#the clerk we spoke with has 4 dogs ;__;

[squid-ichorous]

i was hoping for a cheeky bday blount from the dispensary but it was the last store we went to and i was already at budget :(( we just showed each other pictures of our pets instead lmao

#the clerk we spoke with has 4 dogs ;__; #another has 5 cats and wants to foster more #and a third had an adorable tuxedo named turp lol #there was an ADORABLE pipe shaped like a popsicle

[cryptids-of-spielzeit]

The Review

(The Package: Part 3/Finale)

"Well...where are they?"

"...in the woods."

Almost immediately, Angelo got his ranger hat on, picked up Poppy, and walked right out the door.

"Time for a little reunion, then..."

"WAIT!", Poppy shouted, stopping Angelo in his tracks.

"What? We can't have those things out there, think of the wildlife, THE TOWN?! If someone runs into one of those things, what's stopping them from doing what they did in the factory?"

"You have a point..." Poppy looked anxious, before speaking up once again.

"...but hear me out. Not all of them are bad. How do you think I got out?"

"Your friend, right?"

"Yes. Did you think they were human? Go on ahead, they told me where they'd be hiding until I got you."

With an exasperated sigh, Angelo went forth. He walked for a good 20 minutes before noticing smoke.

"That's it, that's where they are!"

"Alright, you don't have to shout it. Need to hurry anyway, they might cause a forest fire."

Angelo was always good at his job, even if it wasn't his job. He had to cover others shifts many times during his time at the Factory. He was a security guard, but it isn't like they had great security anyway. He has been that, along with a janitor (A+ cleaning skills), a custodian (he couldn't save the slop they served, sadly), a desk clerk (customer service wasn't his forté, but he did an okay job regardless), and tour guide (surprisingly charismatic). So it was no surprise to Poppy that he took being a ranger just as seriously.

Eventually, the two made it to the source of the smoke. A small campfire, made of twigs, leaves, and small plushes. Plushes with big smiles. The smoke had a very pungent mixture of smells, it was like if you burnt down an entire Yankee Candle store. Pleasant, yet nauseating. At the fire were two figures, one tall, one short. As Angelo walked closer to them, he realized they weren't humans.

The tall figure was covered head to toe in pink fur. It had bulging, black eyes and big red lips. It was Kissy Missy, one of the attackers in the tape, yet, strangely, she wasn't covered in blood.

The other figure was incredibly worse for wear. They were missing their entire bottom half, only alive by what seemed to be luck. Luck, and a tight belt around its waist. Otherwise, it looked like a giant, orange dog. This was Dogday, the self-proclaimed "last" of the Smiling Critters.

"...I thought you said 'friend'. As in, singular. And why is THAT THING HERE?! SHE KILLED PEOPLE TOO, DIDN'T SHE?!"

"I did. They just helped. And no, she simply knocked them out. What's burning in the pile is what killed them."

"She's right," Dogday spoke, his voicebox still somewhat clear. "We 4 are the only ones who had a lick of common sense in that hellhole. But if I'm honest, I really hope I'm wrong."

"4? I"m not a part of this-"

"Not yet, you aren't!", a voice cried out. It sounded like a small child, yet there were none in sight. It was then that Kissy pulled out a small, multicolored toy phone, adorned with a smiley-face.

"That, Angelo, is my friend. The reason all of us are here."

"Hello! The name's Ollie! Pleasure to meet you, sir!"

"Great," Angelo thought to himself, "they even turned them into phones. How low could they go?"

"Uh, pleasure to meet you too. So, how in the everloving hell did you manage to form an escape plan. That, and, now that I realize it, how is Mr. Ray of Sunshine over there still alive?"

"Oh, I can answer both of those rather quickly. 1. I have ears everywhere, so I knew where everything is, was, or would be. That's also how I found out where you were, you weren't very subtle about your resignation plans. We found a spare box, had our message written, and Kissy delivered, great job on her part. As for Dogday, well, it's just luck. Luck, and a very tight belt."

"Okay. Now, why do you need me?"

"Also a simple question. You're the only one alive that we can trust. All of us got out, not just us, as Poppy may have mentioned to you. And they are all around us. Those critters in the fire? They only attacked us about an hour before you two got here. You need to make sure none of them hurt anyone. You were always good at that."

Angelo stood in silence for a moment. He wondered why fate had to rope him back in the clutches of Playtime again. Why he had to face the horrors head on, with no glass windows protecting him. Why? Because that"s just the way fate decided.

"I'll do it. It can"t be that hard, right?"

"Right. Now, one more thing. Do you have a needle and thread? Dogday needs to patch uo his wounds before we all depart."

Strangely enough, Angelo did. Thresd was the right shade of orange, too. He knows he didn't bring it. The doll must've slipped it in his pockets. Regardless, he got to work, and not long after, there was no need for that belt on Dogday.

The group, sans Angelo, said their goodbyes. Dogday crawled towards the hillside, a makeshift dagger made of wood in hand. Kissy wandered further into the woods. She could manage.

Ranger Angelo Floros, with a living doll and living phone in hand, went back into his cabin. How he would manage protecting a whole town from deadly toys while also doing his job was beyond him, all he wanted now was to get some good rest. He was going to need it. Dearly.

The End....?

[FURTHER SHORT STORIES YET TO COME! Up Next: Sundae: starring the Sun Dog]

#poppy playtime #poppy playtime au #cryptid au #cryptids of spielzeit #cryptozoology #cryptids #do you believe #don't go into the woods #smiling critters #poppy playtime dogday #dogday #kissy missy #poppy playtime ollie #the package #part 3 #OH YEAH #PROLOGUE COMPLETE #*untz untz untz* #UH HUH #WOOO

[writefightandflightclub]

Clean-up in Aisle 4 (Will Miller x GN reader blurb)

Summary: a grocery store meet-cute with Will. Little bit of fluff, mainly angsty.

Author’s note: First time writing Will. Super quick one but hope you like it. Helps a lot if you know Will’s canon from the movie. You can read-up here if you wanna. Told you I was in Triple Frontier feels tonight!

Warnings: vague but thematic mentions of prior trauma related to military service and PTSD / anxiety themes, though nothing in-depth / graphic. Swearing. 

GIF: @will-grammer

The first thing you noticed about the man was the broadness of him. Wide shoulders, leading down to a nipped-in waist. You weren’t ogling. Really. It was simply hard to miss, since you nearly drove your cart into his back, the brick wall of a man coming to a sudden, dead halt in front of you as you each approached the grocery store.

The second thing you noticed, as you huffed out air and scooted your cart around him, was the way his hands white-knuckled as they wrapped -achingly tight- around the handle of his own cart, the tension extending into his forearms and along the veins of his straining biceps.

The third thing, causing you to fully abandon your intended pursuit of a passive aggressive side-eyeing, was his ashen expression; the way his gaze fixed unerringly on the sliding, automatic doors as though they were the gates to hell and he was deathly afraid to enter. You saw then that the tension extended all then way through the chords of his neck, into his chiselled jaw, which was covered in a scruff of blond beard.

You’d seen that look before. Seen it on others in the field; and out of it. Had seen it plenty when you looked in the mirror too. It looked like trauma, raw and exposed and bile-inducing, and the recognition had the words rising out of your throat before you could stop them.

“Hey, are you okay?” you had asked casually, in a cooling voice as you lined your cart up side-by-side with his.

It was reflex by now. You had seen too many comrades freeze in the face of danger - and in your experience, freezing near-always led to sub-optimal outcomes. Perhaps that’s why you felt a personal responsibilty to shock him back to life. He seemed stuck. He seemed like he needed a push, like that damn cart.

The man’s eyes - hazel centred and fringed with a piercing yet muted blue - flicked fiercely towards you, and the hint of volatility made you very suddenly take note of his size and latent strength, your body’s fight or flight response firing as he appeared to take a little unkindly to the interruption.

Of course, you stood your ground. You always do. It’s a bad habit of yours.

His eyes softened, however, just a little, as he clocked gentle concern rather than confrontation in your own, and he self-consciously shuffled from foot to foot, his heavy combat boots seeking surer-footing on the paving; quite literally grounding himself.

Oh, he’s definitely military this one. You recognised that too in the way he moved. In the habits ingrained in his body.

Still, you saw the rush of panic fleeting across his eyes as he ignored you and fixed his stare back on the threshold of the store. It might have looked like nothing -a simple line to cross- but you knew all too well how the smallest of lines could be something much bigger; a marker, a milestone, a hurdle.

It seemed hard for him. And if it seemed hard, and he was still here, trying, then you were damn sure it seemed important too.

You had noticed the ticks in his body then too. He tapped his boot and his fingers on the handle, almost as if he was counting. Counting-up or counting down to something, you were not sure.

“Afraid to go in?” you had asked him gently, devoid of any mocking.

“I had a bad experience here...” he had told you, his voice a deep, drawling, painfully empty baritone.

He told you this much, though he was not sure why or how he even began to speak. Why or how he looked at you. He was not sure either, why he was unable to continue speaking.

He was a speaker by profession, wasn’t he? He had repeated his story often enough as part of his motivational speeches, and yet, the words died in his throat now.

Cart. Blacked-out. Choked. Almost... 

His hands tightened their grip on the cart, just like they had tightened...

“Hmm,” you acknowledged, chewing on your lip as you digested the new information.

“Well. Me too,” you admitted, as his eyes segued back to those double doors, bumping open and closed as his proximity continually reactivated the sensors. “It was bad. My shorts had split clean in half right down the ass-crack and no-one thought to tell me. Some of the clerks still call me Cheeky to this day.”

The incident you spoke of was painfully true, and at least mildly cheering, you thought, but the man barely registered it. At least, not initially. He took a moment, still staring, still counting, but then he looked at you with a reluctant and pained amusement that evidently took him by surprise.

Now, he saw you. His eyes gave you the once over.

You were not what he was expecting. That story wasn’t what he was expecting. He wasn’t expecting...

“Wait, what?”

Letting your mouth draw open into a smile, effortlessly holding his attention now, you had pressed on with your distraction.

“Split right up the ass-crack. Mortifying. So... I could use the company, if you’ll brave it with me?” You had nodded your head towards the double doors, and you had shifted your cart to casually bump his. “We could go together?”

The man had simply stared at you, and you had patiently waited for his response. The muscles in his jaw had twitched, tendons slipping over bone. He was frozen still; that is, until you had politely nodded and started to move away from him, with a sincere, “Take care of yourself, man.”

“Hey, wait up,” he had called as you moved ahead of him, and you threw your head over your shoulder to humourously inspect the seat of your pants.

“Shit, why, is my ass out again?” you had laughed, and Will tentatively laughed with you, following you into the store; crossing his personal boundary.

It was hard, and it was important.

You had waited for him to catch-up with a soft smile, proud of the man although you did not know him yet, and this time he had drawn his cart to a halt alongside yours.

“Your ass is not out,” he had promised. “Shit. Not that I was looking. I just, uh. Shit. I could actually use the company?”

“Sure,” you had nodded, without judgement, and you had stayed closely by his side on your usual, winding route around the store.

You had tried your best to cheer him and distract this stranger, and even earned a few smiles as you engaged him in meaningless conversation.

Then, the man had paused at the mouth of a particular aisle and stared turbulently into the vacant space there, face and body pulled taut as if replaying an unpleasant memory. He was about to abandon his cart, you thought. About to leave you with a hanging apology he in no way owed you about how he wasn’t ready for this.

It was important, but perhaps it was still too hard. 

However, instead, you had blitzed into the centre of the aisle and trampled over his ghosts, barraging all of his memories out of the way as you shifted armfuls of dog food into your cart with a clatter.

He had swallowed thickly, his hands stuffed into his pockets, until you shot him another soft smile.

“You have a dog,” he observed tentatively, consciously tearing himself away from the past. Counting the seconds; his breaths, his heartbeats, the cans of dog food. Moving forward.

“I do. He’s the goodest boi. He even has medals of honour.”

