s dead, no one cares about being clean. And when I got banished to the Upperworld I was invisible, intangible; even in the rare occasion I got summoned it was to scare breathers. Nobody was rolling out the welcome wagon and offering me the use of their facilities.” I frowned, intrigued and a little disturbed by parts of his explanation. He’d been banished to the living world? Why? By whom? Filing those questions away for later, I pressed on with our current topic. “That makes sense,” I conceded. “So it’s not that you don’t actually like cleanliness, it’s more that you never really had the opportunity?” Beetlejuice shrugged, leaning bending at the waist to inspect framed photos I kept on the lower half of my bookshelf. “I guess, maybe. But I also have a reputation to look after. And there’s my clients to consider, they have certain expectations, y’know?”  
I stilled in the process of grabbing some clean lounge-around clothes to change into, fixing him with a curious look. “You have clients? What do you do?” At my question he turned, smirking like the cat that ate the canary. “Baby doll, you are hitched to the Underworld’s leading bio-exorcist!” he preened, tucking his thumbs into the shoulders of his waistcoat. I had no idea what that meant, but he looked so proud of himself that I quickly made the appropriate impressed noises and expressions. “I’m gonna jump in the shower,” I said. “Check out the menu and pick out whatever you want! I won’t be long.” I flipped on the light switch and stepped in, depositing my things on the counter before turning back to shut the door only to find him standing there, regarding me with hooded eyes and a lascivious grin. “You know,” he drawled, making a show of nonchalantly walking his fingers up the door frame. “We are married, like you said. So what’s stoppin’ us from….” He trailed off coyly, glancing at the shower stall and gesturing first at me and then himself, raising his eyebrows. His leer widened as I felt warmth spiking in my cheeks again. By way of answer, I took a step back and shut the door firmly in his face.  
Shucking the heavy red wedding gown and leaving it puddled on the floor, I stepped quickly into the stall and closed the door. The steaming hot water felt positively divine, sluicing through my greasy hair, down my back, over my shoulders, and I could have gladly stood under it until it ran out. But I knew I needed to save some for Beetlejuice, and I also couldn’t shake the worry that he might try to sneak in, so I hurried through my ablutions at breakneck speed. My oversized nightshirt clung to me a bit in the humidity created by the closed bathroom door, and I felt clean but uncomfortably flushed in my long pajama pants for the same reason. Still, I didn’t dare go for something more revealing. The last thing I needed was to give the one-track-minded demon any ideas. Beetlejuice had settled himself on the couch and glanced up from the menu in his hands as I entered. He’d loosened his bowtie, which hung limp around his opened collar, and popped the buttons on the snug waistcoat that stretched tight across his round middle. “You’re up,” I said, thumbing toward the bathroom. “I laid out some towels and a change of clothes for you.” Beetlejuice made a face again and slid down against the back of the sofa until his chin met his chest, letting out a long plaintive groan.  
I shot him an indulgent smile. “Go on, the sooner you start the sooner it’s over,” I said as he peeled himself off the sofa. I swiped the menu from him as he passed me. “Decide what you want?” He stopped himself midstride and doubled back, grinning ear to ear. “Well, if you’re offering-” I cut him off, “To eat.” Beetlejuice tilted his head and raised his eyebrows, the grin only widening. “That doesn’t actually discount-” “From the Golden Dragon!” I clarified again, still overheated from my shower and hoping he would think that’s why my face was so red. Laughing all the way to the bathroom, Beetlejuice left and I heard the water start running a short time later. I called in our order, waiting around in the kitchen for the delivery guy. There came a knock at the door about twenty minutes later and I answered it, relieving the winded teenaged boy of his numerous paper bags. I cleared everything off the coffee table, dragged it closer to the couch and laid out our rather extensive spread, practically a buffet in its own right. Beetlejuice emerged from the bathroom, still pale but significantly less grimy, wearing another oversized nightshirt of mine that fit him rather well and a pair of my own sleep pants. He was scowling.  
“Polar bears in hats? Seriously?” he griped, picking at the plushy material that was indeed decorated with smiling polar bears wearing winter caps. I grinned at his discomfort, enjoying the turnabout as I plopped myself on the couch. “That happens to be a favorite pair! I thought it’d at least be more comfortable than your suit pants. Come on, lets eat before it gets cold.” Grumbling under his breath he sat himself heavily next to me and we tucked in. Not much later I sat back, full and satisfied and still with a lot of leftovers. It was beginning to get late, and I knew I’d have to get up early in the morning to get ready for work. I left Beetlejuice amusing himself by eating the packets of duck sauce and spicy mustard while I cleared the table and put away the rest of the food, rapidly approaching the part of the evening I’d been most apprehensive about.  
Where was he going to sleep tonight? 
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Comfy boy hours! Even if he’s not too terribly thrilled by her selection. 
I’m really on a roll so hopefully Chapter 4 won’t be far away! 
Thanks for reading!! 
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 5
42 notes · View notes
yesloverboy · 5 years
Text
Neighborly (mgk!Tommy Lee x Reader) Part 2
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SUMMARY:  After helping you move into your new apartment right above the Crüe boys, Tommy stumbles drunkenly to your doorstep that night with an injured hand. With a tipsy confession, Tommy undoubtedly brings more chaos into your life than you ever thought possible in such a short amount of time. The problem is, you find that you don’t exactly mind as much as you should. As Tommy seemingly finds every excuse under the sun just to see you, you wonder if maybe you two are starting to act a little more than neighborly...
word count: 3,917
[Warnings: swearing, mention of injury, vomit, body image, drug and alcohol mention.]
NOTE: It’s finally here! Thank you all for supporting Part 1 so fiercely that I just had to keep it going. I can’t tell if this chapter is as action-packed as the last, but it’s definitely setting up for Part 3, so I hope you enjoy! If you have any suggestions as to what direction to take this fic in don’t hesitate to let me know. I can definitely see some smut/angst in the future if y’all fancy that. 
tags: @kwyloz, @scarecrowmax, @lavendersoundbarrier
 “Has anyone ever told you that you’re beautiful?”
 Tommy’s words ring in your ears as you stare at him blankly, your mind reeling. Just when you thought the past twenty-four hours couldn’t get any more bizarre, your cute and helpful neighbor was not only bleeding in front of you, but calling you beautiful all in the same breath.  “Tommy, that’s really sweet, but I don’t think you know what you’re saying right now,” you comment, trying to laugh the whole situation off. You turn to exit the cramped bathroom, mostly as a half-hearted attempt at getting Tommy to hopefully follow you to the door. About halfway through the door frame, a large hand gently grasps the top of you arm, effectively stopping you in your tracks. 
 Instinctively, you twist around to see Tommy, who is now standing in painfully close proximity to you. You want to speak, but your breath hitches in your throat. There is nothing but a long beat of silence standing in the inches between the two of you. Tommy’s eyes are wide and glistening, as if he were looking right through you.
 “Come on, Y/N, I’m not drunk! I’m right!” Tommy breaks the silence, dropping your arm. “Okay, well...maybe I’m a little both. But I mean it, I swear!”
 You roll your eyes. Whatever trance Tommy has you in instantly brakes when you remember who exactly it is that you’re talking to. Just as you are about to turn back around and retreat to the living room, Tommy’s tall figure lurches violently forward.
 “Tommy, are you–?” You don’t even have time to get the words out before Tommy is retching at your feet.
 Luckily, you had barely been standing outside of the splash zone, but it still doesn’t make the situation any less gross. You hold your breath, not wanting the risk of you gagging to make matters worse. 
 “Oh fuck. I can’t believe I just did that.” Tommy wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, looking disoriented.
 You pinch the space between your eyes and will yourself not to completely snap on the boy in front of you. In your experience, getting frustrated with drunk people never solved anything until the next day and, last you checked, there is still plenty of time left before the sun comes up.
 “Look, it’s fine. Just–please. Sit by the toilet until you’re absolutely sure you’re not going to be sick again.”
 To your relief, Tommy complies by taking a seat at the edge of the bathtub and lifting the toilet seat.
 “Look, Y/N, I–”.    “No,” you abruptly cut him off, “I’m going to go find a towel to sacrifice to the god of bad choices, and you’re going to stay put.” 
 Tommy chuckles softly at your comment, trying his very best to hide the amusement in his face with a bandaged hand. You have to turn your back to him to keep from smiling in return. Even though this whole situation was annoying, and–quite frankly–disgusting, Tommy somehow still makes you crack a smile. 
 What the fuck is wrong with me? You wonder as you go to fetch a spare towel from your bedroom closet. If this were any other guy, you would’ve kicked him out ages ago. So, why him?
 It ends up taking you a good thirty minutes to mop the vomit up off your bathroom floor. It probably should have taken less time, but both your comfort level and morale were low at this time of night. Tommy didn’t really say much for the duration of the cleaning process, apart from the occasional muttered apology followed by an immediate retch into the toilet bowl.   
 Finally finished, you toss the contaminated towel into black garbage bag to be dealt with in the morning. In the kitchen, you scrub your hands raw under the tap and end up getting Tommy a glass of water while you’re there. If you were being honest, he definitely deserves to be hungover in the morning after such a fucking mess. However, you didn’t have the heart to let him dehydrate after all the puking he just did in front of you. You consider the possibility that his humiliation could be enough retribution for his crimes against your sanity.
 You give the door frame a gentle knock before stepping into the small bathroom. The mustard yellow wallpaper gives the room a sickly feeling, and you aren’t sure you’ll ever be able to envision it as a place of cleanliness ever again. Tommy is still resting on the edge of the bathtub, head placed firmly in his hands.
 “Hey there, drummer boy. How ya feeling?” Tommy perks up at the sound of your voice, suddenly sitting up much straighter. His hair is sticking up in all the places where his hands were laced through it, and dark circles were starting to form under his eyes. Despite all odds, he still looks more than happy to see you.
 “There’s my favorite neighbor!” Tommy slowly wobbles to his feet and approaches you, seeming to a little more sober but a lot less energetic.
 “You’re only saying that because I’ve been cleaning up your bodily fluids all night,” rolling your eyes playfully, you hold the glass of water out to him.
 Tommy quickly obliges, downing the water like a castaway in the desert. You start to laugh, unsure if you’re punch-drunk from the lack of sleep or slowly losing your mind. Regardless, something in your mind has decided that the sight of Tommy’s adam’s apple bobbing up and down at a rapid speed is utterly hilarious.
 Setting the glass down on the counter, Tommy quirks an eyebrow at you. “What’s so funny, huh?”
 “Nothing,” you reply, still stifling giggles, “it’s just that today has to have been the weirdest fucking first day in L.A. that I could have ever imagined.”
 Tommy only grins back. “Would you believe me if I told you it could only get weirder from here?”
 “Actually, coming from you? Yeah I think I could believe it.”
 Absentmindedly, you glance back into the living room, the clock on the wall catching your eye. Your eyes widen at the realization that it’s already three in the morning. Time certainly flies by when you decide to assume the role of babysitter for your drunken neighbor.
 “Jesus, Tommy. It sure is getting late. Shouldn’t you be heading back?”
 As if on cue, you can hear the piercing sound of police sirens wailing just outside your apartment window. You and Tommy share a brief look before racing over to the bedroom window to see what in the hell is going on. Outside your apartment, the both of you can see two squad cars parked out front while four officers start racing up the steps. You were just about to ask Tommy if he had any idea what could be happening, went you felt a deep thud vibrate beneath your feet. Either the party downstairs had kicked up a notch, or something was wrong.
 “Aw shit,” Tommy immediately starts heading towards the front door at an extremely uncoordinated pace. With the amount of puking and bleeding he had done in one night, it was a wonder he even felt like walking at all. It’s obvious to you that maybe nights like this aren’t all the uncommon for Tommy. 
 “Wait, what the fuck is going on down there?” You gesture to Tommy’s apartment beneath your feet, waiting expectantly for him to elaborate. 
 “The party must’ve got busted again. I can’t leave my band alone down there with the cops, man.”
 “No offense, Tommy, but don’t be stupid,” you scoff, “they’re going to take one look at you and arrest you immediately. The least we can hope for is that your bandmates haven’t given them any reason to come inside.”
 Tommy steps away from the door and flops onto your scruffy old couch, looking conflicted. You never thought your couch was that small, but watching Tommy’s feet dangle over the opposite end makes you feel otherwise. “Well what should I do, then?”
 You could stay here, you think and mentally kick yourself. You stare up at the ceiling, hoping for some reason that you might be able to find the answer to your–no, Tommy’s–predicament there but...no such luck.
 “Well…” you sign, the weariness in your voice is evident despite your efforts to mask it with a smile. “I guess you could crash on my couch, if you really want to.”
 Tommy sits back up, swinging his long legs around to the floor. “Y/N, you’ve done more than enough. It’s cool, man. I’ll just wait outside until the cops get bored. They usually do when they realize the door is nailed shut.”  At Tommy’s mention of the door to his band’s apartment being nailed shut, you recall the smaller man with the scowling face crawling out of the window to clean up the balcony. You remember the image being jarring at the time, but now everything was beginning to make a weird amount of sense.
 “Nailed shut–wait, is that why that little guy was going through the broken window to get to the balcony? You know, the one with the...stare.”
 Tommy bursts out laughing, “Oh yeah! That’s Mick. He’s a weird little man, but he can shred on the guitar. It’s probably on the account that he’s an alien from outer space, or somethin’.” 
 Tommy stands again, this time more confident in his movements. “Everyone goes through the window on account of the cops always busting the door down. And it looks like I’ve got a while before I’m going to crawl through it again tonight.” He gestures to the blue lights flashing from the bedroom window. Although the commotion outside seems to have quieted down significantly, it appears that the police are still camping outside for good measure.
 “Tommy it’s totally fine if you wanna stay. It’s not like I’m getting that much sleep tonight anyways.” To your surprise, you really mean what you’re saying. Sure, you were absolutely knackered from a full day of moving and a night of playing both nurse and babysitter, but the damage had already been done.
 “Sorry again for all that,” he cringes sheepishly. Surprisingly, Tommy isn’t immediately refusing your offer this time. “Don’t be silly, Y/N, there’s no chance in hell I’m going to fit on that couch anyways.”
 “Since when is a cramped couch better than curling up on the bench in a holding cell?” You both know that the chance of Tommy getting bagged by the cops outweighs the possibility of him having a peaceful night waiting outside.
 Tommy runs a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. “Alright, you got me there.”
 “Sleep wherever you want, drummer boy, but the bed is still mine.” You turn away with a wry smile, exiting the living room to grab some pajamas from your closet. Deciding on a pair of flannel pajama pants and a cropped t-shirt, you head to the bathroom to change and wash the day’s events from your face and hands.
 As you brush your teeth, you continue to wonder what it is about Tommy that makes you so willing to put up with his antics. You try to consider what your friends, or even your family, back home would say about the whole situation. In your head, you can almost hear the voice of your best friend berating you for letting someone you just met stay in your apartment for the night–no matter the circumstances.
 But then you think back to Tommy approaching you with his bleeding hand, asking you to handle his injury because he couldn’t stomach the sight of it. Most guys you had known in your life weren’t like that; so willing to give help, yet also willing to admit when they need it most. There’s something about that quality in Tommy that makes you trust him a little more than you probably should. Shrugging, you spit foamy toothpaste into the sink and rub your face. Sure, you may have decided you trust Tommy’s motives thus far, but you definitely couldn’t trust his judgment after he decorated your evening with blood and puke.
 Stepping out of the bathroom, you look out into the living room to find the lights switched off and Tommy nowhere in sight. On a whim, you decide to tiptoe to your bedroom where the light was still on. Pushing open the door, you’re shocked to find Tommy lying on the floor next to your mattress, eyes fixed upward at a spot on the ceiling.
 You clear your throat poignantly, causing Tommy’s head to jerk upwards. “Um, what the fuck are you doing on my floor?”
 To your frustration, Tommy is all smiles as always. “Well, you said I could sleep anywhere as long as you kept your bed.”  
 You massage your temples, realizing that you did, in fact, say exactly that. “Okay, fair enough. But, I’ve gotta ask...why my bedroom floor exactly?”
 Tommy props himself up on his elbows, smirking like the two of you are sharing an inside joke. “Well, I figured the guys have noticed I’m not at the party anymore, so at least I can tell them I spent the night sleeping next to a girl.”
 You grab one of the pillows off of your bed and pelt it at Tommy, unable to hide your amusement at the mental gymnastics he went through to justify his behavior. “You are absolutely unbelievable.”  
 You switch off the light, deciding you are too tired to protest any longer. A weird mix of moonlight and flashing blue spills through the curtainless window, illuminating Tommy’s figure resting beneath it. You notice that he’s tightly clutching the pillow you’d tossed at him rather than placing it under his head, giving you the sneaking suspicion that he’s probably a cuddler in his sleep.
 Trying to relax, you turn to face the wall, curling tightly in your quilted duvet. You are unable to tell if you’re exhausted or if the place is growing on you, but you’re surprised to find your apartment is actually becoming rather cozy. You are just about to drift off to sleep when your restfulness is interrupted by Tommy’s voice.
 “Hey,” his voice is barely a gravely whisper in the darkness, it’s so low that you almost don’t hear him at first. “Psst, Y/N.” Tommy tries again, a little louder this time. 
 “What is it, Tommy?” You roll over to face your body in his direction. The police lights had disappeared since you had last closed your eyes, and you’re having a difficult time making him out with in the darkness with just the moonlight.
 There’s a long beat of silence before he answers again, almost making you believe he had fallen asleep. “I meant what I said earlier,” he finally says, his voice still soft. “You really are beautiful.”
 Amazed that he remembered what he had said when he was wasted earlier, you are unable to contain the smile on your lips. Luckily, it’s most likely too dark for Tommy to notice. 
 “Oh yeah?” you reply, “Well I meant what I said too.”
 “What was that?” Tommy asks.
 “That you’re unbelievable.”
 Tommy’s faint laughter is the last thing you hear before drifting off once more, your mind falling away into fuzziness.
 You wake up with the California sunshine in your eyes, the entire bedroom bathed with golden light. Considering how hard you had slept, you assume it must be late in the afternoon, but the digital clock on your dresser claims it’s only 10:37am. Feeling groggy and a little out of place, you glance over to the floor at your bedside. You’re a little disheartened to find that Tommy has already gone, but figure he was probably anxious to see what had happened to his bandmates last night.
 Rather than over analyzing the events from yesterday, you opt to put on a pot of coffee and jump in the shower instead. You turn on your old radio, the sound reminding you that it was really about time to thrift around for a new stereo. As The Doors crackle brokenly over the radio static, you let your shower rinse away the events of the past day (and early morning). Memories of saying goodbye to your family, packing, the overnight drive, unpacking–everything seems to fade away among the steam.
 Well, everything except meeting Tommy.
 Getting out of the shower, you’re feeling far too lazy to bother with drying and fixing your hair. It was pushed back out of your face for so long yesterday that you reckon you can get away with it being a little unruly. Grabbing a cup of coffee along the way, you end up rummaging through your dresser, sifting your way through garments of mesh, leather, lace, and the occasional polyester.
 While you are definitely no stranger to the sunshine, this Los Angeles heat seems like something else entirely. Everything you own feels like way too much fabric. With a nostalgic sigh, you pluck a shredded, leopard print tank top out of the back of your drawer. You laugh softly to yourself as you trace your fingers over all the safety pins you had stuck through the collar to pull together all the rips and tears. Despite the top being an artifact of your high school punk days, you determine you could find some way to make it modern.
 Taking a look in the bathroom mirror, you trace the purple circles under your eyes that reflect your sleepless night. With another sip of coffee, you conclude that a bit of makeup couldn’t hurt. You would never be willing to admit it, but putting on makeup was the best part of your morning routine. It’s not necessarily because you feel like you need it all of the time, but something about the ritual of it all seems special.
 When you did your makeup, you always felt inspired by your mom’s old photos from the 60s. There was something about the bright colors and geometric shapes that really made you feel closer to home whenever you were far away. Now, feeling further away than ever, you set to work on your face.
 As you’re using all of your concentration to paint on a small cat eye, a loud knock on the door causes you to leap in surprise. To your relief, your hand hadn’t jerked hard enough at your sudden movement to mess up any of your efforts. Tossing the pencil on your bathroom counter, you reluctantly go to see who it is.  
 Pulling the door open, you are amused to discover that Tommy has returned yet again, this time looking far more put together than when you last saw each other. Out of curiosity, you look for his bandaged hand to see that it’s clutching a flat, white box.
 “Hey neighbor! It looks like you finally got some beauty sleep after all,” he walks past you, entering your apartment as if he lives there. It would seem that causing harm to himself, showing up unannounced, and walking into places uninvited are just a few minor things on a long list of Tommy’s bad habits.
 “Yeah, and no thanks to you,” you tease, as you shut the door behind him.
 Taking a seat at the dining table, Tommy sets the box down in front of him. “You can be real mean, sometimes, you know that? Besides, I felt bad so I brought a gift.” He then opens the box to reveal a dozen assorted donuts, each of which glistening with some kind of glaze or frosting.
 “Aw, Tommy. You didn’t have to get me those.” Honestly, you hadn’t expected to come by and try to apologize again, let alone attempt to make up for it.
 Tommy kicks his feet up onto the table, leaning back in his chair like an unruly schoolboy. “Actually yeah I did, Mick said so and he’s usually right about most things–but I also really wanted to. I just didn’t know how, so I asked Mick.”
 God he is such a fucking mess, you think, unable to suppress how entertaining you find the idea of Tommy asking his grumpy guitar-player for help.
 “I’m starting to think Mick might be onto something, you should listen to him more often.” You moved to get your coffee cup from your bedroom, knowing that you were going to need a whole lot more if you were going to put up with Tommy today.
 “While you’re here, do you at least want some coffee?” you inquire as you make your way back towards the kitchen.
 Tommy scrunches his face up in disgust, “Thanks, dude, but I really can’t stand the stuff. Had it once and it didn’t really do much for me.”
 You’re utterly amazed that Tommy has the amount of energy he does without drinking caffeine. “Suit yourself then.”
 With a hot mug in hand, you seat yourself across from Tommy. As you start to reach for one of the glazed donuts, you realize that Tommy has stopped reclining backward in his chair. Looking up to see what the matter is, you find his brow furrowed in concentration, looking at you as if you were a riddle he couldn’t quite figure out. “Tommy, what are you–?”
 “Y/N, are you wearing makeup? Because it looks fucking rad, dude!”
 Perplexed by such an enthusiastic outburst, it takes you a moment to answer. “Well yeah, I am. Thanks for noticing.”
 “Wait, would you ever, like, maybe consider doing other people’s makeup? Like as a job?” Tommy’s now leaning in toward you, chin resting thoughtfully in his hands.
 You take a bite of your donut and consider his question. Sure, makeup is something you enjoyed but you’d never consider doing it seriously. You think back to a few Halloweens and theatre productions back home where your friends asked for your help, but that certainly didn’t qualify you to do makeup professionally.
 “Honestly, Tommy, not really. It’s mostly just for fun,” you shrug, setting the other half of your donut back in the box.  
 “My band Mötley Crüe has kind of made makeup part of their thing, but I’m still not really that great at it yet,” Tommy admits as he picks absentmindedly at the sleeve of his leather jacket. “Would you ever be willing to, like, teach me sometime?”
 “Trust me,” you say, pointing to your face, “this is not how you want to look if you’re in a rock band.”
 “Oh come on, Y/N, who wouldn’t want to look like that.” Tommy flashes you a cheeky smile, causing the a blush to creep up to the apples of your cheeks.
 You toy with the idea of teaching Tommy the little bit of cosmetic knowledge you have, finding that you don’t hate the concept as much as you originally thought. “Well, when’s your next gig?”
 “This coming Friday,” Tommy answers eagerly, “I was thinking that you could do my makeup for the Friday show, and then for Saturday’s I could try to recreate it or something.”
 Considering that it’s already Monday, you decide that the idea of having four Tommy-free days is rather appealing. Even though you find him to be a cute mess of a person, you know you could really use the alone time to adjust. Who knows? Maybe agreeing to see him on Friday could do exactly that.
 “Alright, fine,” you relent, “Friday it is, then.”
Part 3
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ageeksnerdyworld · 4 years
Text
Shameful in the Light
Characters: Zale Young, Bonsai Warner, Mayor Whiskers
Word Count: 5,870
Trigger Warning: Swearing, Drug Use (kinda), Death
A/N: The only thing I actually had inspiration for so here ya go... As always the Cyber World belongs to @voiceoflarka
Summary: Life tricks even the best of men into avoiding the truth. Often subconsciously their daily thoughts and actions only aide and abet. Burying a man deeper into his sins and his ignorance. But nothing, not even the deepest love, can keep the demons out forever. Click that read more if ya want...
~~~
The bed was cold. Cold and oddly comforting. The sensation pulled him down and silently begged him to stay. Beckoning like a siren's song from the deep. It didn't matter that one arm hung off the side. Or that barely a corner of the thick blanket covered his person. Or that he couldn't properly breathe with his face buried deep in the pillow. He would've gladly kept laying there and slept the day away.
But the force on his back had other plans. The motion, the light push, was far too familiar for him to ignore. His eyes slowly fluttered open; blinking against the sunlight. What sleep continued to linger, attempting to call him back, made his dark lashes stick to one another.
"C'mon Mayor Whiskers," he groaned. "It's too early for this, man."
"Mmrow," came the response.
Turning over onto his left side he pushed the gray tabby off his back.
Laying on his side Bonsai's face filled his vision. Despite events of the previous night, the state of her hair and makeup, she looked at peace. Her chest rose and fell in perfect time with her deep slumber. She was clutching the blanket close to her chest. He didn't want to wake her. He didn't want to bring the moment to an abrupt end. But at the same time he couldn't not touch her.
Reaching out he softly pushed a couple strands of hair out of her face.
She instinctively moved away; turning her head in the opposite direction of his touch. A quiet, annoyed, grunt escaped her lips. She flung her right arm over her face to block out the light.
"Mrrow," the cat called again. The annoyance in his voice was clear despite the lack of human speech.
"Chill out wouldja? I'm up, I'm up," Zale whispered.
Pulling the blanket off he swung his feet over the side of the bed. Mayor Whiskers took this as a sign and jumped off the bed. The cat hurriedly rushed out of the room. Zale took a few seconds to stretch before stepping onto the bedroom floor.
A low, very aggravated, meow came from down the hall.
"Fucking relax," Zale muttered to himself as he left the room.
Outside the open door he stood in the short hallway. From there he could see the front door to the apartment and the kitchen beyond it. There was the gray tabby cat; standing by the food and water bowls. As Zale walked over the cat rushed back to him and rubbed against his leg. Mayor Whiskers continued to walk with Zale to the kitchen. All the while airing his grievances with drawn out meowing.
Stepping onto the cold tile floor sent a shiver through Zale’s body.
The cat rushed to the spot, adjacent to the small kitchen closet, where his bowls were kept. Once again he started meowing with an annoyed urgency.
When Zale saw the empty bowls he sighed. Bending down he ran his hand along Mayor Whiskers' head before scratching the cat's chin.
"No wonder you're so pissed, huh, bud? You must be starving," he said.
Pulling himself to his feet Zale shook his head. This wasn't the first time either of them had forgotten to feed the cat. It wouldn't be the last either. Even so each time he woke to a hungry, thirsty, Mayor Whiskers his heart sank.
"Some pet parents we are," he muttered to himself.
Bending down again he picked up the bowl on the right side. It was a light gray with a red line along the bottom rim. Crossing the short distance to the sink he turned the faucet on. Letting the dirty, hot, water run for a few seconds he waited for it run cold and clean.
You think you can take care of yourself and her when you can’t even take care of a fucking cat?
He blocked the thought out as he filled the bowl with water.
“Here ya go, Mayor Whiskers,” he said as he set the bowl back down. The cat quickly lapped up the water. He was clearly dehydrated as he didn’t take a single pause for a good minute or two. And when he did finally take a second it was only to lick the excess water droplets off his mouth.
Zale turned back to the sink and reached for the cupboards. Gripping the old, rusted, handle as gingerly as possible he lightly pulled it. The cupboard didn't open but the handle came off in his hand. Sighing deeply he put the handle on the counter. Putting his fingers underneath the lip of the door he pulled. This time it opened. Reaching inside he pushed the other one open as well.
The sagging, nearly empty, bag of cat food sat sadly in the cupboard.
He took the bag out and set it on the counter, next to the sink, before opening it. The sounds must have alerted the cat as he quickly jumped up on the counter. He was circling the bag; sniffing and pawing at the paper.
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Zale said as he picked the bag up again.
He took a couple of steps to the empty food bowl. It was the same size and shape as the other bowl. The only difference was the coloring; opposite to its twin. Red all except for a thin line around the bottom rim. Zale quickly filled the bowl and returned the bag to the cupboard. Mayor Whiskers took the short window for what it was and began eating.
The loud, crunching, sounds filled the small space. Zale knelt down next to the cat and began slowly running his hand along the cat’s back. A thousand yard stare overtook him as the thoughts, that he had blocked out earlier, came back in a flood of self-defamation.
Suddenly he realized that the crunching sounds had stopped. Shaking his head, knocking the fog out of his mind, he rose to his feet. He quickly walked back to the bedroom.
From the doorway he could see that Bonsai was still in bed.
She had shifted onto her stomach at some point. Her arms and legs were sprawled out over the mattress. Zale tiptoed back into the room as quietly as he could. Stopping at the foot of the bed he reached over and walked his fingers up her leg. Grunting quietly and annoyed she tried to kick his hands away.
"Morning, gorgeous."
"Go away," she replied; voice groggy and muffled. "I'm sleeping."
"You can't fool me, miss black eyeliner."
He crawled onto the bed; closing the space between them. Sitting on his knees he grabbed her hand and curled his fingers in between hers. Pulling her onto her back Zale leaned in and softly kissed her cheek. He let go and hopped off the bed once more. He crossed to the short dresser that sat a few feet from the door frame. Opening the drawer he grabbed the first thing he saw.
Pulling the shirt over his head, he turned to her and, asked; "Wanna head out?"
She nodded.
~~~
“Gonna tell me where we’re going, babe?”
Zale shook his head.
They had barely left the apartment before she began asking. And even after a few blocks, and a half-assed game of twenty questions, she kept at it. Zale continued to keep it a secret. His silence ticked her off more than the secret.