The man tips his mouth into a lop-sided smile. “What for? Can he walk on his hind legs?”

“Ugh, okay. I love it when smug fuckers underestimate my mutt.” You had added the last of your tins to the cart and gestured for Will to follow you into the next aisle. Away from his demons. He did follow. “No, actually,” you begin more softly, “he sniffed out IEDs when I was on my tour of duty.”

“Holy shit, you’re army?”

“Ex-Army,” you correct. “You too, I’m guessing?”

He had that look. That manner to his movements. The man looked like he had killed. It was a look you had learned to identify at ten paces. It was a look you saw in the mirror often enough.

“That obvious?” he says, sucking in air through his teeth.

“Oh yeah.”

He had smiled nervously at you. For the first time since meeting him, you noticed that he looked sweet.

“Yep, uh, I got out. Now I give motivational speeches where I relive my trauma and try ‘n’ convince recruits it’s all worth it.”

You had nodded, thin-lipped, as you moved towards the check-out.

You had wondered what happened to him out there, but something about the way his gaze had fallen on that spot in the aisle told you that what weighed heaviest wasn’t what he did while he was in, but what he did when he got out.

Cart. Blacked-out. Choked. Almost...

That could happen. You had seen the pattern too many times amongst your buddies. Still, you had seen regret in this man’s eyes. That doesn’t always happen. Not everyone can pull back from the violence. Not everyone wants to.

You had peered into the man’s cart as he moved the items to be scanned. He had cola, lemons, and some sriracha in his cart, but... one step at a time. Coherent meals could come later.

This was hard. This was important.

“You should meet my floofy war hero. He’s outside in my truck,” you had offered, picking-up your bags, and the man picking up his... lemons etc..

“Oh yeah? Sure. Would be an honour,” he had smiled shyly, and you had tracked together over to your truck, thrown your bags in the back, and had let your boy out of the passenger seat.  

“Hey, buddy,” the man had cooed, kneeling down on the ground to deliver some quality scritches, and you couldn’t help but crack a smile at the sight.

“Aw, he loves you! Freddie, you slut!” you had laughed as this huge, burly man baby-talked to your mutt, your dog rolling on the floor and showing his belly like you didn’t feed and water him and take him for walkies.

You had watched the man for a moment. You had noticed a lot about him already, but now you noticed that, shit, he was handsome. That smile. That laugh. Blonde hair and beard and piercing eyes. His arms rippling beneath his pale blue t-shirt.

He had risen back to standing and leaned up against your truck, looking like soemthing out of a catalogue. And then, there it was again. That look. That raw, exposed, bile-inducing look.

“Listen,” he had said earnestly. “Thank you. I probably would still be standing out front if you hadn’t taken pity on me.” 

“No problem. Except, not pity. Not at all,” you had reassured. Affinity, maybe. Recognition.

He had huffed out a gentle, grateful breath.

“For real though, I was getting kinda tired of eating gas station noodle pots. Wouldn’t have my...” he had finally peered into the paper bag, registering the groceries he had panic bought. “Fuck. Wouldn’t have my lemons and sriracha without you.”

“Okay. Now maybe I’ll take pity on you,” you had smiled, gently teasing, and you shifted a few choice ingredient from your bags to his, despite his protests that you’d done enough for him already.

“You did it,” you had said firmly. “I just walked into a place where all the clerks accidently saw my ass cheeks. Whatever you did. It was hard and it was immportant. You did that. You should be proud.”

He had looked at you curiously and disbelievingly with those piercing eyes of his, like he didn’t deserve your words - even though they were merely the truth. So, you had bumped him on the arm, loaded Freddie back into the truck, and had thrown him a “Take care of yourself, man” as you clambered into the driver’s side.

“Wait.. I...”

The handsome, troubled man had motioned to you and you had wound down the window, leaning your arm out the side of the truck.

“Yeah?” you had asked, with a soft smile, but the man had simply shaken his head.

Cart. Blacked-out. Choked. Almost... 

Nevermind.

He had looked apologetic, like maybe he wasn’t ready to subject himself to anyone just yet. As if he looked at you and saw the ghost of someone he let down standing over your shoulder. Maybe even in your face.

Cart. Blacked-out. Choked. Almost... 

His brows had knitted together, and he had looked down at his boots, shifting and seeking sure-footing all over again. Grounding himself.

“Listen,” you had offered, starting your engine up. “I do my weekly shop at 2pm on Sundays. You know, if you ever need some company? Or,” you had added with a smile and a casual wink, “if you ever need an excuse to check-out a nice ass again.” 

He had nodded his head and pursed his lips together, before a broad grin split his features, his deep baritone now sounding full as a chuckle spills out of him.

“Good to know,” he had smiled, looking up at you shyly, and he had stepped back to let you swing the truck around and pull away, offering you a wave.

He never did tell you his name, but you had a feeling that you might be seeing him around.

Sometimes, things were simply better with company, after all.

#will miller x reader #will miller #charlie hunman #triple frontier #triple frontier fic

[thatesqcrush]

Fall From Grace, Pt. 9

Bryan Kneef x Reader. Fandom: The Good Fight. Reference: S4, E.4, “The Gang is Satirized and Doesn’t Like It.” CW: Angst, language, fluff. AN: Our lovely REE was on The Good Fight for all of 3 minutes so I am taking lots of liberties. I am obsessed with the anti-Barba. He was just delicious.

WC: 2313

Six months.

It had been six months since you moved to the East Coast and enjoyed all that NYC had to offer. However fast paced Chicago seemed to be, New York City moved just a little bit faster.

You had crammed a bagel with an obscene amount of cream cheese in your mouth when a plethora of emails with electronic case filings came through your inbox. You switched gears and began associating the files with the respective cases when one in particular caused you to freeze.

STR Laurie

Bryan Kneef, Esq.

233 South Wacker Drive, Suite 8000

Chicago, IL 60606-6448

Attorneys for Defendants

APPEARANCE OF COUNSEL

LIBERTY LIFE INSURANCE COMPANY,

HOLBROOK SECURITIES LLC (Defendants)

 V.

 Allison Kensington (Plaintiff)

Pearson Specter

Civil Action No. 10-cv-3752

TO THE CLERK OF THE COURT AND ALL PARTIES OF RECORD:  PLEASE TAKE NOTICE that the undersigned is admitted to practice in this court, and hereby enters an appearance as counsel in this case for defendants. Please serve all papers related to this action on the undersigned.

By: Bryan Kneef

STR Laurie

[email protected]

Attorneys for Defendants

 You swallowed the half-chewed bagel, grimacing as it scraped your throat as it went down.

“Motherfucker!” You swore loudly, slamming your hand on your desk.

“Am I interrupting?”

You jumped in your seat. You looked up and found yourself face to face with Rachel, who was standing in your doorway.  

You felt your cheeks grow hot in embarrassment. “Oh, uh…”  

“Safe to say you saw the notice of appearance.” Rachel remarked, her brow cocked.  

You nodded. “Yup.” You smacked your lips on the end of the P, emphasizing it.

“I wanted to know if you still wanted in on the case.” Rachel sat in the chair in front of you, her arms crossed.  You had been at the firm maybe two weeks tops before you spilled everything to Rachel about Bryan.  

“Yes, I do.” You replied. “And before you ask me if I'm tough enough to be in there, I want you to know that I am tough enough.”

“That's not what I wanted to ask.” Rachel replied. “I want to know if you think it will rattle him.”  

“Frankly, I think it was purposefully done.” You sighed. “Is there a deposition?”

 “Of course there is. Monday.”

--

The week surprisingly went quickly, and Monday came before you knew it. You looked over your appearance in the mirror. Suddenly your go-to pantsuit and button down didn’t cut it anymore. You hemmed and hawed in front of your closet and settled on a crisp white top and a muted grey pencil skirt. You popped the collar slightly and rolled up your sleeves. 

Your mind flew to the memories of what happened whenever you did wear pencil skirt – somehow it’d end up over your hips or by your ankles with Bryan bringing you to the height of pleasure. You pinned your hair up and kept your makeup minimal, with the exception of a bold lip. 

Your heels clacked against the pavement of the city’s sidewalk as you approached Pearson Specter. And sure enough, Bryan was in front of the building, pacing while on the phone.  

You ducked your head hoping that he wouldn’t notice you. But curiosity got the best of you and you looked over your shoulder as you entered through the revolving door. Your eyes met Bryan’s as he pivoted while on the phone. You quickly turned and hurried into the building.

---

Bryan walked down the hall of the firm after being directed to the conference room.  He was anxious to see you. He knew he was playing with fire being here in New York. When the case fell in his lap, he knew he had to see it through and maybe, just maybe, see you. He missed you immensely. Truth be told, no other woman had ever gotten to him like you did. Through the glass, he noticed you setting up and his pulse quickened. Bryan rapped on the door before swinging the door open.

“Good morning.” You clipped. ‘Shit. Stay strong’ you thought to yourself as you drank him in. You nearly forgot how good he looked in his three piece suit. His gaze was smoldering and you shifted uncomfortably in your stance.

“Y/N.” Bryan greeted, with a small smile. “You look well.” 

“How’s everyone in Chicago?” You replied, ignoring his compliment as you stapled some paper together.  

“Good. You’re remembered fondly.” Bryan replied.

“I mean, can’t say I am surprised.” You retorted, as you finished organizing the conference table. “I’ll be sitting in on the depo, just so you know.”

“You think being in the room is going to keep me from doing my job?” Bryan asked, his brows furrowed.

You pointed at Bryan and then at yourself. “Aren’t I the reason you even signed on counsel?”

“Liberty Life is my client. Of course, I had to show up.” Bryan replied.

“So what – you figured you’d orchestrate this stunt and then –” 

“I didn’t orchestrate shit.” Bryan sighed, irritated. “I am doing my job.”

You cocked your head and leaned over the table slightly. “Is this a joke?” 

Bryan walked around to where you were standing. He was dangerously close to you and your eyes met his. “I miss you. Can’t we just talk?” 

You stood silently, racking your brain as to what to say. “About what? Us? What is there to say? Our relationship…” 

You moved to push back some hair when Bryan noticed the sparkling bracelet on your wrist. “You are wearing it.” 

You looked at the tennis bracelet. “Oh. Yes. It’s beautiful. Thank you. It was very generous of you.” 

Bryan reached for your hand and at the same time, Rachel entered the room. “Am I interrupting?” 

Bryan shirked back his hand. “No. Just catching up. Reminding Y/N that Chicago has better hot dogs. And that we should have never let her go.”

 ---

The deposition was grueling, lasting a few hours. Bryan was relentless in his questioning. As he fired his questions, your mind was transported back to the case you first helped him with and how you got to watch him in court.  Your whatever it was, with Bryan was complicated and was tempestuous. Deep down though, you still had deep feelings for Bryan. You spent your first month in New York crying your eyes out, wondering if you had made a mistake leaving.

You escorted your client out and then returned to gather the rest of your belongings. You paused before entering the conference room again, watching Rachel and Bryan speak. They shook hands and you wondered what that was about.  

Finally you took a breath and entered. “Everything okay?”

Rachel smiled. “I think we’ll be settling. Bryan has made a very generous offer.  

You smiled. “That’s great. I am happy to hear that.” While you were happy for your client, you were disappointed because you knew that Bryan would be leaving town. You groaned inwardly, hating how Bryan caused such a mix bag of feelings within you. 

“Walk me out?” Bryan asked. 

“Sure.” You blurted out, not even giving it so much as a second thought.

The walk to the elevator bank was silent. Finally, Bryan spoke. “Can we go out to dinner?”  

You raised a brow and sucked in a breath. “That … sounds sincere.” You searched Bryan’s eyes and realized he was indeed being genuine. “Okay.”

“Is your number the same?” Bryan asked and you nodded. “I’ll text you the details. I’ll see you tonight.” Bryan replied as the elevator dinged, signaling its arrival.

You bid Bryan adieu and went back to your office. Despite the piles of work on your desk, you found yourself distracted. You couldn’t focus one bit. Your mind kept going back to the events prior. You kept checking your phone to see if Bryan had texted you.