"Better be worth it,” she said with a bitter voice.
“Oh it is, trust me.”
Bonsai rolled her eyes and scoffed.
She wore an over-sized gray shirt under a red flannel. Layered on top was a light blue jean jacket. The fabric was distressed and faded. Various patches covered the surface in a randomized pattern. A pair of black fishnets covered her legs under a short, pale pink, skirt. Ends of the fishnets were tucked into the galaxy printed high tops which covered her feet. Days, maybe weeks, old polish colored her nails a deep black. Except for the top edges where it had cracked and peeled off. The aviator sunglasses on her face glinted in the afternoon sun. Her makeup was still a mess but she didn’t care.
And neither did he.
To him she was always the most beautiful person anywhere they went.
Like a moth flying dangerously close to a flame he caught himself staring and looked away.
But he was too late and she already noticed. Turning away from the passing cars she side-eyed him. Bonsai pulled the sunglasses down over the bridge of her nose. Looking him up and down she nodded approvingly.
“Mm-hmm.”
Zale chuckled and shook his head in embarrassment.
He mindlessly echoed her gaze and looked down at himself. His eyes glued to each article of clothing for a long time; analyzing every tiny detail. The old and discolored white t-shirt with its peeling black triangle. A pair of faded, over washed, black jeans haphazardly shoved into a pair of boots. Various sized patches of different materials covered the larger holes. One of the zippers had broken. It was stuck half open and the pull tab had fallen off. He wore an aging, and tattered, navy-blue hoodie. The hood covered his head; blocking his peripheral like a pair of blinders.
How in the hell did you get lucky enough to have her? Fucking look at yourself, dude. Look like you crawled outta the fucking dump. Probably smell like it too.
Zale started to zero in on the things he couldn’t see. The hard calluses on his fingers. Scrapes on his knees that burned painfully. Heavy, dark, bags under his eyes. Bruises, scabs, and strangely shaped dents covered his skin in various places. Fading veins, originally a deep oxford blue, were now barely visible. A few had died from overuse and turned black.
All with track marks to match.
Nobody’s gonna see 'em. Even if they did who the fuck cares? Mom? Dad? Cove? Fae? Don’t make me laugh.
As these thoughts ran through his mind he began picking at his sleeve.
Bonsai reached over, standing on her toes, and pulled his hood off.
Before he could fix it she ran her hand through his hair. Pulling her close he wrapped an arm around her. She leaned her head against his shoulder. Her long, wavy, black hair cascaded down his chest.
“This is it,” Zale said after a few minutes.
She peeled off him and looked around.
The couple stood in front of a bookstore. Its exterior was long and rectangular. Square transom windows ran along the top of the storefront; metal latticework spacing the glass apart. The square designs were echoed on the masonry pillars and the bulkhead. Two old fashioned street lamps hung from the top of the pillars; along the extended cornice. Everything that made up the storefront, that was not glass, had been painted a dark turquoise color. Large, square, glass panes sat on either side of the recessed entryway.
Display windows gave passersby a clear view inside.
Above the transom windows, and cornice, the facade was painted white. A sign was affixed to the building on the space. The nameplate shaped sign matched the turquoise color of the rest of the building. Painted on the stylized metal, in thin and sharp cursive, was the name of the store. Bright golden letters stood out against the dark black behind it.
“The Book Nook?” she turned to him and asked.
Zale dug into his back pockets; pulling out a Sharpie and a couple of pens.
He held the items out to her with a smirk. She took them quickly and opened the door. He followed close behind.
The interior of the store had a cozy, welcoming, atmosphere. Two or three tables were set up behind the large display windows. A deep, dark oak, counter jutted out from the wall not too far from the large window on the left-hand side. An elderly woman stood behind the counter. Her white hair was tied back in a neat bun; except for a few strands that had fallen around her face. She smiled at them as they entered but did not approach. Zale nodded at her as Bonsai rushed to the shelves at the back.
As he walked over to where his better half had rushed off to Zale noticed that not that many people were in the store. It was a bit late in the afternoon so it made sense. Most people, with normal lives, would be at work or school. Catching sight of Bonsai he quickened his pace.
She was standing near the back of the aisle; near the emergency exit. Book in hand she seemed to be intently reading whatever was typed on its pages.
But he knew better.
“Whatcha got there, B?” he asked as he stepped behind her and rested his chin on her shoulder.
“Some stupid self-help book,” she said; the disgust clear in her voice.
The Sharpie was in her hand; hidden under the spine of the book. Her brow furrowed as she searched for something. Flipping through the pages she finally found what she was looking for. The empty space under the title of the eighth chapter gave her a perfect canvas. With a delightful chuckle she pulled the cap off the permanent marker and went to work. It didn’t take long. A minute or maybe less and then she moved to place the book back on the shelf.
“Lemme see that again.”
“Enjoy,” she replied with a wink as she passed the book to him. She walked away and went about perusing the aisles once more.
He quickly flipped to chapter eight.
The chapter was entitled Horrors of Hate. But a dark, thick, line ran through the word “hate”. Above the text, in harshly scribbled handwriting, was the word “youth”. Under the title was a drawing of a girl’s crying face. Her hand was outstretched with an unclear object in her palm. The overall shape of the object matched a small hole in the girl’s chest.
Chuckling to himself and shaking his head he replaced the book.
He wandered through the store once more. Taking a red pen out of his back pocket looked around for the bookstore’s owner. Not seeing her anywhere near him he turned toward the nearest shelf just in case. He held the pen in between his fingers and hid it under the sleeve of his hoodie.
Randomly picking up various books he scrawled his own messages in the blank spaces.
Zale wrote stupid things that were funny in the moment. Short phrases like “doing a book burning? start with me” and “only read when high”. As he finished a small drawing of a dog pooping on the title of a rom-com piece of erotica he felt a tap on his shoulder.
“Zay! Look at this,” Bonsai said as she shoved a book into his face.
It was a children’s graphic novel. The superheroes, in their brightly colored costumes, were fighting the villain. All of the typical violence that was associated with the heroes in question was nowhere to be seen. Or it was supposed to be as the book was for children. The heroes were supposed to talk the villain out of doing whatever damage they had planned.
Bonsai had taken it upon herself to fix the problem.
Red and blue ink turned a docile scene into a bloodbath. With the dialogue bubbles untouched the text remained the same. The juxtaposition of the flowery language with the added violence was hilarious. Now the scene ended with the villain, still claiming to be reformed, beaten and bloodied.
As Zale laughed she gave him a quick peck on the cheek.
“Thanks,” she said. “I really needed this.”
“Anything for you.”
She took the book from him and went to return it to wherever she first found it. He watched her go and smiled. After the night they had previously she was in dire need of a pick me up. Thankfully this did the trick.
He returned the book to the shelf and pretended to scan the rest of the books for another. After a minute or so of this miming he shrugged and walked away. Taking his time as he went he looked around for Bonsai. He knew that she couldn’t be far off as the place wasn’t very big. Walking around the store Zale felt the phone in his back pocket vibrate. He slowed to a stop as he took out his cell. A text came through from an unknown number. The message was a simple two word phrase.
In stock.
Before he could text back the phone buzzed again. The vibration was longer than the first time; signifying that a call was coming through. He pressed the green phone icon and put the phone to his ear.
“Howard Boulevard, green-gray,” the familiar voice on the other end said before hanging up.
~~~
The street was busy despite the odd hour. Most people should've been at work or school and yet cars practically flooded the street. Zale turned and gave Bonsai a confused look from under the weathered, dull, navy hood. She echoed his confusion with a cocked eyebrow. Turning back to the street they scanned the opposite side.
He felt her hand harshly squeeze his own.
A slew of parked cars lined the curb. A couple of bikes were neatly corralled by the edge of the sidewalk that turned down a narrow alleyway. But, mysteriously, only one appeared to have the engine on.
From this distance all they could see clearly was the profile of the car. Even with the bright lights above it was difficult to discern the color. They had no idea if this car belonged to who they thought. But already late they quickly rushed across the street. He held her hand as they ran; clutching it intensely. Like he was afraid she'd disappear if he let go.
Calm down, he mentally shouted to himself, nothing’s happened.
Slowing to a leisurely stroll once they reached the correct side of the street. Zale looked around for a car matching the color he was told. His head whipped around as he searched. A sharp exhale left his body when he saw it. Pointing it out to he lessened his grip on Bonsai's hand. She ran her hand through her hair; trying to shake out her nerves. As the couple walked the silhouetted shape of a person came into view.
The shape was leaning against the trunk; facing away from them. A thin reflection of the car's rear lights shined on the figure's dark jacket. Seeing the man's face Zale felt the tension leave his body. He heard Bonsai exhale a deep sigh of relief.
"Fuckin' took ya long enough."
Klynn Buffett was never a patient man.
He stood with arms crossed over his chest. An old, weathered, light gray jean jacket covered his chest. The sleeves were cut off in a very disordered manner. Fabric strands of varying lengths hung from the edges. He wore a white t-shirt underneath. On the fabric was an image of a skull; black on one side and white on the other. Behind the skull image was a series of pixels. Reversed coloring to the skull the pixels were of different size and shape. Dark blue jeans collected in a series of folds at his feet. On his feet were a pair of bright red street sneakers. The soles were white with black writing all over.
Klynn’s bright auburn veins cut through the dark.
Silver ink shone along the left side of his neck; illuminated by the car’s rear lights. Stylish filigree curled around his skin in an intricate manner. Inside the decorative ink was an image of raven feathers. Underneath the feathers was the Latin phrase; volenti non fit injuria. An impatient annoyance twisted his lips into a snarl. The emotion was perfectly reflected in his hunter green eyes. His white hair, shaved except for the top of his skull, was wavy and long. Swept to the right side of his face the curled locks covered his eye.
Zale shook his head and looked at the ground; "Sorry man. Lost track of time."
Kylnn scoffed. It was clear that he wasn't satisfied with that answer. But he pushed off the car and moved towards the front door. His dark eyes dug daggers into Zale.
"Gonna let it slide. This time."
Clutching the door handle Kylnn pulled it to open the door. It didn't budge. He chuckled and shook his head.
“You good, man?”
“Yeah,” came the struggled reply. “This piece of shit gets stuck all the time.”
Zale nodded and shoved his hands in his hoodie pockets. Bonsai moved closer and hooked her arm through his. Bonsai nudged him slightly. Looking over to her he gave her a questioning look.
“You ok?” he mouthed.
She shook her head.
He raised an eyebrow in confusion. Without saying a thing she nudged her head in Kylnn’s direction. Then she motioned to the area around them. Zale took a minute before he understood. Clearing his throat loudly he took his hands out of his pockets and stepped in front of Bonsai.
“Kinda noticing your boys aren’t here, Kylnn.”
“Yeah, so? If yo...” he suddenly stopped; freezing in place.
"Let's go," Bonsai whispered.
"What? Why?"
Bonsai's pleading eyes shifted back to where Kylnn stood. They took on a deep look of suspicion. A sprinkling of fear lurked inside as well. She crossed her arms over one another and hugged herself.
"I just have a bad feeling. Please, Zay."
Zale chuckled, smirking, "For real? We've been buying off him for years, B. If he wanted to rip us off he woulda done it already."
She nodded reluctantly. Zale could see that she was still bothered by something. He didn't know what it could have been but he pulled her into a hug. Holding her close for a minute; hoping it would help ease her nerves. Uncurling from the embrace he held her at arm's length. Zale looked at her for a few seconds before cupping her face in his hands. He kissed her on the forehead and rubbed her cheek with his thumb.
"I’m never gonna let anything happen to you. You're my tree of life, B. This soul," he said; laying a hand on his chest.
“This soul is useless without you.”
BAM!
The sound of the car door slamming made the couple jump. Turning in the direction of the sound they saw Kylnn walking around the car to the front side. He winked at them as he passed. Bonsai’s suspicions grew but she kept them to herself. Her veins began to glow just a little bit brighter as if to echo her feelings.
Zale put his hand on her shoulder.
Another loud slamming sound rang through the night as Kylnn let the hood of the car fall back into place.
“Why, man?”
“Just part of my charm,” Kylnn said with a smirk.
“So, the whole thing with the door was--?”
“Lost track of where I put it. That shit happens to the best of us.”
Kylnn joined the couple on the sidewalk and he approached Zale. He held his hand out. Zale took it and pulled him into a man hug. The exchange only lasted for a few seconds before they let go. As their hands moved apart a small plastic bag was passed into Zale’s hand. He curled his fingers around it before shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets.
“Pleasure doin’ business.”
Zale nodded and wrapped his arm around Bonsai again. As they walked away he leaned to kiss her head.
~~~
Once inside the apartment he pushed the door closed with his foot. Turning around to lock it caused the paper bag to shift in the crook of his left arm. He shouted over his shoulder.
“B? I’m back!”
Shoving the key into his pocket he simultaneously kicked his shoes off. After that he turned around once more. Now facing the inside of his apartment he could see that everything was exactly how he left it. An open carton of milk was still on the table. The small stack of books that held up the broken table leg was still askew from when he rushed out.
Exhaling the breath he didn’t know he held Zale walked across the floor.
“I got you something,” he called to the empty air.
He thought that maybe she had taken a nap. She had done that ever since they’d known each other. It didn’t matter what the argument was about, or who it was with, she always ended them the same way. When he asked why she explained that she didn’t want people to fight for too long. He always thought it was sweet.
So he turned the corner and walked to their bedroom. He took a breath before quietly pushing the door open.
But the room was empty. The bed, a small mattress on a thin metal frame, only housed a few pillows and a blanket. The beanbag that sat in the corner opposite the bed was also missing it’s typical occupant.
Walking out of the room he made his way back. It was clear that the kitchen was empty so he didn’t bother looking. As he moved to set the bag on the counter he turned to his right; scanning the small living room.
There she was.
Bonsai was sitting on the sofa with her back towards him. Her long, black, hair cut off at the base of her neck by the back of the sofa. It was clear that she hadn't heard him. Zale smirked and crept over to the couch.
It was the perfect time to surprise her.
Walking on tiptoes he approached the sofa from the left side. Turning the corner she had fully come into view.
She wore the same outfit from earlier minus the aviators. Her arms were on either side of her person. Palms facing up her thin arms were quietly laying by her side. A bright green colored rubber band tourniquet hung loosely off her left arm. Barely past the crook of her elbow was a syringe. The plunger had been pushed all the way down.
The needle was still in her skin.
On the old, dented, and stained wood table was another tourniquet. It was a bright yellow color. Next to the tourniquet was another syringe. Empty. There was an old, burnt and bent, spoon on the other side of the syringe. Also empty. A lighter and a couple cotton balls also lay on the tabletop.
The small plastic bag also lay on the table.
Most of its contents remained.
Zale’s eyes rapidly darted from each item he saw, to the next, and back again. His mind couldn’t believe what he was seeing. It just made no sense. In a daze, unaware that he was even moving, he rushed to her side. His knees slammed into the floor and he ignored the pain. His bottom lip quivered in fear.
With shaking hands he carefully pulled the needle from her skin.
He tried to call her name but the sounds remained in his throat.
The pulse of her veins was getting slower with each passing second. Slow and progressively more faint. Deep black broke through the bright orange every few beats. Her breathing was shallow and rapid. It seemed like there was something blocking the air from filling her lungs. Every couple seconds she would choke on nothing. The edges of her lips were turning pale. And a blank thousand yard stare glossed over her eyes.
"No, no, no," he repeated; anguish heavy in his voice.
"C'mon, c'mon stay with me, B. You were right. You knew and I... Fuck. I'm so sorry."
She pressed a finger to his lips and shook her head. The message was clear. Nothing he could say would change anything. There was no point wasting what time they had left on apologies.
"Babe," her voice a choked whisper, "can you sing something for me?"
He nodded as the tears ran down his cheeks. Clutching her hand in his own, a hand against her back holding on, he could feel the heat leave her body. A whirlwind of emotions ran through his mind as he started to sing. It was quiet and shaky. Completely off tune. He didn't even know if he sang any actual words.
But none of that mattered.
She wanted to hear his voice and so she did.
Lifting his head he took a deep, shaky, breath. Only then did he notice that the gray tabby had sat next to Bonsai. He had been purring quietly.
"Don't go, B. Please."
But she was already gone.
Panicked, afraid, and in pure disbelief he grabbed her shoulders. Shaking her lightly he called her name again and again. She didn't respond. Her head jerked back each time he moved her. Her entire body was limp, although still warm, and didn't put up a fight. Couldn't. Her eyes were dull. Veins now entirely black. Running his hands along her neck he cupped her face in his hands; thumbing her cheek.
He sat there, sobbing, until there were no more tears to shed. The grief poured out of his mouth until his throat was raw.
Why? Why? Why? the question repeated with the rapid, fearful, pulse in his veins.
Kylnn.
Shoving his hand into his jeans he aggressively searched for his phone. Pressing the button on the back brought the dark screen to life. The black void was immediately replaced with a picture of the two of them. He quickly tapped out the code on the screen.
But his nerves got the better of him and the screen informed him that he messed up. Shaking his head he bit his bottom lip and tried again. And again. And again. The screen stayed on the picture, the digital clock changing, as if to taunt him.
He screamed and tightly grasped the phone in his hand.
Mayor Whiskers walked over to where Zale stood. He let out a quiet meow to get the young man's attention. Rubbing his head against his leg Mayor Whiskers started to purr again. The sound was usually low and comforting, but, not this time. In the dead quiet apartment every minor sound, that typically wasn't easily distinguished from the rest, was now obvious. The loud mechanical hum of the fridge. A dull, rattle-like, sound emanated from the air vents. The creaking sounds from the neighbors' walking around their apartments. Even the cat's purr was loud.
The overwhelming sounds pulled him back into the moment. He took a breath and tapped the screen one more time. The picture disappeared. It gave way to the slew of apps that covered an image of gray squares varying in size and shade. Ignoring every other app in view his thumb moved to the dark, blue-green colored, phone icon. Pressing the square brought up his most recent calls.
Without a second thought he pressed the first number in the list.
Putting the phone to his ear Zale found himself hoping that the call went unanswered. But his hopes were dashed as the phone abruptly stopped ringing.
"What did you do?"
"Huh?" the voice responded.
"What the fuck did you do, Kylnn?!"
"Look man I don't know what this--"
Zale cut him off; "She's dead. So, I'm gonna ask again and you're gonna give me an answer. What. Did. You. Do?"
The sudden change in tone was shocking. Violent threats, subtly hinted at through his words, went unspoken.
“Alright, alright, ya got me. I put a lil’ somethin’ extra in it.”
Kylnn paused on the other end as if he was choosing his words carefully.
“Thought you two woulda got hooked on the combo. That’s it. Scout’s honor.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
Zale could practically see Kylnn shrug. He could, very clearly, see Kylnn lounging in whatever hovel he currently called home. The man was most likely sitting on a dirty and ratty couch counting his earnings. His phone would be held in place by his shoulder. Even in his own base of operations Kylnn always had his cronies around for protection. He knew that one of the many girls and boys Kylnn kept would be there too.
"I was gonna marry her."
“Well, look, I gotta go. Same time next week?”
Kylnn hung up before Zale could respond let alone tell him off.
He quietly sunk to his knees; no energy to scream nor tears left to shed.
The shock overtook him again and he mindlessly scrolled through his messages. Quickly finding what he needed he typed out what he could. He didn’t look it over. He didn’t care. He clicked send and let the phone fall from his hand as his body melted into the floor.
Barely a minute passed before the replies came in. His phone loudly buzzed as it vibrated on the floor. At first it was a few short notification buzzes. Then it turned into longer, drawn-out, vibrations. Calls began to flood in.
He didn’t look.
He didn’t pick the phone up.
He didn’t move even when his front door slammed open.
Zale stayed in that spot, frozen in place, until his band-mates, his friends, pulled him to his feet. Someone wrapped a blanket around him. Someone else was pacing the floor; loudly yelling into a phone. Zale vaguely took in what was going on around him. Even as he did everything began to blur and blend together. He swore she was fine. He knew that she hadn’t shot up without him.
“She wouldn’t leave me,” he said. “Not on purpose.”
“’Course not,” Zephyr said.
“It’s my fault,” he continued; ignoring what Zephyr had said. He stared out at nothing and pulled at his hair. “It’s all my fault.”
They tried to talk him out of saying that kind of thing. It wasn’t true and they knew that. Emery interrupted at one point to tell the others that the police were on their way. Running a hand through his hair he looked around the room and whispered.
“Bro? Wanna go out into the hall? Cops are gonna be here--”
Zale cut him off with his ramblings; “She didn’t want to. I said it’d be fine. Same guy as always. She didn’t want to and bought it anyway.”
“It’s not your fault,” Dexterity said as they put a hand on his shoulder and quietly guided him out.
“I bought it! I left her alone! I was gone for five minutes all because I had to buy her some dumb fucking mini cactus! I bought her a cactus and now she’s dead. It’s my fault!”
Dexterity didn’t respond and continued to guide Zale out into the hallway. Their hand continuing to rub his back. Looking back to the others they saw Zephyr and Emery standing in the middle of the living room. Both of them were looking around for things they thought Zale might need. After they grabbed a few things, water and snacks, they followed Dexterity into the hall.
Mayor Whiskers followed the group closely behind.
The three of them stayed by Zale’s side until the police arrived.
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Someone on a groupchat showed me a post that it said: "Make sure your sugar daddy takes the flu shot this year" and I need Peter being a little nurse and staying with Tony who caught the flu. Family friendly, if you want ;)
Im sksks I dont know what to say about what I wrote but heres a thing lmao
Sugar Daddy Tony, 18+ Sugar Baby Peter, sickfic, flu, whump, fluff, some silliness and Stephen and his Lamborghini
————————
”Steph?”
With a hum, the older man turned around to face Peter, but quickly fixed his gaze over to where the boy was pointing. They were stood in line at the store with a basket full of tissues, ingredients for chicken soup, cough drops and cold medicine. Stephen was holding the basket, even though Peter had protested that it was his boyfriend who was sick and that he should help out, the doctor had shushed him with a smirk and said how Peter’s hands will become rough if he carried too much heavy stuff. The boy had tried to pout and protest, but in the end he blushed a little. To be honest, he loved how everyone, not just Tony, treated him like a sugar baby.
”No.”
”Come on! It will cheer him up!”
”I’m not a nurse, but even I am offended by how horrible that outfit is. It’s unpractical and let alone unsanitary.”
”It’s just a costume, it’s just for fun, Doc.” Peter chirped, elbowing his friend teasingly in the ribs before stepping out of the line momentarily to grab the nurse outfit. Despite Stephen glaring at him as he returned, Peter placed the outfit in the basket the older man was holding. As a thank you, Peter stood up on his tip toes to plant a soft, but slightly sticky from lipgloss, kiss on the doctor’s cheek.
”You’ve become such a brat since you and Tony became a thing.” Stephen said, but there was no ill harm behind his words, nor did he move to wipe the glittery gloss from his cheek. Peter giggled.
The two of them made their way out the store quickly with their purchases and to the parking lot where Stephen had his Lamborghini parked. People might have thought that Stephen was a sugar daddy doing some shopping with his sugar baby, but that was not the reality. Still, they would have made a stunning pair. Climbing into the car and starting the roaring engine, Stephen began to drive Peter back to Tony’s place.
”You’ll call me if you need anything, all right? I won’t have you working yourself sick too by caring for him, you hear me?” Stephen said with some sternness as they started to get close to their destination.
”Yes, yes, Steph.” Peter assured with a chuckle as he drummed his fingers against his thigh along to the Pink Floyd that Stephen played on the speakers. Tony would kill him if he told him this, but in Peter’s mind Stephen had better taste in music than Tony.
”All right, here we are.” The doctor said as he pulled over to the entrance to the luxurious apartment building. ”You want me to help out with the stuff or cook the soup?”
”I thought you hated the nurse outfit and now you wanna come up and see it?” Peter laughed as he unbuckled his seatbelt and grabbed the bag from the backseat.
”Oh God! You’re gonna put it on right now?”
”Of course! Either way, you’ve helped more than enough, Doc, I can do the rest. Thank you.” Peter thanked and again, he leaned over to give Stephen a kiss on the cheek.
”Okay, then. Give the old man my love, yeah?”
”Will do!”
And with that Peter climbed out of the car and headed to the entrance. Flashing the guard by the door a smile, the boy was let into the building and he headed through the luxurious lobby to the golden elevators. One of Peter’s favourite guards was stood by the elevator and pushed the button before Peter could even greet him.
”How are you, Thomas?”
”Welcome back, Mr Parker.”
”Thomas, please, it’s Peter.”
”Sorry, sorry.” The guard chuckled and let Peter enter the elevator first before following him and pushing the button for the 56th floor. ”Oh, is Mr Stark sick?” Thomas asked as he saw the contents of the plastic bag, considering how transparent it was. However, he did not ask about the nurse outfit, which Peter was sure he had seen too.
”Yeah, he is. I’m going to nurse him back to health.”
”That’s very sweet of you. Call the lobby if you need anything, yeah? And wish Mr Stark a speedy recovery.” Thomas said with a friendly smile as the elevator slowed down and the doors slid open with a soft ding. Stepping out, Peter waved the guard goodbye.
”Thanks, Thomas.”
There were only three apartments on the 56th floor, considering how enormous they were. Tony had instructed Peter not to tease their two neighbours about how they had the best apartment out of the three, which of course the boy did not do. Peter found both Mr and Mrs Berg to be very friendly, although he did not see them often, but old Ms Wilson Peter was more than familiar with. He would often go visit her and help around in her apartment. As a thank you, she would often come around and give Peter and Tony some of her delicious pastries when she apparently made “too much on accident”. 
Pulling out his keycard, Peter entered the apartment and closed the door with his foot. Usually, he would have cried out to Tony by now that he was home, but considering how Tony was sick and probably sleeping, Peter entered quietly. After toeing off his shoes, he padded to the kitchen to put the food away. He decided to check on Tony first before putting on the outfit, just in case the old man was in a bad mood. Bringing the cough drops, cold medicine and a big glass of water with him, Peter headed down the hall to the master bedroom. 
The bedroom was nearly pitch black, only slightly illuminated by one stripe of sunlight that got in though the crack in the thick curtains. The air in the room was thick and heavy, with a hint of warm feverish sweetness. In the middle of the king sized bed, Tony was laying on his front, however his head was not on the pillow, but on the mattress. He was only dressed in boxers, breathing heavily and a little noisily, but that was due to his stuffed sinuses. The duvet around him was a mess as he probably pushed them off only to pull them back over himself with the hot and cold flashes from the fever. 
“Tony, babe…” Peter said gently, placing the glass and such on the bedside table before going to open the curtains a little. He could hear some stirring from the bed at the sudden brightness, but before he went to Tony he opened the window to let in some fresh air. “Tony…” 
“Mhmm…” A low groan was all Peter got in response, and just based on that he knew that Tony’s voice was different due to the swelling in this throat. Sitting onto the side of the bed, Peter brought a hand to the older man’s forehead. Glassy and red eyes met brighter ones and Peter smiled down at Tony. Luckily, Tony did not feel much warmer compared to when Peter had checked before heading to college earlier that morning. Still, he grabbed the thermometer from the bedside table and took the protective cover off. 
“Open up.” Peter instructed and the older man grunted a little as he turned onto his back before parting his lips so that the boy could place the thermometer under his tongue. 
“That’s my line.” Tony grumbled.
“Shhh, don’t talk or the reading won’t be accurate.” Peter shushed back, bringing a hand up to stroke at Tony’s toned stomach gently. 
They sat in silence while the thermometer took the reading, with only the autumn breeze whispering gently as it came through the window and freshened up the thick air in the room considerably. Eventually, the device beeped and Tony was about to lift his hand, but Peter was faster. 
“100,50. How are you feeling?” 
“Like I have 100,50 in fever.” Tony deadpanned back, only opening his eyes to slits and smirked just a little at the look Peter gave him. Clearing his throat a little, Tony tried again. “Head and throat hurts. More importantly however, how did the talk with your supervisor go? Did she approve your research question?” 
“You’re dehydrated, here.” Peter answered shortly, picking up the glass that he had brought and offering it to Tony. The older man grunted again as he sat up a little and with his free hand, Peter helped place a pillow behind his back. Once he had finished one-fourth of the glass, Peter handed him the two white pills that would bring down his fever, but instead of taking them, Tony stuck his tongue out. With a roll of his eyes and a chuckle, Peter placed the two pills on Tony’s tongue and watched as he swallowed them with some more water before putting it aside. As much as Peter pretended to be annoyed by Tony’s childish behaviour, it was a good sign and meant that he wasn’t seriously ill. 
“Now, tell me how the talk went.” 
“I went to school, but only to reschedule the talk to next week. I didn’t wanna spend too much time away from you so I called Stephen to pick me up and we went to the store to pick up some supplies. He sends his love by the way, as does Thomas.” 
“Thomas goggles too much at your ass.” Tony snapped back, to which Peter only giggled. “And what do you mean rescheduled? The first draft is due in two weeks you said. I’m an adult for Christ sake, I can deal with a cold, so you go back to school.”
“You’ve got the flu, babe.” Peter corrected. “You said your joints hurt this morning and that’s not a symptom of a cold, but the flu.”
“Whatever, whatever…” The older man grumbled and slipped down from his sitting position to lay back down. “What are you doing here then? Getting yourself sick too? Get out of here.” He argued and with a weak arm he gestured to the door. Before getting up, Peter patted Tony’s bare thigh and leaned over to kiss his temple. 
“I’ll make you some toast and tea, yeah? I also got stuff to make chicken soup later.” Peter said as he circled the bed to head out. All he got in response was a groan from Tony. 
Once Peter had the tea brewing and the toast in the toaster, his eyes fell upon the nurse outfit on the counter. Holding back excited giggles, Peter changed into it quickly before placing the toast and tea on a tray. Taking a deep breath, he began to head down the hall to the master bedroom again. 
“How’s my favourite patient?” Peter said huskily by the door, waiting until Tony lifted his head up to look at him. 
“Did my fever spike or are you wearing a cheap nurse outfit?”
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(Smth like this maybe??)
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Oh my god hi, ive been searching this hellsite for weeks trying to find a PJO/HoO writer and i finally found one! I would like to request Percy vomiting for you bingo thing, 😁
Hi Nonny! Sorry this took so long, but here you go!