Groaning, you took your phone and threw it into your drawer. You opened a new browser window and were just about to throw yourself completely into your work when your phone buzzed loudly from inside your drawer.

It was Bryan. Reservations made at The River Cafe. 7pm.

You texted back. See you then.

You threw your phone back in the drawer and dropped your head into your hands. “What have I gotten myself into?” You wondered out loud. You knew you were playing with fire and that there was a real possibility of getting burned, but you looked forward to the date.

“It’s two people sharing a dinner. Nothing more. You got this.” You muttered to yourself. Part of you knew it was a lie. Part of you figured if you said it enough times, you’d believe it.

--

You left work an hour early to get ready. The River Café was situated right on the East River, just a hair south of the base of the Brooklyn Bridge. You knew you needed enough time to get back to your apartment in Chelsea and then all the way down to Brooklyn. You decided to wear a cream-colored tulip hem skirt and a black lace deep v-neck blouse. The material of the blouse was quite thin and you decided to forego a bra to avoid lines. You knew your outfit was dangerous with Bryan. Simultaneously, you wanted Bryan to eat his heart out and maybe tempt fate so you could get dicked down.

You left your hair loose, just curling it slightly to make loose waves. You kept your makeup the same, just touching up your liner and lipstick. A spritz of perfume and a change of shoes to heeled strappy sandals and you were well on your way.  

Your stomach lurched as the cab sped downtown to the restaurant. You watched as the city flew by in a blur and subconsciously you played with your tennis bracelet. The cab came to a stop and you found yourself in front of the restaurant. 

Bryan was at the bar and the corner of his lips turned up into a devilish smile as you approached. Bryan wore dark jeans, a white button down and a matching navy suit jacket. The restaurant is gorgeous and the wafts of the various smells of food made your stomach rumble. 

“You look gorgeous.” Bryan complimented as he embraced you into a hug.

“Thank you. You look great yourself.” You replied. You inhaled his cologne and emotions flooded you. ‘Relax.’ You commanded to yourself.

 “I took the liberty of ordering you a glass of Malbec.” Bryan replied.

 “You remembered.” You smiled as the bartender came over with a glass.

 “Of course I did.” Bryan replied. “It’s your favorite.”

“The Catena Zapata Malbec Argentino for the lady, and an Old Fashioned for the gentleman.”

Bryan thanked the bartender, tipping him generously. You barely managed a sip when the hostess came over and seated you both at a table overlooking the East River – providing a clear shot of the Brooklyn Bridge. The view is breathtaking and you find yourself captivated by Bryan once more – all of the inner guards you had in place crumbled.

You both easily catch up over the last few months and dinner goes by quickly. Dessert is brought out and as you lick chocolate mousse off the spoon, you become acutely aware of Bryan’s lustful gaze on you. You give him a bashful look and you put the spoon down. Bryan paid for dinner while you excused yourself to the bathroom to freshen up.

The weather was warm and the breeze was inviting so you decided to walk along the Brooklyn Bridge back towards Manhattan. The tips of Bryan’s fingers grazed yours and the feeling is electric. The second time your fingers grazed his, they interlock and you hold hands the rest of the way until you get to the midpoint of the bridge. 

You take in the view of Manhattan ahead. Bryan stood next to you, also taking in the view. 

His hand traced concentric circles on your back and you involuntarily shivered. Bryan tilted your chin towards him. “I—I had a really nice time tonight.” You reply and you are surprised by how genuinely you mean it.

Bryan’s gaze lowered to your lips and instinctively you parted them. People on the bridge walk by but your oblivious to anyone else around you but Bryan. He pulled you flush against him. Instinctively, your arms wrapped around his neck. Bryan’s lips ghosted yours and then he paused. You both breathed in each other’s air and finally you gave in, colliding your lips against his.  His kisses taste like the mousse you shared and the cocktails he had had during dinner. His tongue swirled against yours. Arousal shot to your core. A hand slipped up the slope of your side and somehow, discreetly, Bryan cupped your breast. His thumb ran over a hardened nipple and you let out a quiet moan. Finally you pull away breathless. Your lipstick was smeared and you could see evidence of it on Bryan’s lips. “Bryan we can’t do this.”

Bryan’s brows knit together and jaw tightened. He pulled away from you and faced the view of Manhattan. “Why? Because we’re on the opposite sides of a case now? I settled.”  

You don’t reply and you could feel your eyes brimming with tears.  

“I still love you. I haven’t stopped loving you. I know I hurt you. And I have apologized.” Bryan replied, his voice clipped.

“I know you have.” You replied. Your voice cracks and you kick yourself inwardly.

“Then what is it?”  

“I’m afraid.” You admitted. “I am scared you’re going to hurt me again.”

“I will do whatever it takes.” Bryan replied. “It won’t be easy since you decided to move to the wrong city.” He adds with a slight sneer.  

You laughed haughtily, rolling your eyes. “I wouldn’t have had to move if you just treated me like a human and not as if I were disposable.”  

“I told you I didn’t do the girlfriend thing. And then things got complicated. And I fucked up. It was all fucked. I…” Bryan paused. “I said I was sorry for fucks sake Y/N.”

You knew he was baring his soul. You turn back to him, and cup his bearded cheek. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Bryan furrowed his brow once more. “What the fuck does that mean? Does that mean you and I...” 

You nodded slowly. “We’ll try again. Because the truth is that I still love you too. And we owe it to at least really try. No more hiding anything to anyone.”

Bryan pulled you into a kiss once more. The kiss was with such intensity, it left your breathless. 

“Now would be the time for you to show me your bedroom.” Bryan growled in your ear.  

You smile. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

TBC.

Tag list: @madpanda75 @mgarner1227  @delia26   @tropes-and-tales  @beardedmccoy @youreverycolor​ @neely1177​ @the-baby-bookworm​ @mrsrafaelbarba​ @skittle479​ @ottosuricato​ @sass-and-suspenders​ @mommakat32​ @dreila03​ @beccabarba​ @garturbo​ @lovebennycolon​ @imjustreallynosy​ @sweetsummertime99​ @whyissvuruiningmylovelife​ @annabelleb49​ @scarletsoldierrr​ @cesarofangirl78​ @redlipstickandplaid​ @redlipstickandblacktea​ @zoeykaytesmom​ @differentshadesofgray​ @misssirenlove​ @esparza-army​ @bananas-pajamas​ @mishaissocoolike @kscarlett1 @thefanficfaerie​ @theenchantedgalleryofstories​ @catnip987 @choppedgalaxynerd @pieceofshittytitty​ @ktiz90​ @evee87​ @itsjustmyfantasyroom @blk0912 @detective-giggles​ @rampantmuses​ @jazzyjoi​ @caked-crusader​- anyone else, just ask!

#the good fight fanfic #bryan kneef x reader #bryan kneef and reader #bryan kneef imagine #brian kneef x reader #Brian kneef and reader

[sabraeal]

Desert & Reward, Chapter 8

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7

“...And with that, I believe this contract may be complete.” The clerk lays down his pen, surveying the room with a steady gaze that rigidly and obviously excludes Obi. “Unless Your Majesties have any other points you wish to pursue...?”

Wood creaks under Obi’s grip, and Her Majesty lays a hand gently over his own. “Careful, Lord Obi,” she murmurs. “That is an antique.”

His fingers ease from the rounded scroll of the chair’s arms, each knuckle cracking as he spreads them one-by-one on the grooves lining it.

His Majesty watches him, impassive, and with one long, slow blink, turns back to the clerk. “I think that shall be all.”

“Excellent, sir.” Yuuha busies himself with putting his pen and inks back into their kit, so slow the minutes melting away like candle wax. “I will bring this back, and we will have an official document drawn up by tomorrow.”

“Good.” His Majesty waves a hand, dismissive, though it lacks the proper feel with him on the wrong side of his desk. “I suppose we all must have things to be done...”

The king’s gaze is fixed to Miss, who pinks miserably under it.

“Don’t we have to--” words fail him as His Majesty’s attention snaps to him -- “sign something? That’s the whole point of this, isn’t it?”

The clerk scoffs, tossing his head like a horse only fit to make glue. “This was only to set the terms, Lord Obi. It takes much more time to draft up a proper--”

“Yes,” His Majesty says, not loudly, but few men that would dare to speak over a royal whisper, let alone when he’s meant to be heard. “However, necessity dictates that we must wait for the final copy to be in readiness, so we will wait until tomorrow. You may sign it with the license. I’m sure my brother will be able to provide you with the proper dates.”

Right, because none of them will be tomorrow’s. Can’t get sloppy now.

His Majesty rises, and it’s as if they are puppets and he holds the strings, for all of them make to follow. Save, of course, for Her Majesty.

Obi gets to his feet and is greeted by a sickening tilt of the room without even having the decency of having alcohol come before it. They must have been at this for hours. How those clerks manage to be in their chairs all day he’ll never know.

Miss is out of her seat and off like a shot, like an arrow on her path to the door, but she halts just before him, raising up those big eyes with a question he can’t quite read. “Obi?”

“Miss?” It comes out on a breath, too desperate to his own ears. Miss must not hear it; she only sways closer, and it strikes him he’ll never have a better moment than now to get her alone, to talk this all out in a way that isn’t just spare moments bent over a balustrade, to really --

“Lord Obi,” His Majesty drawls, far too close for comfort, even though he’s standing halfway across the room. “You have quite the busy night ahead of you.”

“I--?” Words stutter to a stop on this tongue. He can’t possibly mean --

“Surely you haven’t forgotten?” The king’s mouth curves with amusement. “My brother has been pouring his heart into it. I, for one, am quite eager to see what he has in store for us.”

“Oh, the...” Stag night. He can’t force the words past his lips. He’d hoped His Majesty was only mocking him at the luncheon, that the king of Clarines had only known about his humble celebration because Master, ever a slave to protocol when the need arose, had tendered him a courtesy invitation -- one did not exclude His Majesty when he was in residence -- and he had found it amusing to imply he might take it --

But that hope withers in his chest now, seeing the way His Majesty smiles. Us. What my brother has in store for us.

It’s impossible to tell what would be a more terrible evening: having to live through an actual soiree of all his wedding guests -- only a handful of which he could identify on sight -- or suffering through another appearance of “Lowen,” only this time with enough alcohol to kill an ox.

Maybe it would be worth it; he’s never seen the king drunk.

“Oh my,” His Majesty drawls. “It seems we’ve lost Shirayuki.”

Obi snaps his gaze back only to see empty air and Viandese carpet in front of him. His mouth thins.

Distantly, he wonders if it’s possible to un-invite royalty from an outing. After all, Master is his brother, and His Majesty is probably the sort of man that doesn’t imbibe to excess.

The king’s mouth tilts into a smirk, and -- oh no,he’s not a man who drinks. He’s a man who watches others fall deep into their cups and remembers.

“Your Majesty,” he grits out, and for a moment he sees a light spark in the king’s eyes, an eagerness. It gutters when he pointedly turns his head to the consort and asks, “Do you need an escort?”

Her Majesty’s lips curl in a private sort of smile. “Please, my lord, do not worry about me. My feet shall not touch the ground as long as my husband is around.”

There is no man in the room who can miss her meaning with that tone in her voice.

“Haki,” His Majesty attempts, though his voice breaks on the last of it. “You should not--”

“I do hope you have a good night, Lord Obi,” she continues, as if her royal husband had not spoke at all. “Though please remember temperance. You do have...duties to perform tomorrow.”

“Yes.” Against every odd, he manages the word without a single crack. “I’ll keep that...forefront in my mind.”

“Good man.” Her face is all innocence when she adds, “There’s nothing more disappointing to a bride than a limp groom.”