Fandom: PJO/HoO
Request: Vomiting
Requested by Anonymous
(Star is completed, Swirl is requested)
@badthingshappenbingo
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Request- Vomiting
Fandom- PJO/HoO
Requested by Anonymous on Tumblr
Percy decided that he was officially subscribing to vegetarianism as he retched into the toilet bowl. He tried his best not to see the brownish-yellow mixture of bile and whatever else he'd eaten in the last twelve hours glaring up at him from the toilet bowl. With his stomach done expelling it's contents for the moment, Percy pulled the handle to flush the vomit and weakly pushed himself away from the toilet, leaning against the wall.
Stupid Fourth of July cookouts. Percy thought. Stupid hot dogs.
He had just enough time to catch his breath before his stomach twisted itself painfully once again. Clapping his hand over his mouth, Percy dove for the toilet again.
How is there anything left? Percy wondered as he sagged against the toilet, any energy to hold himself upright already long gone. His head just cleared the lip of the toilet before he heaved violently, convulsions shaking his whole body. Nothing happened. Percy coughed and gagged again as tears, snot, and spit ran down his face. Again, nothing.
There was a soft knock on the bathroom door. "Percy?" Annabeth's voice asked sympathetically. "How's it going in there?"
"If I tell you where Riptide is, would you put me out of my misery?" Percy moaned, his voice hoarse. Seeing that hanging over the toilet was getting him nowhere, he lowered himself to the ground, the tile felt nice and cool on his feverish skin.
"I'm not very keen on going to jail for manslaughter today." Annabeth laughed sympathetically and opened the door to the bathroom to see Percy in a heap on the floor beside the toilet. Her heart ached for him.
"I've decided to become a vegetarian." Percy said softly, closing his eyes. He just wanted to sleep. His body ached from how tense he was.
"Is that right?" Annabeth smiled, sitting down beside Percy and pulling his head into her lap. She softly pushed her fingers through his sweaty, knotted black hair.
A shiver ran down Percy's back as Annabeth played with his hair. She put a hand on his stomach and rubbed light circles.
"Mmm" He hummed, momentarily distracted from the nausea churning in his stomach.
Percy almost got to sleep-almost.
He gagged wetly and clamped his hand over his mouth as he tried to clamber up to the toilet.
Annabeth's arm got caught in the struggle and she couldn't move away fast enough.
Percy weakly tried to sit up and push himself away from Annabeth. Something wet pushed against his fingers.
No. No. Do not throw up on Annabeth! Percy pleaded internally.
Finally, the force of the bile pushing itself out of his stomach was too much. Percy dropped to all fours as vomit pushed through his fingers and onto the tile, making a disgusting plopping noise. Percy wretched again and closed his eyes as tears streamed down his cheeks and he tried to catch his breath.
"Oh gods!" Annabeth yelled from somewhere Percy couldn't see.
A moment later, he sat back on his heels, breathless. He leaned hard against the cabinets and opened his eyes. It took a moment to see properly since his sight was still blurry with tears.
When he could see, Percy wished he couldn't. Yellow-brown vomit spread across the floor in a thin, watery layer, slowly seeping into the spaces between the tiles. Next, Percy's eyes lazily found their way to Annabeth, who was still sitting in the same spot, but now had a large yellowish stain on her jeans. She was sitting perfectly still with her eyes closed, breathing deeply.
"Annabeth, I'm-" Percy groaned pitifully. He thought he might cry. Gods, he didn't want to cry.
"It wasn't your fault, Honey. You're sick." Annabeth said, her eyes still closed, she reached for his hand.
"Are you okay?" Percy sniffled.
"No. N-not really." Annabeth offered. "I'm-um-I'm a-I'm what you'd call a sympathetic puker. If I see puke, I'll probably puke too."
"Oh" Percy huffed. Then, the realization hit him. "Oh."
"Yeah." Annabeth huffed, trying not to breathe through her nose. "J-just give me a minute and I can clean this up. Then, we can shower and go take a nap. How's that sound?"
"Annabeth, just let me-" Percy cut off as he gagged dangerously, the smell was grotesque. "I'll clean up. You just go change."
"No. I'm-" Annabeth gagged. "F-fine. Are you sure you're okay?"
"I'm fine." Percy croaked, trying not to breathe through his nose.
Wordlessly, Annabeth opened her eyes and, pointedly not looking at the pool of vomit on the floor, felt her way up the cabinet, stood up, and practically sprinted out of the bathroom. Once outside, she stripped off her jeans and kicked them down the hall.
Then, Percy was left in his mess. He wondered how he was meant to clean up. He didn't want to use any of the towels, but what other option was there?
A moment later, Annabeth reappeared in the doorway, sporting a change of clothes, a t shirt tied around her face like a gas mask, a whole roll of paper towels, and bleach.
"Percy?"
Percy looked up at her with a "deer in the headlights" expression.
"Why don't you go take a shower in the guest bathroom? I'm sure it'll make you feel better. I'll get this cleaned up." Annabeth said gently.
"Are you-"
"I'll be fine, Honey. Isn't "in sickness and in health" part of the whole marriage thing?" She laughed. "I'm just getting a head start."
Percy smiled and, using the counter for support, pushed himself into a standing position. He took a few steps on wobbly legs and, when he didn't immediately pass out or throw up again, slowly walked out of the bathroom and down the hall to the guest room.
After making it to the guest room with no complications, Percy slowly stripped off his sweaty t-shirt and sweatpants. He looked at himself in the mirror, he was pale and gaunt, hours of vomiting had surely made him dehydrated. He stripped off his boxers, turned the shower onto the hottest setting and stepped in.
For a moment, everything was fine. The hot water felt nice on his fevered skin. Then, without warning, Percy gagged harshly and had to grab the wall to keep from falling over. Bile, there was definitely nothing left in his stomach now, pushed up and over his lips.  He groaned, back aching from retching so hard.
The room spun wildly. Percy tried to lower himself to the floor as slowly as possible, trying not to pass out. He pulled his knees to his chest and tried to breathe deeply.
"Perc-oh, baby!" Annabeth gasped softly as she pulled back the curtain.
"Go-got dizzy." Percy slurred.
"I can see that." Annabeth pushed the curtain to the wall, more than a little worried about how quickly Percy's condition was deteriorating. "Why don't I run you a bath?"
"That sounds nice." Percy whimpered, his stomach gurgling uneasily.
Annabeth turned off the shower and plugged the drain before starting the faucet again.
"Hopefully the hot water will help settle your stomach." Annabeth offered, watching as Percy relaxed slightly, slowly unfurling from the ball she'd found him in.
When the tub was full, Annabeth turned off the tap. Except for the drip of the faucet, everything was quiet. She sat back on her heels and surveyed her boyfriend. He looked a little more pink than before, but his face was still scrunched up in discomfort.
"Scoot up." Annabeth demanded softly as she stripped down herself. She unclipped the last hook on her bra and stepped into the bathwater. She wedged herself in behind Percy and let him rest against her chest. She kissed his temple and gently massaged his scalp.
"Mmm...feels nice." Percy mumbled, scooting further into the water.
Annabeth smiled softly.
"Do you want me to wash your hair?" Annabeth asked quietly after a while.
"Mmm" Percy mumbled.
"I'll take that as a yes." Annabeth laughed.
Grabbing Percy's shampoo from the small shelf, she squirted the gel into her hands and gently worked it into a lather in Percy's hair.
Percy sighed contentedly.
After rinsing the soap out of his hair, Annabeth realized that the water was starting to get cold.
As if on cue, Percy moaned softly. "M'stomach'urts"
"I know, Baby." Annabeth frowned. "I think it's time we got out. Can you sit up?"
Annabeth helped Percy pull himself into a sitting position as she climbed out of the tub. After toweling off lightly, she helped Percy out of the tub, which was no small feat, considering the kid was 6"2 and all limbs.
Percy did his best to climb out of the tub of his own accord, but he felt so weak and his stomach ached like it had been sent through a vice grip. He wound up mostly leaning on Annabeth and trying not to fall over.
After a few carefully placed maneuvers, Annabeth had Percy out of the tub and sitting on the toilet with a towel wrapped around his shoulders. He looked so much like a little kid that it might have been funny if he hadn't felt so awful.
"Let's go get you into some fresh clothes and then we can take a nap." Annabeth held out her hand.
"Mhmm." Percy nodded.
Slowly, they made their way back to their bedroom. Annabeth deposited Percy onto the bed and changed into an old camp t-shirt and pajama shorts before moving to Percy's dresser and grabbing a t-shirt and pajama pants.
"Here." Annabeth put the clothing down beside Percy. "You good?"
Percy shook his head slightly, trying to focus on what Annabeth was saying.
"Yeah." He grabbed the t-shirt, fumbling with it for a moment before pulling it over his head and then leaned down to put on his pants. A wave of dizziness swept over him, nausea making his stomach churn.
"Oh" Percy's hand flew to his stomach.
"Are you-" Annabeth eyed the little trashcan they kept beside the bed.
"Trashcan!" Percy moaned.
Annabeth had just enough time to thrust the tiny waste basket under Percy's chin before he was coughing and spitting yellow-green bile into it.
"Uggh"
"I know. I know." Annabeth said. "Here, let me help you." Annabeth offered. Not waiting for an answer, helped shimmy Percy's pants up to his waist.
"I'll get you a glass of water. Why don't you lay down?" She suggested.
She watched to see Percy's head lean onto the pillow before going to the kitchen to get a glass of water and a straw. When she walked back into the room, she almost hoped he'd be asleep. No such luck. Percy's eyes were closed, but a look of discomfort was etched into his features.
"Percy?" She asked gently.
"Hmm"
"Can you sit up for a minute? I got you some water."
"Tired" He moaned.
"I know. I know, just have a few sips of water for me and then we can go to sleep." Annabeth encouraged.
Blearily opening his eyes, Percy pushed himself up on one elbow.
Annabeth walked over and sat down beside him, holding the straw to his lips.
"Small sips. If you can't keep this down, I'll have to take you to the ER."
"No hospital." Percy said as firmly as he could, which was not very firm at the moment.
"No promises. Now drink." Annabeth said firmly.
Percy put his lips around the straw and took a tiny sip, gods, he was thirsty. He took another little sip.
"Not so fast! You'll be sick again!" Annabeth chided, pulling the glass away.
"'m thirsty!" Percy whined.
"I know, but you have to take it slow."
Percy huffed, but complied, sipping slowly.
Once he'd had about half of the glass of water, Annabeth put it on the bedside table.
"Good. If you can keep that down, we can try solids tonight. For now, you look like you're in serious need of a nap." She stroked Percy's cheek and smiled.
"Who knew a day of puking could take that much out of a guy?" Percy wondered aloud, flopping down on his pillow once again.
"The girlfriend who told him that he shouldn't eat oddly colored hot dogs." Annabeth rolled her eyes as she crawled over to her side of the bed and snuggled up to Percy's back, putting her arms around him and being careful not to squeeze his stomach. Instead, she started to rub slow, soft circles onto his tender abdomen.
"You live and you learn." Percy mumbled, already half asleep with Annabeth curled around him.
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virmillion · 5 years
Text
Ibytm - T minus 58 seconds
Masterpost - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter - ao3
Words: 2,594
Aside from the one confrontation post-petticoat ukulele conspiracy, Logan still hasn’t talked with Cadmium. Really, truly talked to the guy. Tagging along on his tours doesn’t count. Granted, a fair amount of his Tuesdays and Thursdays are occupied with thoughts of Cadmium, but Logan does still have a life outside of him. It comes with no small amount of annoyance that this other life involves dealing with unsolvable problems at his internship.
“I heard there’s no real answer,” Cassidy says. She stabs her pen in the air, writing imaginary equations and scowling at the empty space.
“I heard they had this problem, like, years ago,” Joy says. Logan steeples his fingers under his chin with his elbows propped on his knees, watching Joy spin circles on her chair with her nose pointed at the ceiling. “I bet they already know the answer, and any intern that can’t crack it gets kicked to the curb.”
“Somehow, I feel like excessive alliteration isn’t the answer, Joy,” Micah calls from the water jug. His perspective might seem more valuable if his cheek weren’t flattened against the top of the machine in an utterly pitiful display of boredom.
“Oh, and I bet you already figured it out, huh, smart guy?” Joy’s retort also seems less valuable, as it comes at the same moment that she smacks her ankle into the leg of her desk, her spinning cut short. Logan is getting the sinking feeling that he chose the wrong scientific field.
“Maybe we’re looking at it from the wrong angle. Does someone want to read it again, and we all think of it with clean slates?” Logan glances around the room, hoping that his non-contribution will be sufficient. “Or, hey, Alex, have you got an idea? You haven’t said too much yet.”
Alex’s shock of dyed yellow hair jolts as they lift their eyes to peer over the top of the computer. “Can I get you a handkerchief, or did you dodge the splashback when you threw me under the bus just now?”
“ I’ll read it, you bunch of babies,” Cassidy sighs. “Okay. Riddle me this, folks. Thought experiments for the modern era.”
“Lay off the Mcelroy references and finish the question,” Micah grumbles.
Cassidy wrinkles her nose and sticks out her tongue before continuing. “The ship of Theseus proposes that a ship leaves a location and has every single part of itself periodically replaced before reaching a second location. The question is whether the ship to arrive is a different ship than the one to depart. Bear this in mind while assuming all cultural divides and disparities—cultural, political, scientific, or otherwise—are held in an impenetrable stasis that has no effect on the contents of the riddle, and conclusively solve the following. Jeez, talk about a run-on sentence.
“NASA launches a rocket to Neptune, and the only passenger is the child of a Russian and an American, where the parents were born on Earth and the child on Mars. The inhabited rocket was built half of parts from NASA and half of parts from Roscosmos. It contains enough parts to make an entirely new rocket, all of which were created on the moon. Allowing adequate suspensions of disbelief in favor of the passenger’s ability to build the new rocket and touch down on Neptune alive, which flag should be placed on Neptune as the first to arrive: That of Mars, the Moon, Earth, America, or Russia?”
“Does the moon even have its own flag?” Micah muses.
Joy slams the side of her fist on her desk hard enough to rattle the pens scattered across the floor. “This is such a stupid question. It barely even has anything to do with space!”
“It is about non-mathematical rocket science,” Alex points out.
“You could take the exact same problem and change a few key words to make it about a fish being flushed down a toilet,” Logan counters, “and nothing would change.”
“Is the fish dead?” Micah asks. “Because now you’re introducing aquatic zombies to the equation.”
“No aquatic zombies!” Joy and Alex shout in unison. Logan joins in the cry with a muttered mimic of his own, and even Cassidy looks quite done with Micah, who traces his finger along the side of the water tank before patting the top.
“Aquatic zombies,” he whispers forlornly. Logan isn’t entirely sure how Micah managed to weasel his way into an internship here, but he stopped questioning it a long time ago.
“It’s the moon, isn’t it?” Cassidy tries. This brings about a chaotic storm of argued disagreements through which Logan couldn’t possibly begin to sort.
“But the passenger was born on Mars, so it’s the Martian flag.”
“But their parents were of Earth, do we know where the passenger was conceived? Earthling parents mean it can’t be Mars’ flag.”