There is no escort for Obi outside His Majesty’s study, only the heavy expectation of his return to his rooms. A part of him balks at doing what is expected of him; he is used to obeying orders, to fulfilling tasks, but those never cross over into the personal --

-- make sure you don’t do weird things like go into her room by mistake --

His steps stutter beneath him. He’d nearly forgotten that; a rule so often bent that it sits like a shirt stretched out by a set of larger shoulders. When he’d left for Lyrias, he'd meant to follow it to the letter, to never darken Miss’s door or sill, but the pervasive cold had scuttled those plans quicker than a sandwich in front of Suzu.

Surely, Obi had thought, surely Master would not have wanted Miss to shiver beneath her blankets, not when she came to him with those large eyes and told him Yuzuri had called it tradition. Suzu, before disappearing into her room, had named it survival. Lyrias nights were not made to suffer alone.

He’s not so sure now.

We’ll sort this all out, Master had said, not moment after he stepped from his carriage. I’ll handle my brother.

There had been a fire in him then, the kind he had never shown until now, until not only had Miss been taken away but --

But given away. Master had not cared so much about Miss in years, until she was given to him. Until she had said yes.

His fingers drum at his thigh. His doesn’t like thinking like this, doesn’t like how his thoughts churn over themselves like a storm brewing over a plain, unchecked and unbridled.

You weren’t going to give him a choice, Master had snapped, like a dog at the end of his leash. He accused His Majesty of impinging his will, but -- but Master had been the one to drag him to the royal study, to demand the king change his plans all without Obi ever knowing --

He shakes his head. He can’t think like that, he can’t. What good is a mutt who can’t trust the master holding his leash?

It takes less time than he expects before a familiar door appears before him -- his room. Or rather, the Marquis Conti’s. His own are in another wing entirely, right above the one Sir still keeps, at least until he becomes Earl Seiran in his own right, but --

But Obi hasn’t dared to see if there’s a place for him there, not since -- since --

He shakes his head. This isn’t worth thinking about. Not when he has a whole night still left ahead of him.

A groan pulls from his chest. That’s right, he has plans.

The door opens easily under his hand, and it’s hardly fallen shut before Obi collapses onto it. Breath rushes out of him, and for a moment, he is weak-kneed and light-headed, as if he’s been holding it the whole walk back.

It’s not that, he knows. It’s the crash, the low at the end of a high, the moment where the tension knitting all his bones together unravels, leaving him kitten-weak and limbs jellied. Constant vigilance has kept him upright today, but he’s on its dregs now, in much need of a moment to refill and recuperate, and --

He hesitates, shoulders going stiff as the board at his back. There’s something off.

His hand brushes the brace of knives at his back. Not a noble’s weapon, not a marquis’, but under all these titles, he is who he is. Even if it makes Yori despair--

Yori. That’s what’s wrong -- there’s no subtle bustle in the background of his bedchamber, no fair head poking around the corner to greet him. He isn’t here.

For a full beat, his heart is silent. There’s a thousand reasons for a valet to be about, he tells himself while his back knits itself to steel, taking the first cautious steps away from the safety at his back. He’d played the part well enough in his time, not out of place anywhere between the kitchens and the boudoir, able to invent any excuse to be where he shouldn’t --

It’s a cold comfort next to the certainty of the dread knotting in his gut. Something has happened; he knows it as well as he knows that steady knock in his chest, and with a curtain’s flutter, he is back in Tanbarun, seeing a boy limned against the night’s sky --

-- a metallic glare catches his eye, and his knife is out, evening sun glinting on its blade as he edges around the door of his bedchamber. Something has happened, yet another complication to this trip, and this time it will cost a life, not merely his pride --

“Oh.” His arm drops to his side, eyes wide as they take in his vanity. “Dinner!”

The gleam of the cloche’s dome is strong in the full light of his windows -- once again, Yori’s left the balcony open to air the room, despite his express orders -- and finally, Obi considers that this might be a planned privacy. That perhaps this moment of quiet is a gift left for him by a man who knows when his boss is overreached.

He can give raises, can’t he? Something to ask Morel when he gets back.

Obi snags the cover with the tip of his knife, the enticing scent of spiced shrimp beckoning him closer. With a flick of his wrist, the plate is bared to him, and under that heavenly layer of crispy crustacean, there are vegetables so heavily sauced he can barely tell their original color, all nestled on a bed of golden rice, and --

And if this is an attempt to poison him -- well, his enemy has done their research. Obi would happily to die to a trick like this.

He slides into his chair, savoring the spicy scent of the sauce and that earthy tang of well-cooked rice. Cook had been delivering dishes like this before he left, but there was something about food cooked here, in Wistal’s kitchens, that reminds him of the way Miss used to make it --

Miss. He hesitates, fork poised over the mound of rice. There has been no part of today that has not been overwhelming, that has not required them to play a part before each other, whether it be lover or opponent, and -- and it might be nice to just be themselves with each other, just for a little while. Something more than just the few stolen moments they had last night.

There’s no longer miles between them now, only a single wall -- no, not even; only a balcony where balustrades kiss to keep them apart. Only a few steps and they could finally be alone, nothing between them --

And no Master either. His stomach twists, and he’s not sure if it’s with guilt or -- or something else. Something entirely more dangerous.

The knock is loud enough to rattle him, even in his bedchamber. His fork clatters to his plate, making the porcelain sing, and -- well, there goes any hope of pretending he isn’t there. And any chance he has to see Miss.

Maybe Miss Kiki wasn’t joking about keeping them apart.

He gets to his feet with a sigh. It can only be Shidnote, eagerly come to herd him to whatever clandestine meetings Their Majesties have planned for him next. He casts one last longing look at his dinner, still steaming on the tray, and saunters toward the door.

Maybe he’ll be lucky, and they’ll let him eat first. They might even let him bring the tray.

A rasp of a laugh escapes him. An amateur wish. He’d be eating steamed mussels in some sort of clam sauce most like, or a delicate arrangement of figs and cheese, or some other parade of pared-down dishes that would altogether equal a single meal.

Oh, how he missed dinners with Miss. Hearty, rib-sticking fare, the kind that would leave him full and drowsy as the snow fell down. Or his own feistier cuisine, leaving her gasping for a drink as tears stung his eyes. No matter how many fancy dinners they’d forced themselves to attend, Miss had never taken to the idea of small dishes making a whole. If there was to be a glut of food on the table, it was meant to be shared.

Family-style, she’d called it. He’d liked the name more than he’d ever admit.

The knock comes again, more insistent this time. With a roll of his eyes, Obi hooks his hand around the knob, bracing himself.

Maybe they might ask Miss to dinner too. After all, both Their Majesties delight in his suffering --

It is not Shidnote. Not a wall of muscle in a lord’s clothes, but --

“Miss Kiki?” He watches, helpless, as she sweeps into his room as if she owns it, his valet scuttling after her. “What--?”

“In the bedroom,” Kiki tells him, and it takes Obi a full minute to realize she’s addressing Yori, that this is where the absurd mound of fabric in his arms is meant to go.

He’s struck dumb by the implication, only able to trail after them with a slowly mounting sense of dread that sharply intensifies the moment Yori starts draping the clothes across his bed. “W-what are you doing?”

“Bringing you your clothes for the night.” Kiki leans back, hands hooking around her hips, and surveys the room. By her expression, she finds it wanting. “Is this going to be your suite on your wedding night?”

He, for lack of a better word, chokes. “I--”

A single, slender hand waves off his words. “Never mind. It will be handled.”

Handled. There’s something about the way she says it that sends shivers coursing down his spine. “Why?”

“Because if I leave you to your own devices, you’ll wear--” she wrinkles her nose-- “whatever that is.”

Obi peers down at his shirt, worn to perfection, soft against his skin. It’s the same one he had the day he came to Wistal and fired an ill-timed arrow at a little red-haired interloper, though he doubts Miss Kiki will find that as impressive as she should.

“What’s wrong with this shirt?” He runs a hand over it. “It goes with anything.”

A narrow eyebrow arches, and though Miss Kiki would never be so crass, the are you shitting me? is very thoroughly implied. “You can’t just throw a cape over something and call it a day.”

“I don’t see why not.”

She gives him the longest suffering stare. “You make me the personification of despair.”

“I don’t see what the big deal is.” He throws himself onto the vanity’s chair; if they’re going to make him suffer like this, he is at least going to eat this food. “It’s only a stag party. I know His Majesty is coming for...whatever reason, and maybe a few more of these lords that Master thinks I might be able to stand, but...”

He hesitates, seeing the shock bare on Kiki’s face.

“Oh my.” Her eyebrows flirt boldly with her hairline. “It seems no one has told you.”

There’s a shrimp halfway to his mouth, but he stops to ask, “Told me what?”

“I want the record to show I knew this,” Obi starts, glaring at her in the mirror as he throws on his shirt -- a new one, starched and white, completely Kiki-approved. His shrimp are there too, long abandoned, grown tragically cold as he wrangles himself into formal wear he suspects might be used as a form of torture. “I just didn’t believe it.”

Kiki’s blinks at him, impassive, as if she’s wondering if he’ll live long enough to see his wedding. “You thought Izana was lying?”

“I thought His Majesty would enjoy making the implication, and then watching me sweat over it. You know, like a kid with a magnifying glass and a single, very handsome ant.”

She stares, incredulous. “What would have been the point of that? If he wanted to watch you spiral uncontrollably into anxiety, he could have just looked at you at any time during the last day and drunk his fill of it.”

Obi’s mouth pulls flat in the mirror. “I realized it wouldn’t be, you know, carousing--”

“Because Zen planned it.”

He nods. “But I thought it might be small. Not...everyone.”

“Oh, it’s everyone.” Obi understands Kiki’s here to help, but she doesn’t need to look so smug when he pulls the buckskins on. “Be thankful. If Izana had the time to do this whole wedding properly, Zen would have needed the grand ballroom to fit--”

“Please, don’t help.” He’s sick just thinking of that many lords in a room with him, looking at him. “I still don’t know what you’re doing here. I have Yori. Don’t you trust him?”

“His tastes? Absolutely?” Her eyes narrow, and somehow her glare encompasses both of them. “His ability to wrangle you? Never. Now stop complaining and put on the waistcoat already.”

Yori steps up behind him, holding it out so that he only needed to thread his arms through. “If you wish, my lord, I would be happy to--”

“No.” He snatches it out of Yori’s hands, flushed. Kiki watches on, as if this were a particularly amusing play at the theater. “I can dress myself. Thank you.”

Yori doesn’t quail before his temper, just stares at him, impassive, and heaves a long suffering sigh. “As you wish, my lord.”

He’d be proud of him, if all of this didn’t annoy him so much.

“You might be nice, Lord Obi.” The emphasis she places on his title rankles, but by her smirk in the mirror, it should. “Yori has a finer eye than most experienced valets. If you’re not wary, someone might snatch him up.”

“Lady Kiki,” Yori gushes, too eager. “I don’t suppose you might be looking for a valet?”

“This is sedition,” Obi informs him, wrangling himself into a cravat. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so quick to reject help. “You can’t defect--”

“What a tempting offer,” Kiki drawls as if he hasn’t spoken at all. “But between the two of us, your master is the one who needs guidance.”

“Hm.” Yori considers him in the mirror, and then steps forward, unraveling his mess of a cravat. “That is...certainly true.”

Obi lets out a huff, but submits to the grooming. He might be able to tie more knots than a sailor, but this is impossible. “Don’t tie it too tight,” he says, finally. “Or else Miss Kiki might choke me when she means to rein me in tonight.”

“Good,” Yori mutters, but it’s drowned out by Kiki’s, “I’m not going.”

Obi spins, eyes wide. “What? Why not?”

Kiki crosses her legs primly, a bored expression settling on her face. “Ladies don’t partake in stag nights.”

He barks out a laugh. “Since what has that ever stopped you?”

A smile curls at the corners of her mouth, and she says, with much less pointedness, “I wasn’t invited.”

Leave it to Master to leave the one person who might make the night bearable off the short list. “Well, I’m the gr--” he hesitates, word sticking in his mouth -- “I’m inviting you right now. You should come. Wear pants. Make every man question his masculinity just by breathing.”

“As delightful as that would be,” she drawls, teeth peeking out from behind her lips. “I have a far more interesting place to be at tonight.”

“Oh?” His hands fist on his hips, annoyed. “And where would that be?”

“Why--” oh how little he likes that smile -- “Your wife’s hen party, of course.”

#obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #desert and reward #my fic #ans #god listen i PROMISE we'll get to this fucking stag night next chapter #we were supposed to get all that plus a little further his chapter #but i got all into the POLITICS #i forgot that CERTAIN PEOPLE were in this fic #and i needed them to have some time to talk #and now HERE WE ARE #this is what i get for putting plot in here grumble grumble

[leonawriter]

Stray Dogs and Tiger Cubs (pt.4)

Read it on AO3 from the start

Fandom: Bungo Stray Dogs

Characters: Dazai, Atsushi, Kunikida, others.

Summary: What started out as rumours of a dangerous beast on the loose not far from Yokohama turn into Dazai carrying an eight year old boy back to the the Agency.

A boy whose name is Atsushi, and will now not let go of Dazai, who hadn't signed up to be a parent, but it looks like that's the way things are going regardless.

"He needs to learn that there are adults he can trust than just me," Dazai was saying. He was stood on the other side of the office, watching while Atsushi helped everyone clear up in the aftermath of a mafia raid on the Agency.

They hadn't been there for the main event, of course. In fact, he and Dazai had been comfortably several blocks away. Far enough, at least, that the kid wouldn't hear gunshots, and wouldn't be reminded of the events of only a few days ago.

No, they'd just arrived back in time to see Kenji throwing the last of the Black Lizard out of the window, and everyone clearly having not been phased at all, despite the dents in the walls (and, as Kunikida had pointed out, their budget).

"A good idea," Kunikida said, pushing his glasses up, "but need I remind you that Atsushi is a child, and not an employee? We're supposed to be a detective agency, not a babysitting company!"

Atsushi picked up a book that had been under Ranpo's foot, and passed it to one of the clerks to put on its shelf, since he was too short to reach.

"Which is exactly my point, Kunikida-kun. He may not be an employee, but I am. As cute as having a shadow might be, it's better for everyone if Atsushi-kun takes more after the cat he's supposed to be, than some poor imprinted duck."

"Dazai," Kunikida said, more a sigh of absolute frustration in one word than simply a statement of his name, "you were the one who saved him from that hell of an orphanage in the first place. I can't say I think that Atsushi learning to trust others is a bad idea, but "acting like some poor imprinted duck" is what traumatised children tend to do when they're saved by the first adult to actually care about them. I'm honestly more surprised you didn't know that going in."

Well, how do I get it to stop, was the first thought to cross through Dazai's mind, and he was of half a mind to voice the question, but he had the sincere and genuine feeling that he would get glared at and told that he was an idiot if he tried, which despite everything else that he was known for, wasn't exactly his idea of a good time.

Atsushi looks over in his direction, and in a strange way, Dazai feels trapped, pinned to the floor of the office like some sort of moth on a board.

I never did, he thinks, or I don't think that I ever acted in that way.

But then, I've never exactly behaved in the way that people think that human beings should, so maybe that's just to be expected.

...

Atsushi, Dazai had begun to realise, was good at keeping secrets.

I heard you say you knew the man... the one that hurt Tanizaki-niisan and Naomi-neesan, Atsushi had said, the night that had happened, lying in his futon while Dazai couldn't help but be kept awake by the simple act of wondering how to deal with the situation.

I did, he'd said, because there was no point in lying.

He said you were... mafia. Atsushi had stumbled over the foreign word a little, which in itself had been enough to make Dazai tense. Just a fraction, just enough.

I was, he'd said, but I'm not now. Atsushi had nodded, a frown on his face. But you can't tell anyone else, he'd said. It's an important secret.

And Atsushi hadn't said a single word about it to anyone.

Meaningful looks had been sent his way. Glances that spoke volumes, at times. But Atsushi hadn't said anything, and because of that, the only people who were likely to figure that anything was going on, were the ones who already knew.

So when Atsushi said Ranpo-niisan's ability is amazing in a quiet voice at the station while they waited for the proceedings to be finished and finalised, Dazai leaned over, so that he was on Atsushi's level.

You know, Ranpo himself is amazing, but - that isn't an ability at all. That's simply how Ranpo is. Not many people know that, though! So I'm trusting you with that, Atsushi-kun.

Trust. That was it. There was something about Atsushi that Dazai felt that he could trust in, even if the boy was only eight years old, and dressed in a tiger hoodie.

It was a shame, in spite of everything else, however, that Atsushi took up so much of his time and attention. Like he had said to Kunikida only earlier that day, he had his own duties as a member of the Agency to attend to, his own work, investigations...

And he would be lying if he said that the river back there hadn't looked inviting.

...

It's a few days later when he walks into the office just in time to hear Atsushi, who he had left in order to do run an errand by himself, talking to someone, and it makes him freeze halfway through the door.

"Do you know how long Da-san's going to be?"

The words circled around his head. 

Da-san. He just called me Da-san.

It's with a certain amount of disconnect that he walks the rest of the way in, and asks Tanizaki if this was some sort of new development.

"Eh? I thought you'd know... but then, I think he was mispronouncing your name a few times, so maybe he was embarrassed...?"

Tanizaki doesn't sound sure, though, and when Kunikida talks to him while Tanizaki distracts Atsushi, it's with a stern expression. The same one he'd worn when he'd first seen Dazai coming back to the car with an unconscious boy in his arms.

"While it's entirely possible that what Tanizaki says is the case, it's clear to everyone who sees the two of you in the same place that Atsushi has... attached himself to you. Dazai, you have to accept that it isn't out of the question that the boy is testing the waters here. We can both agree he can't have had the best prior experience with parents, so any step on his part takes some amount of courage."

Kunikida paused, to write something down in his notebook, that Dazai couldn't see.

"But," he says, and if he sounds tense and unnerved and more than a little panicked, then that's fair. Because he is, and as much as the world feels filtered through a carnival mirror at the moment, there are some things that still get through. "You've said yourself. I don't know the first thing about how to bring up a kid-"

"And normally, that would count for something," Kunikida said, pushing his glasses up in a frustrated motion, "but here, it seems as though unless you wish to give the boy to someone else who can't handle his ability, this is one responsibility you will have to accept. Whether you like it or not."

You can't handle that child echoes in his head. It sounds more like an accusation than a warning.

The tiger, he can handle - one touch, and it no longer holds any power. 

The boy, however, with all of his blind trust and his unquestioning adoration, is another matter entirely.

#bsd #bungo stray dogs #bsd stuff #bsd dazai #bsd atsushi #Leona fic #dadzai au #in which Dazai has his regrets #he is not cut out for this

[weasleysicon]

too young, too dumb [calum hood] ch. 2

“so i drown it out, like i always do”

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1

“I LOVE YOU, CALUM,” Olivia whispered as she swept stray curls away from Calum’s forehead. Calum smiled. He’d never been so in love. As his hand traveled down her arm, he took her hand in his. “I want to expand our family, Cal,” she said as she toyed with Calum’s fingers. Calum’s eyes widened and he dropped Olivia’s hand and sat up. He knew he wasn’t ready to be a father, he couldn’t even babysit Ashton’s daughter without calling him every ten minutes.

“Wha- honey- are yo- are you sure? I’m not sure I’m ready,” Calum replied, his eyes filling with worry. Of course he always wanted kids, but they were only 24 at the time, not even in a house, but a small one bedroom apartment.

“Babe, chill. I’m not talking about a baby, yet. Lets get a dog,” Olivia quipped. She knew Calum has wanted a dog for years, even though he’d never admit it. He looked into Olivia’s eyes, the same green ones he’d fallen for years ago, and smiled.

“Really? Baby, yes, I want to get a dog,” Calum started, but cut himself off. He had been looking at different shelters around the area, and found the cutest mutt he’d ever seen, but had it in his mind that maybe it wasn’t meant to be.

Olivia got up from their bed and left the room, returning a few minutes later with Calum’s laptop. Calum now knew that he was caught, she knew he’d been looking puppies.

“So, Calum, I was on your laptop last week and saw you had this little guy pulled up,” she opened the screen to reveal the fluffy black and white puppy. Calum’s heart swelled just looking at the little pup, he already knew he was in love. “There’s only one problem,” Olivia giggled as she returned to her seat next to Calum. He looked away from the photo of the puppy and faced his wife, face burning with worry. “It says here that his name is Luke. We can’t have a dog with the same name of one of our best friends,” she laughed pointing to where it said the name of the puppy. Calum laughed, knowing she was only half joking.

“Babe, we can always change his name to like- Duke or something,” Calum replied, eyes darting back and forth between the dog and her.

“Why don’t we go see him? I already called the shelter and they gave us an appointment, which is in 30 minutes,” Olivia stated, closing the laptop and standing up from their bed. 

What did he do to deserve her?

♠♠♠♠

Calum looked to the ball of fur sleeping at his side. He smiled, as he stroked Duke’s small body. When Calum’s cold hand rubbed against him, Duke began to wake up.

“Hey, buddy,” Calum cooed, as he lifted the pup into his lap. Duke nuzzled himself into Calum’s neck, making Calum’s heart warm. He smiled for the first time in weeks, as he hugged Duke closer to him.

“I still remember the first time I saw you, Duke,” Calum said and he stroked under his chin. Duke looked up as Calum spoke to him, paying close attention, even if he didn’t understand.

“Hi, we’re here for our appointment with... Luke,” Calum spoke to the front desk clerk of the small shelter. As they waited for her to escort them to the playroom, Calum looked around. He’d read that it was a kill shelter, though they were raising money to become no-kill. It made Calum upset, the thought of these poor animals being put down because they didn’t have a family. He’d never admit it, but he was afraid of death. He couldn’t even imagine how a poor animal must feel about it. Cut out of his thoughts, Calum and Olivia were escorted to the playroom where the 8 month old puppy was running around. As soon as his eyes fell upon the mess of black and white fur, he knew it was over, this was the dog for them.

“Hi, baby,” Olivia cooed and she sat down on the little carpet and the small dog ran over to her and jumped into her lap. “Calum,” she whined, “I like him, a lot.” 

“I know, babe, I do too,” Calum said as he joined her on the carpet. The small dog looked over and immediately jumped onto Calum. The dogs tail was wagging at a much quicker pace, which Calum knew meant that the dog liked him.

“Oh, my God, he likes you more than me,” Olivia sighed, making Calum smile and he continued to pet the pup.

“Of course he does, we’re both men,” Calum snorted. Olivia slapped his arm and stood up, smiling at the clerk who was still in the room to over watch the meet and greet.

“I think we’re gonna keep him, ma’am,” Olivia softly said. The clerk smiled and asked the couple to follow them so they could fill out the proper paperwork.

“Are you guys keeping his name Luke, or changing it?” the clerk asked. Calum and Olivia knowingly looked at each other.

“Yes, we’re changing his name to Duke. We have a friend named Luke,” Calum tried explaining. He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to explain his reasoning for changing the dog’s name, but it seemed right.

“Okay, if one of you will just sign here, little Duke is all yours,” Olivia picked the pen up and signed her name. Calum smiled and looked down at the new edition to their family.

“Welcome to the Hood family, Duke. You have a family now, buddy” Calum whispered as he cradled Duke in his arms, never being more happy.

♠♠♠♠

“I miss her, bud,” Calum cried softly. Though Duke, now almost 4 years old, could not understand why his best friend was upset, he still attempted to make it better, licking Calum’s salty tears as they ran down this cheeks. He’d never admit it, but Duke reminded him of Olivia everyday. Was it bad that he resented the small dog because he was reminded of the one he lost? Probably.

“You remind me so much of mummy, do you miss her too? Do you miss mummy?” Calum questioned and he cried and hugged Duke closer to him. Duke whined at the mention of Olivia, which made Calum cry even harder. Calum began to rock him and the small dog back and forth.