“Oh, like the Opportunity rover would plant a flag on Neptune.”
“Rip in pieces, Oppy.”
“Well, wouldn’t it be the country of origin of the mom, since she’s the one that had to carry the passenger to term?”
“That’s sexist, and we don’t know which parent is which.”
“It’s heretonormative, anyway.”
“You mean cisnormative.”
“I know what I meant to mean.”
“Unless you meant both. Trans father for the win.”
“Trans father, transformer, illuminati?”
“Does Earth even have a flag?”
“Where was the passenger raised? That might change the answer.”
The door opposite the stairs slams open as another intern with dirty blond hair and a beanie stumbles in looking particularly disheveled—well, more so than usual, at least.
“The passenger opened a wormhole immediately after being born, and raised themself on Neptune,” Logan deadpans. “Roman, if you haven’t got any good news, I swear to—”
“They cancelled the level eight project,” the man at the door says. Were it not for the bright gold name embroidered along the breast pocket of his shirt—Roman—Logan might believe him to be a random guy from off the street. “They figured out the missing sections—without our input, obviously—and decided the clearance rate was excessive. Basically, they said a toddler with a functioning search engine could crack it, so we should stop wasting our time.”
“Has the toddler ever been to Neptune?” Logan asks dryly. A hollow chorus of laughs ricochets around the room, quieted only by the click of the hour hand on the only analog clock hung on the wall. It must’ve been ages since Logan souped up the old thing to announce clockins, breaks, and clockouts.
“For the next hour,” Joy declares, “Neptune does not exist.”
“Seconded,” the other interns agree, putting their respective monitors to sleep and shuffling for the break room.
Roman lags behind to enter after Logan, prodding the small of his back and tilting his head toward the computers. He clears his throat meaningfully. Logan sighs, casting one last doleful look into the breakroom before joining Roman out on the floor again.
“They did want me to give you this,” Roman murmurs, “but keep it cazh.”
“Nothing is less ‘cazh’ than you shortening the word ‘casual’ like that,” Logan says, nonchalantly stretching an arm over his head. On the downswing, he takes the item from Roman’s hand and threads it between his fingers.
“I think I got the same deal, but don’t mention it, yeah?” Roman steps into the breakroom first, allowing Logan a moment to dawdle and inspect his acquisition. A flat disc, about the size of a well-used roll of scotch tape, with the NASA logo on both sides. Logan pinches the edges beside the first and last letter experimentally, and a USB plug pops out from the bottom of the logo. He pinches again, and it slides away. It looks for all the world like an overly expensive keychain one might find in a cheap museum. Logan shrugs, pockets it, and joins the others in the breakroom.
Only Roman appears to be in any semblance of a good mood—then again, he got clearance to visit the upper offices while everyone else pondered that stupid riddle. After teasing Roman about how he was probably about to get The Talk (the firing talk, that is) from the higher ups, it only took the rest of the floor about five minutes to give up on individual glory and try to solve the problem together. Obviously, it didn’t help.
“We could send someone for coffee,” Cassidy says. At least, Logan thinks that’s what she said. Her voice is a little muffled, what with how her face is pressed against the table.
“And get yelled at for prioritizing caffeine over the crappy cloud juice we’ve already got here?” Alex replies, tracing their finger over the glass front of the vending machine. Its only products are bottled water and expired heath candy bars. Four bucks a pop. “I’d rather dehydrate than take that kind of reprimanding.”
“I am literally going to commit multiple federal and moral crimes if I don’t get some real bean juice in my system in the next hour,” Joy grumbles. A true testament to her name.
Micah, apparently having moved on from the destruction of his aquatic zombie idea, springs to his feet from where he was sprawled across the floor. “We could use Logan’s app!”
This might be a good time to mention that, in padding his resume to apply for this extended internship, Logan made a brief foray into coding, which resulted in an app he dubbed ‘fetch quest.’ Basically a personalized coffee order service, more specialized than door dash, where instead of ordering food straight to your location, you put out a request for coffees—usually from Starbucks, Tim Hortons, Biggby, the like—to be delivered by the colloquially nicknamed fetch kids. Upon getting their coffee, the buyer reimburses the fetch kid for the coffee, as well as an obligatory tip so the fetch kid can turn a quick buck.
To tell the truth, Logan was genuinely too lazy to walk to the campus cafeteria for a coffee while working on homework, and paid his roommate five dollars to do it for him. (He paid in nickels, by the way.) So lazy was Logan, in fact, that he made an app to avoid ever dealing with the inconvenience again.
“I’m down for that,” Cassidy mumbles. “Who’s got the app? Seems kinda rude to do six separate orders, y’know, like ordering a different personal pizza from different locations and having them arrive at the same time, then fight to the death for the right to deliver their pizza first, so they miss the thirty minute limit and no one gets paid.”
“Okay, so Cassidy gets a decaf,” Alex says, swiping around on their phone. “Everyone just getting their usuals? Same as the last fetch quest?” Grunts of agreement are their only answer—aside from Roman, who peers over Alex’s shoulder to design an obscenely personalized drink.
“Pitch in a five dollar tip for the barista,” Logan calls. “I’ll cover it.” Roman perks up at that as Alex taps the appropriate button on their phone. Before he can ask, Logan nods, saying, “I’ll spot you the six dollars.”
“It’s actually closer to seven,” Roman admits, rubbing at the back of his neck sheepishly. “I got a dairy substitute, don’t sue me. I’m broke, anyway, so it wouldn’t help if you won the suit.”
“This is a paid internship,” Joy points out.
Roman looks aghast. “You guys are getting paid?” It’s unclear whether he’s kidding.
“Order placed and transaction pending,” Alex announces, “so start up the charitable donation pool to my wallet.” Roman initiates the process, pulling the beanie off his head and carrying it around the room for everyone to toss their bills in. He can only manage a weak smile when Logan tosses in double what he ought to.
“Wait, Logan,” Micah says, “you didn’t get anything last time.”
“Shoot, yeah, what can I get you? No one’s picked it up yet,” Alex says, pulling the wads of bills from Roman’s hat.
“Just do a fetch kid’s delight, I guess. Price limit five.” Roman darts across the room to grab the proffered bill from Logan, attempting (and spectacularly failing) to parkour over the chair on his way back. The rickety plastic flies out from underneath him and his chin smacks the carpet as he goes down. Before anyone thinks about moving to help, he jumps to his feet and dusts off his knees, pretending as if nothing happened.
“It’s been accepted,” Alex announces.
“Maybe the trick is to work out whether the rocket, being from the moon, is the first to land, or if it has to be a life form in order to count for reaching Neptune first,” Joy suggests. Cassidy lifts her head to respond, thinks better of it, and drops her face back onto the table.
“That’s only assuming you give the rocket living rights to plant the flag,” Micah says.
“Did you guys consider the ramifications of the nationalities of each parent?” Roman asks.
“Yes,” everyone else groans in unison. Even Logan says it, now thoroughly annoyed by how much inconvenience Roman was able to skip in favor of retrieving a little flashdrive.
“Do we need to take into account the heritage of the parents?” Cassidy tries.
“It wasn’t included in the information backing up the question, and we’re only supposed to get an answer based on what we concretely know already,” Alex replies.
“We don’t concretely know already which flag they plant,” Logan offers, “so maybe the answer is that we aren’t supposed to have one.”
“That’s exactly what someone who knows the answer would say,” Joy mutters. This manner of conversation continues for another fifteen minutes or so, until someone knocks on the door at the top of the stairs.
“Liquid inspiration!” Roman shouts, vaulting over the empty chairs on his sprint for the door. As he swings it open to reveal a very familiar silhouette, Alex clicks a few times on their phone, finalizing the transaction upon receival.
Apart from the grey and red plaid scarf wrapped around his neck, Cadmium looks like he walked straight out of one of his own tours, down to the maroon cardigan and black skinny jeans. “Fetch quest fulfillment for Ally-oopsy-olly—”
“Yep, yes, that’s me,” Alex interrupts quickly, not letting him finish saying the username. They take a couple of the cups from Cadmium, stepping aside to let Joy and Micah help with the rest. Cadmium makes eye contact with Logan for a split second, inclines his chin, and turns to leave. He pulls out his phone, the screen angled enough for Logan to see the fetch quest home screen loading in more requests.
“Wait, we didn’t tip you,” Logan calls, surging past the other interns to catch up.
“Yeah, we did,” Alex says, “I put in your five, and I have my account set for an auto-gratuity of twenty—”
“Shut up , Alex,” Logan hisses over his shoulder. He turns to Cadmium, who looks somewhere between amused and bewildered. If he landed on Neptune, which emotion would touch down first? “Here y’are. Thanks.” Logan allows the last word to linger in the air, implying an unvoiced request for a name as he passes Cadmium a ten.
Cadmium glances from his phone—now proudly displaying a cheerful reimbursement and tip breakdown message—to the bill and back to his phone. He nods slowly, taking the ten and heading down the stairs. Logan blinks, watching him go.
“Wow,” Roman says, coming closer to rest his elbow on Logan’s shoulder. “You’ve got it bad, my guy.”
“Oh, shove off.”
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rain0205-blog · 6 years
Text
Terminal State
Summary:  She tried leaving, submerging herself in work to escape the horrors she had seen. The horrors she kept seeing. She never wanted to go back to that life. But when the Empire takes her home, she's forced to face her past. Can she move on? Can she cope? Or will she require a bit of help? still bad at summaries, still working on it. ever so slightly more than slight AU gadioxoc
Prologue
...
The stagnant odour of vomit entered the room as the monitors beeped in a frenzy. Humming lights were drowned out by the sounds of retching and screaming. The man on the bed was done emptying his stomach of bile and began to spasm. Nurses piled in to hold him down, pushing medication through the intravenous tube attached to his arm. The temperature in the air was rising from the many warm bodies inside. They yelled orders in a frantic attempt to calm down their patient. His screaming persisted, the monitors joining in as they whined in despair. The gurney shook, making the room feel as if it were undergoing a tremor. Then it was silent.
A pair of hazel eyes looked around, observing the now-sedated patient. He was completely bald, overweight, and pale, with eyebrows that were furrowed in pain. The oxygen mask under his nose eased his troubled breathing and he glowed in the light, skin coated in a thick sweat. His rounded face had been lowered into a flat position, making his extra chins smooth back out into a neck. The man's arms were limp and red from his earlier struggle. Nurses and cleaning staff had moved to clean the vomit from around him and sterilized where it had seeped onto the floor. The monitors showed that he was stable but what would happen when he woke up?
Dr. Virum looked down at her scrubs, covered in the man's bile. She could feel it in her hair, and as she did her eyes shot toward the clock. Her shift was nearly over and all she would have to do is write up the paperwork for this patient, clean up, and go home. Virum grabbed a disinfecting cloth to clean her skin and face, then ran her hands through the alcohol-based hand dispenser and rubbed them together. Once her hands were dry she grabbed his chart, noting the man's health issues. She looked back at the patient thoughtfully, grabbing her pen from the pocket of her lab coat. It, too, was covered in vomit. She sighed, threw the pen in the garbage, and walked toward the nurse's station to grab one of the pens there.
"You reek," said the resident nurse sitting at her computer, "What do you have for me?"
"48 year-old male presents with severe abdominal pain, dehydration and shortness of breath. Set up oxygen, administered fluids and it resulted in rejection. All over me," she said, signing off on the chart and handing it to the nurse, "Patient was very anxious and began to seize, pushed three milligrams lorazepam. Anxious behaviour continued, so we gave him two milligrams of ketamine. Patient is sedated and resting. I'm ordering a CBC, an EKG, and a stool sample."
"You got it."
"You'll have to transfer him, my shift is over."
The nurse looked at her watch, "So it is. Are you actually planning to go home this time?"
"I think so. Getting puked on was definitely a sign I shouldn't be here this long."
The nurse laughed, "I praise you. Try and get some sleep, okay? You look like a zombie."
"You look pretty too. Have fun."
Virum hurried away, hoping to escape the hospital before another patient arrived. She wasn't so lucky.
"Incoming!" another nurse yelled.
Virum looked behind her as the doors burst open. Two paramedics were wheeling in a stretcher with an unconscious young girl on it. Her neck was in a brace and the medics were squeezing oxygen from a bag into a tube running through a hole in the girl's neck. She wasn't breathing on her own. Close behind them was the girl's mother, frantically following the stretcher. An orderly kept the hysterical woman out of the treatment room her daughter was brought into.
"Talk to me," Virum said as firmly as possible.
"13 year-old female, car accident, GCS: eight, blunt trauma to the sternum, not breathing, severe blood loss," answered the medic.
"Alright, transfer her on my count."
They put a bed right beside the stretcher, the paramedics on one side with the doctor, three nurses on the other side. Another nurse continued to pump oxygen from the bag. They gripped the backboard tightly, getting ready to lift.
"One, two, three!"
It only took a few seconds to hoist the girl onto the gurney. The paramedics quickly got their stretcher out of the way as the nurse continued on oxygen duty. After getting her hooked up to the monitors, they noticed she had a dangerously elevated heart rate. Virum ordered the nurses to find some medication to slow it down, then gave directions to the head nurse.
"Prep the operating room, her lungs are crushed and we need to relieve that pressure. Grab some blood from the bank and replace what was lost. Fill in the mother and do a full follow up with the relief doctor."
"Yes ma'am," said the nurse.
Porters came to wheel the bed out of sight with the mother following behind like a hawk. Virum sighed again, taking off her gloves and putting her hands through another round of sanitizer. She walked out of the treatment room in near defeat. What a day it had been. Most of it had been so quiet, with the usual mix of drug-seekers and hypochondriacs. She should have known it would get hectic later on. Vomit crusted the top of her head and the thought of it made her cringe. Dr. Virum finished signing off on the paperwork and handed it to the same charge nurse.
"Get out of here," the nurse said.
"Already gone," the doctor replied, hands up in defeat.
Virum walked toward the locker rooms as quickly as she could, definitely unwilling to get pulled into another job. She didn't even register the people she passed, the exhaustion of sixteen hours of work finally settling in. Graveyard shift was bad, and even more so when she ended up working until mid-afternoon. But then, if she were at home she would just be finding an excuse to come in any way. It wasn't like she had any sort of life beyond her work. Virum walked into the locker room, nodding at the doctor coming to relieve her. The two didn't speak, the look on her face suggesting she was in no mood for talk. Not like she ever really was any day. She punched in the combination to her locker, opened it, and took out a change of clothes. Grabbing her personal cleaning supplies and a towel, she headed into the showers.
Steam billowed out from the stall almost immediately. A blissful sigh escaped her once the scalding water touched her skin, turning it red instantly on contact. Her eyes closed once she was surrounded by the heat, providing her with the long sought-after comfort only achieved in such a scorching environment. Moments like these were peaceful, allowing her to lose herself and chemically recalibrate her mind. They were never long enough, and it was with agonizing regret that she forced herself to leave the tranquillity of the shower's warmth.
The doctor ran the towel over her head after getting out, drying her hair and face off a bit and then wrapping it around her tiny frame. She grabbed her fresh clothes and took them to the counter where the sink was. The mirror was a bit foggy, but not enough to hide the reflection that stared back at her. Layers of hair reached to just under her chin. It was a light dirty brown, with blond highlights running through it. Her skin was pale and her eyes were bloodshot with dark circles smeared under them. The zombie comparison made more sense now. Even the scar running from her mid-neck down her collarbone stood out more than usual. Her gaze bore into it for a few moments, her head awash with unwanted memories before she tore her eyes away from the mirror with disgust.