“I love you so much, buddy. Please never leave me, please.”

a/n: i know this is shorter than the last chapter but i wanted you guys to see the significance of duke!! hope y’all enjoyed, feedback is always welcome!

SERIES TAGS: @thesensationalcalum @calumamore @let-us-eatcake

#calum hood #calum hood blurb #calum hood smut #calum 5sos #calum hood fic #ashton irwin #ashton irwin blurb #ashton irwin smut #ashton 5sos #ashton irwin fic #luke hemmings #luke hemmings blurb #luke hemmings smut #luke 5sos #luke hemmings fic #michael clifford #michael clifford blurb #michael clifford smut #michael 5sos #michael clifford fic #5sos #5 seconds of summer #5sos smut #5sos blurb #5sos fic #fanfic #5sos imagine #youngblood #too young too dumb

[sweetasssuga]

Taegi Fic Recs

personal favorites = ♡

new additions = ϟ

Little Lion Man by mucha [3k] [teen]

Deep down, Yoongi always knew that making rash decisions would one day send him early to his grave.

(Or; Yoongi confesses to Taehyung via text and immediately regrets it)

in all dishonesty by fruitily [3k] [teen] ♡

while taehyung is trying to figure out whether or not min yoongi wants to stab him with a fountain pen, they find out they make an excellent team when it comes to board games.

feelings you provide by sugarlizard [3k] [teen] 

Feeling a little daring, Taehyung slips the ring on his finger. He’s not expecting it to fit, he knows that part of the victorious appeal of this jewelry is it was designed to fit only Yoongi, but instead it slips over the knuckle of his ring finger like a glove.

*

taehyung borrows one of the SUGA diamond rings when he needs a comfort object

help me out by clumsy_taegi [4.6k] [teen] ϟ

Taehyung talks Yoongi into helping him rehearse for a play.

Of Handlebars and Heartbreak by bananamilks [5.5k] [teen] 

Totally unprepared are you, to face a world of men.

[or, the mutual pining fic in which: one of them is in denial, one is oblivious, and both of them are idiots]

caught in a lie by booksinaballroom [5.6k] [teen] 

Ten years, one acting degree, and a frankly embarrassing amount of student debt later, his plans have...changed, a bit. Turns out waiting for callbacks from Colgate toothpaste commercials and roles as extras in dramas isn’t exactly lucrative. Certainly not lucrative enough to pay off his mountainous student debt.

Which is why he has turned to a spinoff of the acting industry. The underground of the acting industry, if you will. A place to hone his skills while raking in plenty of cash. A high-stakes challenge, something that tests and proves his ability to perform under pressure.

In other words, Taehyung is what might be better known as a con artist.

(soulmate au: you can't lie to your soulmate)

A Different Kind of Magic by tryst [5.8k] [teen] ♡ 

Wherein, Taehyung doesn't really need extra Potions help, but could definitely use a hug and Yoongi is pretty indifferent about being a tutor, but is down to hold hands.

my heart flutters from the sugar high by hoars [5.9k] [mature]

Yoongi and Taehyung sneak around together, cheating on their diets. The group? They’ve drawn different conclusions.

Birds in Your Heart by m_aur_a [6k] [not rated] 

Origami cranes with cute, if kitschy, words of advice are popping up on campus. Yoongi is struggling with a lot right now, but they help. So does the pretty boy that leaves them.

Ring the Hogwarts Bell by mucha [6k] [general audiences] 

“No, it’s fine,” Taehyung interrupted him, circling his fingers around Jimin’s wrist and squeezing reassuringly. “It’s just a few days, I’ll be okay.”

It was the furthest thing from truth, though. Christmas was always his favorite holiday and in his mind, it was irreversibly connected to home and family and watching silly Christmas movies with a mug of hot chocolate in his hand and his puppy, Yeontan, in his lap. He was hoping that maybe at least one of his friends would be staying in school too, but that hope quickly vanished when he checked the list in the common room and saw no familiar names. Well, he saw one familiar name but it belonged to someone Taehyung had never spoken to, so it didn’t matter anyway.

As if he could read Taehyung’s mind, Jimin spoke up again:

“I noticed that Yoongi is staying at Hogwarts too.”

(Taehyung spends his Christmas at Hogwarts and makes a new friend)

human by awsuga [7.7k] [mature]

Taehyung almost kills the most beautiful mortal he has ever seen.

yesterday’s tomorrow by locks [8k] [mature] ♡

Yoongi just wants to get through the night with his pride intact.

Enter Kim Taehyung.

Or, the one where they used to date and meet again at their ten year high school reunion.

but not for me by raviolijouster [8k] [teen] ♡ 

Taehyung’s straightforward, he thinks. A 2 + 2 = 4 kind of guy. He’s just not always sure that his 2’s are other people’s 2’s. Sometimes it seems like they might be 3’s. Or 7’s. But Yoongi’s 2’s are the same 2’s, they’re just in italics, size 8 font, while Taehyung’s are in bold and size 72.

or,

People think Yoongi and Taehyung are dating. Taehyung wishes they were.

ring ding dong by chlexcer [8k] [explicit]

the one where taehyung loses his precious gucci ring the very first time he meets yoongi, but he doesn't lose it just anywhere, oh no— he loses it inside of yoongi.

By Tomorrow by Oh_Hey_Tae [10.6k] [teen]

“Why are you freaking out now?” Seokjin asks, and the seconds tick by and suddenly the atmosphere shifts. “Ahh, I get it.”

Yoongi perks up, swivels, spots Taehyung stepping from the hall into the room and he’s in fitted slacks and the baby blue button-up from earlier and he looks divine.

Yoongi’s heart just stopped and he’s not sure how to get it beating again. Namjoon’s a doctor. A doctor in training, but some form of medical professional regardless. Namjoon knows CPR and cardiac arrest symptoms and all that shit. He’ll know Yoongi’s dying.

“Perfect timing. Let’s eat.”

Or he’s going to wink at Yoongi and send suggestive eyebrow raises the whole night. Great. Fabulous.

(Or: Yoongi loves Taehyung and Taehyung loves Yoongi and somewhere along the way they figure that out.)

neons and watercolors by aimandignite [12.6k] [explicit] 

“Do you stare at the sky in the middle of roads at night often?” he asks.

Yoongi shrugs. “Do you join random people staring at the sky in the middle of roads at night often?” He glances at the guy and his heart slams in his chest at the wide smile he sees.

“I’m Taehyung. Everyone calls me Tae though.”

Yoongi nods slowly, “Yoongi.”

Tae seems to repeat the name to himself, carefully remembering how it feels in his mouth. Yoongi can’t look away. “Yoongi? Do you want to get out of the middle of the road and get hot cocoa?”

812 (rock my world) by aileron [13k] [explicit] ϟ

Jimin sniffs in a way that lets Taehyung know he’s an ungrateful brat. “Look, some people would pay good money to get a free pass that allows them right in front of the stage and hence right under the nose of Min Yoongi.”

“Min who?”

Jimin waves his hand dismissively. “The rock star you couldn’t care less about but whose face you have to stare at through your camera lens tonight.”

Taehyung slings his camera bag on his shoulder and shoves the press pass into his back pocket. “Sure, whatever. Just point me in his direction when we get there.”

- or: the fic where Taehyung thinks Yoongi is an arrogant piece of shit (albeit a hot one), but as Jimin puts it, “Which memory is going to be more awesome to look back to when you’re eighty: the time when you went and fucked a rock star or the time when you didn’t and went home instead?”

Chasing the Sun by almostsophie1 [17.6k] [mature] ϟ

Yoongi calls it a phenomena.

Whatever it is, it brings Taehyung to Yoongi again and again, twining their lives together. If it's a kind of magic, it's not one that Yoongi understands. But it pulls Taehyung to him and him to Taehyung, and somehow that's all that matters.

Out to Lunch by roebling [19k] [teen]

Desperate times call for desperate measures, and Taehyung is not above taking a soul-killing office job solely for the benefits. The drab cubicle he now calls home is bad enough, but his new boss Yoongi is possibly a robot and definitely an asshole. Vision and dental coverage are enticing, but Taehyung’s not sure how long he can stick this out.

Siren of the Interstate by fringecity (indiachick) [23k] [mature] ϟ ♡ 

Yoongi is a traveling salesman circling the same set of weird towns and highways. Taehyung is a gas-station clerk in the middle of nowhere.

"Won’t space be lonely?” Yoongi asks. Taehyung shrugs—Yoongi can feel him move beside him, just a finger-breadth away. “It’s lonely down here too.”

Heart of the Matter by fringecity (indiachick) [33k] [teen] ♡ 

Disaster witch Kim Taehyung meets perfect senior Min Yoongi in the poison greenhouses of witch school. Years later, Taehyung owns a clinic that fixes hearts, Yoongi has a celebrated apothecary, and they (don't) get along.

Harry Potter-ish, but not in that universe.

A Breeze Blows, and My Heart Swells by roebling [36.6k] [teen] ϟ

Former Idol Min Yoongi is struggling to write his next album. He knows he'll never live up to the success of his first solo outing, and the pressure is getting to him. After a series of minor scandals, his manager and best friend Jimin ships him off to Harmony Retreat, an ecotourism resort deep in the Daegu countryside. With electronics strictly forbidden and no company but a rooster, a dog, and his eccentric host Kim Taehyung, Yoongi's not sure how he's going to get through this -- let alone write a hit song.

a spoonful of suga by ellievolia [38.6k] [explicit] ϟ ♡ 

“Good evening, ladies and gents. You’re listening to First, the premium digital station, and this is Spoonful of Suga, hosted by your very own Suga. Relax, let the music do its job. We’ll be taking requests later, but first, please enjoy the next uninterrupted half hour of music.”

Min Yoongi, a late night radio show host, has a regular caller. He also has busybody best friends, too much music on his playlists, dreams that feel too big for his heart, and a genius dog.

Kim Taehyung works nights as a mortuary cosmetologist, likes to listen to the radio, and he also has a genius dog.

Say My Name (And I'll Lie in the Sound) by fadetomorrow [51k] [explicit] ♡ 

Taehyung wakes up 500 years in the past and catches feelings for a Joseon prince.

The Romance of Old Clothes by fringecity (indiachick) [59.6k] [explicit] ♡ 

Min Yoongi is an art director with zero tolerance for bullshit, looking for ultimate perfection in everything he creates. Kim Taehyung is the co-owner of a vintage fashion boutique who talks to clothes and learns magic from Tumblr.

It’s a match made in the depths of hell.

[“Taehyung-ah,” Seokjin says, wily and soft, “You’re not scared of meeting Yoongi, are you?” Taehyung knows this is bait. Seokjin knows this is bait. Even Yeontan, running circles around Taehyung now, knows this is bait. His angry brows are very expressive, and right now they’re saying 'don’t take the bait, don’t be a stupid fish.' Taehyung's a stupid fish.]

#taegi fic recs #taegi recs #taegi fic #taegi fics #bts fic recs #btsficrecs #bts recs #taegi #taegi au #kim taehyung #min yoongi

[jernal]

A Day in Inpatient Eating Disorder Treatment

It’s Monday, weekday 1/5 (unless you’re still new or untrustworthy because then you’re here all weekend too; no leave), breakfast is at 08:00 but we have to be in the lounge at 07:00 for bloodwork. I set my alarm for 06:30. I need this. My alarm starts quiet and gets louder but my brain jolts awake at the first tone; I’m so worried my roommate Miranda is growing to resent me and my alarm. I shower at night so I can get up and out quietly. I’m always tip-toeing. I’m tired though so it takes me a minute to peel myself off of my starchy hospital sheets. I didn’t sleep well because overnight every 20 minutes a nurse walks into our room with her iPhone flashlight on, shining it in our faces and whispering “checks” as if I might not know why she’s here. Sometimes I hold my eyes wide-open, staring, just to unnerve the night nurses. There were two Code-Whites last night too. Alarms and screaming. In Ottawa, the Regional Centre for the Treatment of Eating Disorders (AKA: your only option) is made up of just six beds on the locked general psych ward. Fourth floor, north wing. Code White, Four North. Code Blanc, Quatre Nord. So I get up and tip toe out of my room and into the half-lit hallway. I no longer care about how socially unacceptable it is to walk around a place full of people in my sleep clothes and bare feet. I’m wearing a purple nightgown with thin straps and a low open back; it’s cute. I walk to the nurses station and stand by the reinforced glass window waiting to be noticed by the clerk. It’s Bruno. He never fails to have a positive attitude and light sense of humour - it must not be easy to do in a place like this. He knows that I’m here to ask for my curling iron or straightener. I switch it up every morning. He waves it in front of the glass like a treat in front of a dog. I am the dog. I have no power. He means it as a joke though and I do appreciate him. I have to say please and thank you to him - he doesn’t tolerate my teenager attitude; I’m 24, but living in an environment where I have no rights and am at the mercy of a wide variety of older-adults has made my sass-control regress a bit. While I wait for Bruno there’s a man with long dreadlocks wearing a hospital gown, spinning circles and popping wheelies in a wheelchair close by. I usually avoid interacting with general psych patients but he talks to me a bit. He tells me he killed someone and he’s here until he can be assessed, then he’s probably going back to jail. He seems more sane than the majority of gen psych patients and I’ve never see him before so I talk to him till I have my curling iron. I have to return it once it’s cooled, I’m not allowed to have cords. 

I sneak into our bathroom and close the door before I turn on the light. I’m really concerned with people potentially hating me, letting a stream of blinding light escape from the bathroom would make me easily hate-able. I do my hair and then sit on my bed to do my makeup. Miranda is up by now and I can turn on a light. I take time to do my makeup and my hair, I pick out an outfit and I don’t outfit-repeat for as long as possible. This seems stupid but looking like myself is the one of the few things I have control over. I will not become a sweatpant-wearing, dirty hair, slipper-footed hospital patient. I’m here for a long time and I’m going to gain weight and struggle with that - I don’t need to struggle with feeling ugly and frumpy too. I apply my usual false lashes. 

It’s 06:50 now. The six of us have an unspoken arrangement when it comes to bloodwork: first come, first serve, first leave. The two smokers, Nate and Amy are usually first. We meet in one of the two lounges. There are a couple psych patients in there too. One is an old man in his hospital gown going hard on the elliptical in the corner. There’s just the one exercise machine, it’s pretty random and for some of us it’s very hard to ignore; we could risk being discharged on the spot for getting on that thing. The room otherwise has a TV encased in plexiglass on the wall, a variety of leatherish couches, chairs, some tables, two vending machines and a small shelving unit with mushy ancient puzzles and boardgames. None of them have all their pieces, that’s a guarantee. The nurse is 15 minutes late, pushing her cart in casually like we haven’t been waiting anxiously to do bloodwork and get the fuck out. I don’t mind needles. I watch. Once I’m done I head to the set of double doors of 4 North. I have to have Bruno buzz the first set unlocked, walk into the vestibule, wait for it to close behind me and have him unlock the second set. I’m going to Critical Care; it’s a huge open space with the Tim Hortons (not the Second Cup that’s closer but yuckier) and giant windows and couches. I bring a book and sit with my coffee as long as possible. I won’t be alone again all day.

I come back up at 07:55 and wait in the hall outside our special EDP kitchen. The gen psych population eats in the lounge or in their rooms. Some of them are aware that we have our own special room but not aware enough to understand why. Sometimes they yell about it. Once, a non-verbal man came in and took the glass base out of our microwave and we had to pull an alarm because our nurse had left briefly. Our nurse this morning is a bitch. I can’t put it any nicer. Her name is Brenda and we got off on the most wrongest foot ever. There’s a general belief that people with eating disorders are sneaky, manipulative liars. I fancy myself a rational adult and choosing to recover in this way was hard enough; it makes no sense to me at all that I’d voluntarily leave my job and move onto this ward just to lie and sneak around and try to lose weight and be symptomatic. She didn’t talk to me or get to know who I am before deciding I was bad. Seeing her walk down the hall, realizing she was our nurse for the 7-3 shift, makes my stomach flip. It causes me more anxiety than the meal itself. I spoke with the ward manager a few weeks ago though, Brenda apologized to me. She was wrong and treating me unfairly, for no reason evident to me. She still makes me anxious though. She’s late but she doesn’t apologize. If we’re late we’re actually punished with having to eat more at snack time. Punishing an unrelated infraction with food - now that’s logical. During Breakfast, we turn a radio on so it’s not silent. Brenda talks though - she’s famous for it. She’ll keep talking even though no one responds. She’ll keep talking even after we’re finished and waiting for her to start check-out. Breakfast is one of the worst meals in the day. In the wise words of Nate, my best friend in this hell-hole, “this meal makes no sense”, and they’ll chastise us saying meals don’t have to ‘make sense’ but having toast, a muffin with cream cheese on it, an apple and a glass of milk is a lot. But wait, cause if you’ve ordered a bran muffin with cream cheese too often (‘too often’ is completely based on the opinion of the power-tripping dietician, Shelley) you might get a bran muffin and…. a piece of plastic-wrapped, room-temperature cheddar cheese. This meal makes NO sense. So you down each piece as quick as possible because, that’s totally normal and not disordered eating, right? Yuck. When we start passing our plates to the person closest to the dish cart Brenda wraps up her latest anecdote, sighs, then turns to her side and asks the nearest one of us how their breakfast was. We have to say something positive - how this helps our recovery, (lying when necessary to come up with an acceptable response) I’m not sure. I say “I liked the muffin.”. Nate raises his eyebrows a tiny bit, tilts his head sharply and says “my omelette was the same temperature as my milk” and I stifle a laugh. He is a barista in the real world and he has a chalkboard-painted travel mug. Every day he writes something on it, every day I look forward to it. Today he’s written “Day 42: one lump, or two? “‘six’” - Shelley”. Last Friday's mug said “Day 39: to have your pancake and eat it too”. 

The day is spent in groups. There’s CBT group, led by a Nurse Practitioner, Simin, who is almost like a psychologist… except not at all. There’s family and relationships groups: open-circle groups led by Stephanie, an actual psychologist who can only speak in that whispery therapeutic tone shrinks develop. These groups drive me insane because it’s completely unstructured and we might spend the hour listening to some rambly, whiney story about someone’s mom. I’m a bitch though. It helps that person to talk, but hearing about five other people’s problems doesn’t benefit me at all. I have a therapist in the real world, I want to exempt myself from these groups. There’s body image, the ONLY group led by the psychiatrist who runs the inpatient program. There’s DBT where we just watch one patient draw a chain of events and we analyze the shit out of it for an hour. There’s ‘take charge’ group led by Jodie, a social worker, where we made resumes…. (most of us are adults with jobs), There’s medical education run by Simin again, the NP, possibly the only valid group although she chooses a topic at random and it’s very basic information, I truly appreciated the group where she explained that ‘gluten-free’ diets are a bullshit trend. There’s a group led by Shelley the dietician where we learn about the food pyramid and how milk is good for you.

Lunch is at noon. 2 starches, 2 protein, 1 vegetable, 1 fat, 1 fruit, 2 dairy. Afterwards we do menu marking. We sit together and circle the meals on wide menu sheets that we’ll have for the next five days. It’s so stressful I know ahead of time to ask for a PRN. I request clonazepam. In my pre-treatment life, I used this med as a sleep aid. Now it doesn’t affect my wakefulness in the slightest. I’m so anxious it barely does anything at all. I struggle immensely writing out my future five days. Trying to do it ‘right’. Trying to pick the ‘right’ things. Trying not to forget any portions. I hand over the sheets of marked menus to Brenda or Shelley and they skim it and accept it or point out flaws. I don’t trust the acceptance anyway, Shelley might make changes later without my consent. Why bother giving us this ‘responsibility’ and ‘control’ and ‘choice’ if you’re going to make changes later without warning and our food comes up with something senseless and surprising that we’re forced to consume anyway? Mixing food & eating with a sense of insecurity and distrust. Excellent. Oh, did I mention that if we’re late to group, chewing gum etc, we might also be punished by having one menu taken away, meaning one of our days meals will be totally redone by whoever is in charge at the time. It’s no wonder that this task and these people are actually giving me bigger trust issues and general anxiety than I probably came in here with. 

We also meet with the psychiatrist, Dr. Proulx, on Mondays. This is the only time we see her besides Body Image group, DBT sometimes, and Feedback (which is Tuesdays, a long table with all staff and all 6 of us) and it is the only time we see anyone on EDP staff one-on-one… and even then, Simin The NP is usually present as well. Throughout my time in program I won’t ever understand the purpose of this ‘one-on-one’ meeting besides to discuss medication. When I was admitted Dr. Proulx questioned the medication I’m on and suggested going off of it and trying something more fitting. I’m on Limotrigine, an anti-convulsant used off-label as a mood stabilizer for bipolar and schizophrenia. She didn’t know me or my history, decided it was the wrong medication, but then didn’t do anything to change it.

At 3pm, the nurses switch shifts. It’s a gamble, there are a few nurses who are true gems and a few who are new and/or unfamiliar with the psych ward. None of the nurses are specialized in eating disorders, they’re just trained nurses who happened to end up on the psych ward and then happened to end up assigned to us. Despite the clear lack of formal training or understanding, some try to psychoanalyze or offer impromptu therapy sessions. On one of my first days, a filipino nurse with broken english came in to ask me how my first shower was. I wanted to tell her it was worse than the public pool showers I remember vaguely from my childhood swimming lessons but I figured she wouldn’t get my dark sense of humour and just nod along knowingly, supportively, ahh yes, I see. But does she see? My bathroom comes equipped with two milk crates stacked sideways forming a sort of shelving unit for us to store tiny hospital towels. I have my razor hidden between a few of them, I just can’t stand having to ask for it every second day and I am not a self-harm risk. None of us are; self-harm = automatic discharge. The bathroom has a stand up shower, no shower curtain, just an open doorway beside a metal shower head protruding from the wall. Our bathroom door has no locks and our room’s door has a towel wrapped around the handles, preventing it from closing fully. My roommate has a huge problem with the lack of security and lack of privacy. She sleeps in a sleeping bag on top of her bed. The filipino nurse asked me if I had any urges and on my first day I was naive enough to not know what the hell she meant, asking nervously knowing my roommate was on her bed behind our divider curtain, certainly hearing this exchange, and the nurse clarified by miming cutting her wrists. Yep, definitely not a mental health professional. At 3pm I’m overjoyed to see our nurse is Barb. Colleen is a close second best-case-scenario, a warm, smiley woman with a kind voice and a motherly demeanour. Barb is funny and also very kind. She holds one of us back at random after dinner to check-in and unlike every other nurses attempts at therapeutic conversations, I do enjoy chatting with Barb. She believes me when I tell her I didn’t mean to cut my meat up into ‘too-small’ pieces, she believes me when I tell her that’s not an ED behaviour I have. She believes me when I say I know what I’m doing here, what I mean to accomplish, what my goal is; I mean to spend my 8 weeks (that’s the max, I had decided right away) eating well-rounded meals and gaining some weight. I know I’m sick, I know I have an eating disorder and I know I’m doing serious damage to myself, she hears me when I say this. She believes me, and more importantly, she respects my decision, when I tell her I’m not looking to work on issues relating to past relationships, family, self. I’ve worked with half a dozen therapists by now, I know that 8 weeks in an artificial environment made up of 90% group therapy sessions is not the place for me to open up about any and all issues, I know it won’t help and could actually hurt. Barb hears me and believes me. I respect her for respecting me and treating me like a rational adult. Dr. Proulx tells me that anorexia is not rational, therefore I am not rational. It’s like she doesn’t think that eating disorders are mental illnesses, and I can be level-headed and rational about any other area of my life. I feel distrust and scrutiny from almost every direction. I’m a perfectionist and feeling like I am failing constantly is extremely distressing. Not feeling approval from those in charge of my care and recovery is really hard for me. 