The towel was fairly time consuming, so she grabbed a blow dryer to get it over with quicker. It didn't take long and now the hair flared out from her face, covering the back of her neck. She dried off the rest of her body and slipped on her jeans, socks and boots that ran up to her mid-calf. Pulling on the long sleeved v-neck shirt, her eyes searched for her most important item. She removed the pendant she had worn during her shower, a silver chain with a disc encircling a tree. Her leaf-shaped earrings returned to their rightful place, at the base of her ears where they tended to dangle and move with her head. The rest of her earrings - a dragonfly in her left ear, an anchor at the top of her right ear, and a silver hoop in her right earlobe - never needed to be removed. She applied the light coating of makeup she usually wore, in a vain attempt to look more lively if anything. Virum looked herself over and at last packed up her things, satisfied that she at least looked less zombie-like than before.
She placed her bag in her locker and pulled out her purse. The satchel-like bag was placed over her shoulder, the bottom of the bag hugging her right hip. Next came her grey and black striped fingerless gloves, and then she put her arms through her black form-fitting light leather jacket. The locker door was closed with a bit of a slam before making sure it locked and then walked briskly out of the room. Virum was passing by the emergency department, ready to make the break to her car when the charge nurse stopped her.
"The Bossman needs you," said the nurse.
Virum frowned. "What about?"
"He didn't say."
She sighed. "Thanks, Gin."
The nurse nodded, turning back to her desk as the boss arrived at the nurse's station.
"Leaving?" he asked. He was a stocky man, balding on the top of his head and sported a mustache - although it didn't fit him at all.
"End of shift, sir," she said in her most pleasant voice, "I've been here sixteen hours."
"I need you to go to the Citadel," he said, completely unaffected by her words.
"What? Why?"
"They need a doctor to fill in there, being short staffed with the war and all. You're the only one we can spare."
"But sir," she protested, "I just finished a sixteen-hour shift. You had all that time to find a relief for me."
"I know, but the King asked and you know I can't say no."
"Why can't another doctor do it? Or even yourself? I specifically requested to never work at the Citadel."
"To be perfectly honest, Doctor Puinon asked for you."
Virum sighed, "Very well."
"I'll switch your morning shift tomorrow to the afternoon if I can. I'm sorry, but… King's orders."
"Yeah… " she replied dryly.
The Boss nodded and walked away. Virum groaned, staring up at the ceiling for a moment before she begrudgingly left the hospital and headed toward her car. She started the engine, put on her seat belt, and then nearly collapsed on top of the steering wheel. Fatigue wore away at her and she knew that there was no way the Boss was going to move her shift to the afternoon tomorrow. He knew she was a total pushover, that she would work 24/7 if allowed to. But her body was protesting. At least at the Citadel there usually weren't any emergencies, just Kingsglaive and Crownsguard getting a few bumps and bruises during training. She might even be able to relax a little for once. With that fresh excuse in her mind, Virum pulled her head up and began the drive to her third consecutive shift.
There was no trouble at the gate, her hospital badge allowing Virum to enter with ease. The overenthusiastic guard had known she was coming and directed her to the closest parking lot. She thanked him with a smile, not having the heart to tell him that she already knew where she was going. Puinon's usual spot wasn't taken, so she parked her car there. He obviously wasn't going to use it and she had no desire to drive around looking for a free space. Virum then opened up her trunk, grabbing the spare work clothes she kept packed inside. Yeah, she was definitely a workaholic. On her way toward the clinic she stopped in at the cafeteria, grabbing herself a small latte. Ordinarily, she didn't put caffeine in her body but given how long she'd been working, her willpower wasn't up to its usual standards.
The Citadel was buzzing with all kinds of workers. There were easily close to a thousand people living there, including the King and his son. Although she had heard his son no longer lived there, she was sure he visited on occasion. Virum hadn't met with any of the royals or their Kingsglaive and Crownsguard in quite some time, nor did she want to either. Not anymore. She walked the familiar path toward the clinic, ignoring the memories within her that wished to resurface. That life was behind her. The doctor walked into the entrance of the clinic and reported to the nurse's station. The charge nurse looked way too happy. It must have been early in her shift still. Virum tried to not look too envious as she allowed the nurse to lead her to the changing room.
Virum spent the first four hours mostly sitting around, tending to a couple of sprained ankles and one broken arm. She was happy with that, using the extra time to finish up the paperwork that she was falling behind on from the emergency department. The nurses in the clinic were very thorough with their examinations and didn't need Virum's guidance very often. At least she had been right about this being an easy shift. She even got a couple of short naps in between patients and managed to finish the backlog of hospital work that she didn't even have to do, with only an hour before she could go home. Something she heard one of the nurses say made her frown. They were speculating as to whether or not the rumours about her were true, apparently unaware that she could hear them. This was why she liked working in the emergency department over at the hospital. Everyone there was far too busy to gossip and the few that already knew about her past didn't bother to share it.
"Doctor, we have another patient for you," said one of the nurses, coming in to hand over a clipboard with a chart.
Dr. Virum smiled sweetly at the woman as she walked to the patient's room, hiding the irritation she had felt from overhearing them. She closed the door behind her, not even looking up and grabbed her pen to correct mistakes written by the nurse. Down went the chart and on went her gloves after washing her hands before she picked up the chart again, still not looking up.
"Okay, 23 year-old male presenting with a head wound and possible concussion," she muttered, mostly to herself, "Cause of injury: sparring. We definitely haven't had a lot of that today."
"Not here of all places!" she heard someone say, laughing.
Virum placed the chart down and looked up. There were four men in the room, three seemingly uninjured and one with the laceration. On the right of the patient was the smallest of them. He was the one that had spoken, his face red under the eyes that were freckled. The unruly blond hair on his head gave him a more youthful appearance. On the left was a more stern-looking man, with sharp features accented by the glasses clinging to his face and dirty blond hair swept up at the front. He had green eyes and was dressed quite formally. Standing just slightly in front of him was a boy she recognized from the pictures to be Prince Noctis, the son of King Regis. He had a mess of navy hair with angular blue eyes and a sullen look on his face.
The patient of the group was by far the largest of them. Even sitting down he towered over the other three. His arms were as thick as small tree trunks and covered in tattoos. His hair was shaved at the sides but spiky on top as well as long at the back. He sported a beard around his jaw and gentle amber eyes. Although he was smiling, his mountainous form still made him quite intimidating. The laceration was on his left eye, starting from his forehead and reaching diagonally down to stop just under his cheekbone. It looked like he'd been lucky; managing to miss his eye socket. It had been cleaned previously, which meant he was only here as a precaution. Virum walked over to him, taking his chin in her hands, her hazel eyes scrutinizing the injury. While it was unlikely to be necessary, she wanted to make sure there was no damage to his actual eye. She let his face go then, taking a step back.
"Okay, Mr..." she glanced at the chart, "Amicitia. Want to tell me what happened?"
"He wounded his pride, that's what," said the boy on his right, giggling.
"Prompto," the stern man spoke with a warning tone.
"We were sparring and I won," explained Prince Noctis with evident pride.
"He got the best of me this round," added the patient, "Iggy already cleaned it up but he said I was better off coming here,"
"Well, Iggy was right to be careful," she agreed, "I'll also compliment him on how well he cleaned it," she placed the stethoscope on his chest and commanded, "Breathe."
Amicitia complied and continued to do so with all of her wishes during his examination. There appeared to be no obstruction in the lungs or airways. Satisfied, Virum removed the stethoscope and placed it around her neck once more. Carefully, she placed her hands underneath his chin to feel for any sort of swelling or tenderness. He didn't react and she took that to be a good sign. The next thing to be examined were the lymph nodes, where she felt some abnormalities. But they were faint and nothing to worry about. She ran her penlight once over his right eye, then carefully opened his left eye and ran it over that. The results were conclusive with the swelling she had found in the rear of his head.
"Follow my finger with only your eyes," she instructed.
Virum held up her left index finger and moved it from left to right slowly. His amber eyes followed her more so than her finger. She managed to keep a straight face in spite of it. Virum then moved the finger up and down.
No issues there, so she prompted, "Now with your entire head," and repeated the movements, noting his the discomfort as he moved his head. She could only assume he was trying to put on a brave face for his friends in the room.
The report on the patient said that he had been given a potion after the sparring match and that he had a cut and a minor concussion. The laceration was very thoroughly cleaned, this Iggy character was very professional, but it would still need stitches to heal properly. The doctor picked up the chart and a pen before beginning to write.
"Mr. Amiticia—"
"Gladio," he corrected.
She smiled insincerely, "You have a small concussion and that cut of yours will need stitches. I need to prepare a few things, but then I'll be back to patch you up and send you on your way."
He grinned, "Thanks, Doc."
Virum nodded a little stiffly before exiting. She made the trip back to the nurse's station, clearly interrupting a conversation they'd rather she didn't hear.
"23 year-old male," she explained, "minor concussion, small laceration to his head on the left side. Can one of you please prepare the repair kit while I finish my report?"
"Yes ma'am," a nurse said at once, taking the chart and hurrying away.
After a glance at the other nurse - who was still staring at her - Virum went to the bathroom. Splashing water on her face was tempting, but her makeup was still mostly intact and she wanted to keep it that way for just a little while longer. Beats per minute in her heart was increasing thanks to the anxiety of the ensnaring gossip. But her hands had remained steady. Good, because once she was done stitching up the Crownsguard she could go home. That was the last time she would ever work 24 hours straight. As much as she loved immersing herself with the distraction of work, she did need time to try and sleep her usual hour or so here and there. Slapping her pale cheeks lightly, she took a large breath and willed herself to focus.
Virum walked back into Mr. Amicitia's room, his friend's joking comments stopping after she opened the door. She was about to pull up a stool but decided against it. Amicitia was much bigger than an average person. The nurse had laid out the tools she needed and stood at the side of the room, waiting for instructions. Dr. Virum grabbed a cotton swab and dipped it in the blue fluid, running it along the laceration gently, a numbing agent.
"Please be still," she advised.
He didn't move, so she began threading the first stitch through. The needle moved through the skin without a problem. The doctor could hear the young boy, Prompto, making noises while the Prince looked away uncomfortably. Iggy, however, was watching her with the same intensity that her patient was, although Virum was sure it was for different reasons. Iggy appeared to be trying to learn her technique while Mr. Amicitia was clearly just fawning on her. She largely ignored them both but was still a little distracted by the warm breath on her neck as she worked. It just reminded her that she was cold, she was always cold. Once she was finished, she cut the remaining thread before expertly tying it off. The doctor's pen came out one last time to write down a prescription.
"You're all set. Take this for the pain and try not to exert yourself for the rest of the week."
"Thanks, Doc," he said again, his fingers brushing against hers as she handed him the paper, "You wanna grab a beer?"
She swung around, looking at him incredulously. It was for only a very brief moment, as she smiled again.
"Sorry, I don't date patients."
"I'm discharged, remember?" he held up his prescription with a grin.
She took off her gloves and sanitized her hands, "I don't date Crownsguard," she spoke again before closing the door firmly behind her.
"Oh, swing and a miss big guy," said Prompto, laughing.
But Gladiolus's eyes didn't register defeat. He was still smirking at the door she had gone through, not even really hearing Prompto and Noctis laugh at him. As her words were spoken, there was only one thought on his mind. Challenge accepted.
...
thanks for reading. i’m not a medic of any kind so if i make a mistake please feel free to let me know.
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Hold on Loosely
  Pairings: Steve Harrington x OC (Slow burn) 
  Warnings: Swearing, underage drinking, smoking. 
Word count: 1.8 K
A/N: So wow, can’t believe I posted this. I haven’t done much writing, let alone posted any writing in years. But I binged stranger things and can safely say Steve Harrington has stolen my heart, ugh! This is the first part in a multi chapter fic I have been writing for fun. If there is enough interest I will continue to update as I write. Hopefully I’m not too rusty and bear with me as I work out the kinks. Also I noticed most fics on here are in reader format. I have never written that way, and have always stuck with original characters. However, if there is serious interest I would be willing to give it a try.
Part 2
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“Oh Fuck, I think I’m dying,” eye’s clenching tighter she hissed out a sharp, pained breath. With every slow intake of air a fresh wave of nausea threatened to overwhelm her.  “Scarlett, are you up yet? You’re going to be late, Scarlett!” with every pound of her step mother’s fist against the door Scarlett’s head recoiled in agony.  “Yes Trish, I’m up!” she yelled back, voice horse. God she was thirsty, where was her water? “Well hurry up! I want to talk to you before you go to school,” the teen in response groaned, but none the less grunted back an affirmative. After a moment she heard the wicked witch of the Midwest retreat back downstairs.  Taking a deep breath she ripped off the band-aid and sat straight up. The world spun, and with an ‘oh shit’ she lunged for the door. Stumbling across the hallway and into the bathroom she kicked the door shut behind her, collapsing before the porcelain throne.  The last of the previous nights celebrations emptied from her stomach she rocked back, dragging a handful of toilet paper across her mouth before flushing it and the foul contents.  “Fucking tequila” she hissed, getting to her feet with the help of the counter. Flicking the shower on she tugged off last nights crumpled outfit from her body, letting it fall to the floor. As steam began to fill the room she stepped under the water. A low moan escaped her lips body relaxing at the feel of the hot droplets gently massaging her pounding skull.  She could have stayed there all day if not for a pounding on the door, sending a sharp bolt of pain through her brain.  “Scarlett let’s go!” “I’m coming!” she barked back, slamming the water off “Fuck”. She made quick work of getting dried off and dressed, throwing on a pair of levi’s and a  plain blouse. Grabbing a can of hair spray off her dresser she plopped in front of her armoire. Running a brush through the damp hair she gave a couple generous puffs from the aerosol can, before dragging her fingers through to style it. With a light dusting of makeup she was heading for the bedroom door, slinging her back pack over her shoulder, and grabbing the keys off her dresser. Pausing in the door way she doubled back, snatching her ray bans off the dresser as well and depositing them over her eyes. The darkness they provided eased the dull ache of her head. At least the world had stopped spinning every time she turned her head.  Hopping off the last stair she bee-lined for the front door, ignoring the protests of her dehydrated body. She put on the brakes, mood plummeting as her step mom stepped into the hallway, arms crossed and blocking her escape route.  “Trish can’t we do this later, like you said I’m already late.” Scarlett grumbled, shifting her bag on her shoulder.  “Where were you last night?” The woman asked, voice tight.  “I was at a friends, we were studying and I lost track of time. It’s not a big deal, don’t you think your being a bit over dramatic?” As soon as the words were out she knew she had made a mistake, but it was too late now and she was going to stick to her guns.   “Over dramatic? You want to see over dramatic? Fine, because of your little stunt you have a new curfew. You are to be home by 5 P.M. sharp until further notice.”  “What? I told you, I was studying! Are you seriously going to punish me for broadening my educational horizons?” She argued and Trish raised a tired hand to pinch at the bridge of her nose, stress headache forming.  “Oh cut the shit Scarlett, we both know you weren’t studying last night. You reek of hangover!” Before the teen could retort a third voice joined the fray.  “Mommy said a bad word!” The two warring women turned to the right, where Sophie, Trish’s 3 year old and Scarlett’s Half-sister stood, naked.  “Nice, real great parenting. I’m late for school,” as she passed the wide eyed toddler Scarlett reached down, tousling the small child’s curly locks. “See you later kiddo.”  “Scarlett, this conversation isn’t over. When your father get’s home we-” The slam of the door cut off the end of her Step moms sentence. With quick strides she unlocked her car throwing her bag in the passenger seat. The front door swung open, an irate Trish with still naked Sophie in her arms.  “5 O’Clock Scarlett, I mean it!” She warned, and with a scoffed ‘whatever’ the teenager fell into the drivers seat. Slamming the door shut she peeled out of the driveway and headed towards school. Looking down at the clock as she pulled into the parking lot of Hawkins High Scarlett realized that first period was well underway already. Not letting it bother her she tugged on her jacket and grabbed her bag, before she headed towards the gym. Circling the building she pulled her jacket tighter around her shoulders, the crisp fall air biting into her once sun kissed skin.  “There she is! I told you she wasn’t skipping just because of a little hangover.” Jessica, the closest thing she had to a best friend since coming to this hell hole, waved her over the join the small group that sat huddled smoking against the back side of the gym. Plastering a smile on her face, Scarlett took an offered cigarette, getting a light from one of the guys.  “Hangover schmangover,” she joked, taking a long drag. The familiar feel of nicotine and menthol filling her lungs instantly relaxing the last of this mornings tension.  “So Tina, what’s the deal with this party of yours?” She asked, turning to the brunette, who lit up at the mention of her yearly booze fest.  Reaching into her bag the giddy teen grabbed a stack of orange flyers, handing them to Scarlett. Tired green eyes read over the obnoxiously colored paper, slim brow raising in amusement.  “Come get sheet faced?Classy,” she teased.  “Tina’s party is like the biggest event of the year,” Jessica gushed, taking a stack of flyers from said girl.  “How big are we talking?” Scarlett asked with a raised brow as yet another stack of flyers were handed out. Before Tina could reply the bell range signaling the end of first period. Dropping the last of her cigarette to the floor she stamped the glowing embers out. Holding the flyers to her chest she bid farewell to the quickly dispersing group, heading off towards second period, Jesssica in tow.  “So, are you going with anyone?” Her friend asked, hopeful for new gossip.  Scarlett rolled her eyes at the other girls eagerness to know.  “Probably not, I have never been one for dates to a party. I just want to have a good time and you can’t do that hanging off someone’s arm, y’know?” She explained, and Jessica’s mouth made an ‘O’ shape in understanding.  As they rounded the corner a solid wall of person collided with Scarlett, sending her toppling to the floor,  sunglasses and orange flyers scattering about the hall like confetti.  “Watch where your going dick head!” She spat, cheeks flared in a mix of anger and embarrassment. Already she could hear the low murmur and giggles of her peers who had seen her folly.  “Shit, I”m sorry.” A hand was offered out to her, and she followed it up to see just who her assailant had been. Warm brown eyes looked down on her with concern, lips tugged between a mixture of a grimace and a smile. She took the offered hand, swiping her ray bans off the floor with her free hand, before letting him pull her to her feet.  “Totally my bad, are you O.K.?” he asked, and Scarlett did a quick once over of herself, adjusting her outfit. While her back side protested painfully  and her pride was a bit bruised she was none the worse for wear.  “Yeah, I’m fine. That’s one way to hand out fliers.” She mused, a small smile tugging on her lips. Following her gaze he barked a laugh, nodding in agreement. The scattered fliers were quickly being scooped up by the waves of students filling the hallways as they made their way to their next class.  “I’m Scarlett, by the way. Sorry about the dick head comment,” She offered her hand with a shy smile and the boy took it, shaking it gently.  “Steve, and don’t worry about it. Rumor has it, I can in fact be quiet the dick head.” He offered, giving her a full blown grin and a wink. His eyes drifted past her, and his face lit up as he let go of her hand.  “Well it was nice to meet you Scarlett, sorry again about the whole assault thing. See you around?”  “Oh, yeah. Totally,” She responded, watching as Steve threw a wave over his shoulder, and flicked his sunglasses on, all while bee-lining for a petite brunette.  “Forget it, Herrington is totally off the market, and for what it’s worth he’s turned into quiet the pussy since he started dating that Wheeler girl.” Jessica drawled, stepping up to her friend and crossing her arms.  Scarlett gave a half-hearted noise in response, watching as the handsome boy scooped the girl up, swinging her around. She pursed her lips, turning away from the public display of affection.  “Seriously though, King Steve is old news.” Jessica continued on, and Scarlett couldn’t help the snort that escaped.  “King Steve?” She asked, unable to hide the humor in her voice. Small towns were such a trip. “Yeah, he used to rule this school,” the peppy girl continued, not picking up on the notes of mocking in Scarlett’s voice. “That is until he started dating that Wheeler girl. Now he’s all...Domestic.” She finished with a curled lip and Scarlett let out a peal of laughter.  “Oh no anything but that,” she teased and Jessica shoved her playfully.  “I’m serious. Forget about Harrington. If I were you I’d be setting my sights a little higher. Like that Hargrove kid for example.” she gushed, fanning herself slightly. “I mean, have you seen the ass on that boy?”  Part 2
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princess-tentacles · 7 years
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Can @appynation please get a huge congrats for the fact that she GRADUATES TOMORROW NIGHT?
She put up with a hell semester, but it’s over with and she’s gonna be in Scottland soon.  Here’s my little congrats to you <3  a Klance fic revolving around the happy parts of a sad au. 
the calm
*** “I’m going to marry you,” Keith had mumbled through a mouth full of pancakes. “You’re gonna marry me over pancakes?” Lance laughed, his blue eyes twinkling wildly.  
“Absolutely.”  
Lance shifted to the other booth where a very tipsy Keith was eating, a cheeky grin on his face. He held out his hand to the other, “I don’t see a ring, buddy, just butter pecan syrup.” Keith swallowed thickly before leaning over to peck Lance’s cheek, “You’re right, but you are still wonderful.” Lance leaned over and opened his mouth for a bite, which Keith promptly gave. He grabbed his own cup of orange juice before giving Keith a return kiss. 
“I get it, gotta celebrate with the guys. I’m just glad you called me instead of letting someone drive you home.” Keith smiled, putting the fork down to nuzzle against Lance’s shoulder, “I can’t believe I got the job.” “I can. You’re great. You deserve it.” Lance says softly, petting Keith’s hair back. ~
“No, left side higher.” Lance called out, watching Keith carefully balance himself on the ladder. “Left side higher, or right side? ‘Cause I’ve shifted this thing like twenty times, where’s the level?” Keith’s snappy tone was muffled by the set of nails in his mouth. “I don’t know, half this shit’s still in boxes!” Lance gave a frustrated gesture to the boxes still tucked to the side of the living room. Keith groaned, taking the nails out of his mouth and started to step off the ladder, “Fine, let me look.” Lance started to stand, mid-protest when he saw Keith catch his shoelace on the ladder rung and start to fall. There was a crash and Keith’s yell of surprise, neither of which sounded pretty on the hardwood floors. “Holy crow, Keith, are you okay?” Lance looked panicked as he crouched over his boyfriend, hurrying to undo the loose shoelace from where it had snagged on the ladder. “Fucking - ow, my head,” Keith grumbled, but otherwise seemed fine, although the bump on his forehead didn’t look pretty. “Think you got a concussion? Seeing double?” Lance asked, leaning in to pet his messy bangs back. Keith huffed and was silent for a moment before he leaned back, making Lance freak out for a second, “Keith, seriously, are you okay?” “We can’t even hang a stupid picture, Lance.” “I just wanted it to feel more, homely, you know. Get something real on the walls.” Lance frowned and laid down on the floor beside Keith, propping his head on the other’s bicep. Keith reached out, poking at Lance’s cheek in an attempt to make his boyfriend’s smile come back. “We’ve only been a here a few days, Lance. Give me this weekend, neither of us work, and we can unpack everything.” “Even the level?” Lance teased. 
“Especially the level.”  Keith grinned, leaning in for a kiss, which Lance happily accepted. They stood back up, Keith’s head checked again before Lance noticed the dent in the flooring from where the ladder had hit. “We’ll put the couch there,” Keith said immediately, trying to appease the frowning Lance. “But the tv stand was gonna go there.”  
“Well, the couch can go there instead, the desk there, and the tv stand can go here.” Keith pointed at the different spots in the room before rubbing Lance’s arm. “It’ll still be just as perfect.” Lance was silent for a moment before he smiled weakly, leaning into Keith’s arms, “What am I gonna do with you?” Keith moved a hand to Lance’s back, “You could marry me, you know.” Lance poked at his boyfriend’s ribs, “Where’s my ring?” ~ “I can’t believe you chose the hottest day of the year to go to the beach.” Hunk was moaning as he dragged the cooler out on the sand, his headband not doing much to keep the sweat off his forehead. “Not like I *meant* for it to be so hot on my anniversary.” Lance countered, arms full of towels and the umbrellas. “Yeah, I would have picked another day to ask you out if I knew it meant always celebrating in the sweltering heat.” Keith teased, dragging the second cooler after Hunk’s, grunting at the added friction of sand. “Well, I like being able to celebrate on the beach, and not in the middle of winter.” Lance stopped at a spot near the water, deeming it acceptable as he dropped the towels and started to undo the umbrella. “Please tell me someone brought Coke.” Pidge whined from behind them, using her collar to try and air out the inside of her t-shirt. “Soda will dehydrate you - drink some water first.”  
“Thanks, dad,” Pidge turned to face Shiro and Allura who had just walked up. 
“Come on, faster we set up, the faster everyone can get in the water and cool off.” Lance was pouting full-on, hands on a hip and Keith couldn’t help but laugh as the umbrella started to tip over onto him. “You go get in the water, Keith and I can set up the umbrellas.” Shiro gave Lance a nod as Keith started to take the tilting umbrella from Lance’s hand, “That goes for everyone. Sunscreen on and go.” Lance looked hesitant but didn’t put up much of an argument. He stripped off his shirt as Keith dug a hole for the umbrella, setting it up properly before Lance handed him the bottle of sunscreen.  
“Boyfriend duties,” he said, tilting his chin up so Keith could rub the fruity-smelling lotion in.  
Allura laughed and took the bottle once Keith had enough, “Husband duties?” She teased. Eventually, everyone was sunscreened up, even Hunk who tried to protest that he didn’t burn that easily. Keith huddled under the umbrella, his, Lance, and Pidge’s towels crowded underneath while Shiro, Allura, and Hunk’s were under the second. Between them sat the coolers, (“No soda until everyone’s drank water.” Shiro tried to protest but Keith didn’t tell on the Dr. Pepper Lance snuck before he dragged Keith out to the edge of the water) Keith walked along the shoreline, watching the others play while he walked, his mind elsewhere until someone literally swooped him up “Stop! Shiro, no!” Keith tried to yell, but his brother was quickly dumping him into the ocean while Lance and Pidge cheered. “Can’t spend all day on the shore, beach bum.” Shiro laughed as Keith tried to fight back with a splash of water. “My boyfriend finally joins us in the water!” Lance teases, swimming up behind him, warm arms wrapping around his middle. “Joins us looking like a drowned rat. Geez, Lance, can’t you get him to cut his hair?” Pidge reached out to ruffle both of their hair. “I had to listen to Lance moan and cry every day for two months when he cut it for graduation, no way.” Hunk grinned Keith just sulked from the water, toes digging into the sandy bottom, but Lance was quickly breaking his resolve with how happy he was, “Wanna go down the boardwalk with me later? We can play games or do the ferris wheel.” It doesn’t take much for Keith to agree, Lance being a weak spot for him for the past three years.  
“Who wants to play chicken?” Pidge’s voice makes them both turn to see Shiro on Allura’s shoulders, desperately holding onto her hands as he tries to stay balanced. The day was a blur of playing chicken, ice cream on the beach, Shiro forcing everyone to reapply sunscreen, and some quiet napping.  At night, Lance managed to convince everyone to go to the carnival at the end of the boardwalk, though no one really needed much convincing. It was fun, and Keith was content to be pulled along through the rides and a few of the game booths. Keith managed to win a prize through one of the strength games, but otherwise, the armful of stuffed animals were earned with Lance’s surprising talent of perfect aim.  
“One more.” Lance said, stopping in front of the ring toss booth, “It’s my favorite.” Keith glancing over the game, it was simple. Three rings to toss onto a row of bottles. The different colors had different prizes. Blue earned the best prize; a gold fish. “All you, babe. You’re better at this kind of thing.” Lance pulled out his wallet, handing the boothman enough for three rings while Keith sat down the arm full of stuffed animals on the ledge to watch.  
“What’re we gonna do if we win the goldfish?” He asked pushing his hands into his pocket where he fumbled with his own prize for Lance. “Keep ‘em, of course.” Lance said with a grin, taking the first ring and giving it an underhand toss.  The ring circled around a plain bottle, only one away from a blue ringed bottle.  Lance cursed under his breath and stared hard at the bottle before closing his eyes. He gave the next ring another underhand toss, “Did I get it?” He asked opening it when it made the clinking noise around a bottle. There, around the blue ringed bottle was the ring Lance had tossed. Keith grinned, giving Lance a congratulatory kiss on the cheek when he was handed the baggie with a swimming goldfish inside. “Nice aim, Lance.” Keith gave him a nudge, Lance’s eyes lit up excitedly at the goldfish. “Here, last one.” Lance said, distracted by the goldfish as he handed Keith his last ring, “Win him a buddy.” Keith took it, twirling it carefully in his fingers, “If I win us another goldfish will you marry me?”   That got Lance’s attention, holding the bag carefully as he shrugged, “Maybe.” The attendant looked bored as Keith lined up his toss, his fingers twitching nervously as he practiced the toss twice before he took a breath and let it go. It rounded on its side for a moment, right on the edge of a plain bottle and a blue before it finally tipped. Keith sucked in a breath as it fell to the blue side, and Lance started cheering. The attendant held out another sad goldfish in a baggie and Keith held it close, his stomach nervously filling with butterflies as he turned towards Lance. “So, was that a yes, you’ll marry me?” He asked, eyebrows raising as he looked between the fish and Lance. “Hmmm, you seem to have tossed your ring earning a fish, Keith.” Lance teased. Sucking in a breath Keith slowly sunk to one knee, fumbling for the object in his pocket with one hand. “Can this one do instead?” Keith offered, holding out the velvety box towards Lance, Lance’s eyes were wide as the funnel cakes they’d snacked on earlier, his lip trembling. “Keith...you’re not joking.” Keith shook his head, “I’m not joking, Lance. Marry me, please?”
“Holy…..god yes yes, fuck please stand up so I can kiss you.” Lance said, his voice cracking as he wiped at his eyes one handed before frantically motioning for Keith to stand. “Finally.” Hunk whispered from a few booths away, Pidge’s phone up and recording the whole thing. Shiro and Allura were leaning against the wooden siding of the boardwalk, glad it had worked out for them.  
They walked back to their cars that night hand in hand, Lance’s finger now shiny with a ring and two new goldfishes to take back to their apartment.
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