Dinner with Barb is nice though, and often times meals are ok. The food isn’t all terrible. I did make a dire mistake of selecting a ‘salisbury steak’ not actually knowing what it was but knowing what steak was and knowing I was in The Red Meat Club (low iron) so I didn’t have a lot of choice anyway. Salisbury steak, the hospital kind at least, is something I don’t ever wanna see or smell .. or taste.. again. Imagine how hard it was finding a positive to share with the group after that surprise. I also tried my very first Shawarma here in the EDP kitchen. It was pretty good. We’re a bit lucky because EDP gets extra menu options and they’re good ones like Stir Fry of the Day, different sometimes but good almost always. Barb is nice but she’s just as strict as the rest of the team, things can still go bad real quick - like someone throwing a pudding cup across the table, scattering silverware and cups everywhere. I leave the kitchen when Barb said “ok you all can go except….” and she chooses someone she’s been wanting to chat with, hasn’t seen around much, etc. It’s not me today.

What’s difficult about the routine after dinner is that unless it’s the one day a week where we have our glorified arts and crafts group (therapeutic creative expression?) we have 2+ hours to kill. We have visitors or we hang out or just hide behind our curtains watching Netflix on our laptops. If we have arts and crafts, whichever nurse happens to be on shift that night picks an activity at random, I think they must google it 20 minutes prior, and we’re expected to do the activity as if it’s crucial to our progress and recovery. The only example I can even think of is when Brenda told us to “draw what having a life looks like” and in her better-than-thee way, left it at that. So poetic and profound and intentional. I basically regressed back to my oppositional high school self, took her directions exactly literally and sketched a perfect anatomical fetus in utero. That’s what it looks like when someone “has a life” inside them. Everyone else did what I knew she wanted; smiley faces and playing outside and friends and family and food and stuff. No. I’m an artist. I won’t conform. 

 Since dinner is at 5pm, night snack feels miles away at 8pm and that’s great except then we’ve eaten (sometimes several things) so late before bed it makes relaxing enough to sleep really difficult. I have graduated to a meal plan where even at snacks I have to consume what feels (to my body) like a LOT of food. Because I’m still not gaining weight as fast as they think I should be, I’ve had an Ensure Plus Calories added to my meal plan. I have a Chocolate Ensure Plus Calories with a pack of 4 two-bite brownies. At 8:00pm, after a solid dinner and a solid day of solid meals. I regret immensely choosing this too-chocolatey snack combo. No point wishing it wasn’t so, I sit down with my things. We all scan across the table to see what everyone else has. No one is jealous of me. We came in on our own and are waiting for Barb but she’s actually taking her dinner so Nurse Will comes in. Nurse Will is a hottie, or at least.. the hottie. There aren’t a lot to choose from (although, pro-tip: set your Tinder location settings to as narrow as possible and you’ll pick up a lot of nurses and doctors in here). Nurse Will has helped out with EDP nurses on occasion but never on snack with us. He seems a little uncomfortable, not sure what routine we follow. I open my brownie packet and discover there are 5 and not 4. I panic. I look around wildly trying to catch someone’s attention. Amy sees me first, sigh of relief, Mom might help me. My voice cracks and I tell Will there’s an extra brownie it’s only supposed to be 4. I know this is not an anorexia thing, but I know normal people would be delighted by an extra brownie, but normal people don’t also have to down the 400 calories of chocolate ensure I do. I’m already challenging myself so much and oh jesus god if he makes me eat the 5th one that I was never supposed to have I’ll throw a proper fit. I’ll get myself discharged. But he makes one joke about how ‘oh I guess you have to eat it!” but my look of terror had him quiet down and say it’s all good if they say so? Confirmation from my team that it’s ok if I don’t eat the 5th brownie. We do that too, sometimes someone has an issue and the team weighs in and says well I had that food too so it’s ok for you to, or maybe hmmm that is a lot of rice if you’re not ‘challenging’ this meal. My life was in their hands but they unanimously agreed that 4 is the normal in those bags. Safe. Well, still very full of heavy, rich, chocolatey calories. Camille gives me a shy smile and thumbs up from across the table. I remember the first time she did this to me, my first day here and I was pushed into lunch with 5 people I didn’t know, a room I’d never been in, a sandwich I didn’t like. And I cried. And cried and cried. Quietly as possible, because surely the other 5 people were uncomfortable. But I looked up and Camille was waiting for me to look up, her hand clenched in a thumbs-up of encouragement. I wanted to cry and run away and I was so embarrassed and this stranger was being more kind than she needed to be.

After snack I jump in the shower. As quickly as human possible because as I’ve mentioned, our shower is drafty, the shower head is such a little nub on the wall that you have to press your back flush with the cringey tiles to be under the shower head’s spray zone. I don’t stop thinking about what I’d do if the bathroom door suddenly flew open. After, I dry off using 3 scratchy little hospital towels and walk down the hall to drop em in a laundry bin. I grab new ones cause I need to rebury my razor in them. My MacBook and it’s charger are under my mattress. 

At night I usually hang out with Nate. We might go down so he can smoke and for my last dose of fresh air for the night. Back on the ward, we sit up on the counter outside my room and watch the nightly traffic go by. We read IKEA catalogues, make up backstories for patients. We watch this NBA sized guy pacing slowly, dragging his catatonic feet but managing to have feverish conversations with the people in his head. Otherwise, the hallway traffic tour slows and we have some quiet. We sit in the lounge watching the other nurses all doing checks together and chatting. Eventually Nurse Jillian will firmly encourage us to go to our rooms. It’s probably 1am but I’ll be up at 6:30am and tip toe out of bed to start this all over again. 

Except tomorrow is Tuesday, We’ll have Feedback at a round table with the whole EDP staff, all 6 of us, and go round the table one-by-one one staff delivering the feedback of all to the one patient. Feedback is maybe more stressful than Menu Marking but not usually for me. I go into Feedback having faith that these professionals discussed and shared their thoughts, that I can’t get bad feedback because I’ve done nothing but try to do everything right. Feedback can change everything for some… not for me…..  until the time that it does. 

But that’s another Day in Inpatient Eating Disorders Treatment. A Tuesday

#words #edp #anorexia #eatingdisorder #inpatient #ed inpatient #ed treatment

[imjustthemechanic]

Natalie Jones and the Golden Ship

Part 1/? - A Meeting at the Palace Part 2/? - Curry Talk Part 3/? - Princess Sitamun Part 4/? - Not At Rest Part 5/? - Dead Men Tell no Tales Part 6/? - Sitamun Rises Again Part 7/? - The Curse of Madame Desrosiers Part 8/? - Sabotage at Guedelon Part 9/? - A Miracle Part 10/? - Desrosiers’ Elixir Part 11/? - Athens in October Part 12/? - The Man in Black Part 13/? - Mr. Neustadt Part 14/? - The Other Side of the Story Part 15/? - A Favour Part 16/? - A Knock on the Window Part 17/? - Sir Stephen and Buckeye Part 18/? - Books of Alchemy Part 19/? - The Answers Part 20/? - A Gift Left Behind Part 21/? - Santorini Part 22/? - What the Doves Found Part 23/? - A Thief in the Night Part 24/? - Healing Part 25/? - Newton’s Code Part 26/? - Montenegro Part 27/? - The Lost Relic Part 28/? - The Homunculinus Part 29/? - The End is Near Part 30/? - The Face of Evil Part 31/? - The Morning After Part 32/? - Next Stop Part 33/? - A Sighting in Messina Part 34/? - Taormina

They finally catch up with Madame Desrosiers, and she has something surprising to say.

As they rumbled along the road to Taormina, Sir Stephen refused to let his argument against archaeology go.  “For another thing,” he went on, “the people and places you go to see did not ask to be objects of wonder.  Your Princess Sitamun, from what I have read of the Egyptians, hoped to have her funerary temple tended while her body and its sarcophagus rested undisturbed.  Or think of the villages we saw on the island of Santorini.  The people living there do nothing but serve the needs of visitors.  They have no industries of their own – I heard a woman tell her tour group that even water must be brought in, for there is none native to the island.”

“Pilgrimage towns were the same,” said Nat.  “During the high middle ages, tourism was almost the only industry in Santiago de Compostela.”

“But the people there were doing God’s work,” Sir Stephen said.  “And the relics of Saint James were meant to be seen, so that they could perform their miracles.  Saint James himself, were he able to watch, would be pleased.  Could you say the same thing of the Egyptians?”

Natasha just sighed.  They’d had this argument a dozen times before and they would doubtless have it again.  Sir Stephen just didn’t like digging up the dead.

“You can’t speak for them,” Jim spoke up.  “You’re not an ancient Egyptian.  You only know what you think.”

“I think I have a better understanding of the peoples of old than any of you,” said Sir Stephen, in a voice that rejected the entire twenty-first century.

“Princess Sitamun lived nearly three thousand years ago,” said Natasha.  “You were born nearly a thousand years ago, but that’s still closer to now than it was to her.  Even if it wasn’t, two millennia is such a long time, I don’t think it matters.  None of us know what the ancient Egyptians would have thought of us.”

“Then none of us should presume to speak for them,” said Sir Stephen.

“Let it go,” said Sharon, patting his arm.  “You won’t convince them and they won’t convince you.  Personally, I think the Egyptians don’t care, because they’re dead.”

Mount Etna itself had not been visible from Messina, only its towering column of cloud.  As they got closer, with dusk closing in, the volcano itself emerged from among the hills, taller than all of them and with its peak shrouded in mist lit eerily red from within.  The town of Taormina below it was a tiny place among a dozen similar tourist towns that looked down on the beach.  It was all arranged along one narrow, meandering medieval street behind a city wall, where shops sold everything from cheesy souvenir magnets and keychains to expensive designer jewelry, beach gear to hand-made marionettes and everything in between.

With the volcano currently putting on such a show, the population of the little town had swollen to capacity and beyond.  Not only was the main street full of shoppers, diners, and people enjoying various entertainments, roofs and balconies were covered with people, many of them with binoculars to view the mountain peak.  The whole place felt like it was having a party… but there was also an undercurrent of something much more ominous.  In particular, there were signs set up at the sides of the roads to direct people who were evacuating from higher up the slopes.

The six members of the CAAP and Jim made their way through the crowds of tourists, locals, and intermittent stray dogs to the Hotel Isabella.  Like the Europa Palace in Messina, this one had four stars, but as rather unprepossessing from the outside.  Its façade was a narrow stone building with an arched door, wedged in between a place selling football merchandise and another offering designer purses.  Nat went to the front desk, and asked if Mrs. Desrosiers were there.

“You missed her,” the clerk, a balding man wizened from a lifetime in the sun, replied.  It had become a depressingly familiar phrase, but what followed gave Nat renewed hope.  “Only by about ten or fifteen minutes, though – she met a friend and they went out for supper.  I don’t know when they’ll be back, but we have a bar if you’d like to wait for her.”

“What friend?” asked Natasha.  He couldn’t mean Newton, could he?  Every indication thad been that the two alchemists despised one another.  If it weren’t Newton, though, that suggested there was a third person involved here and that was the last thing they needed.  “Was it a German, with long white hair and a very ugly hat?”

“It was an older man,” the clerk said, “but I didn’t hear his voice enough to know if he were German.”

Newton was far from being history’s only famous alchemist.  Desrosiers had said her husband was dead, but history and legend were full of characters like Paracelsus or Agricola who, if alchemy were a real thing, might well be still around causing trouble.  That was a depressing thought, and it was mainly on that account that Nat decided to stick to believing Desrosiers’ friend was Newton until she saw evidence to the contrary.

“We’re gonna have to split up and search again,” she told her companions.  “If we’re only a few minutes behind her, we can’t lose the opportunity.”

“Somebody’s gonna need to stay here in case she comes back,” said Allen.

“Then you do that,” Nat told him.  “The rest of us will have to search the nearby restaurants.”  Unlike in Kotor and Santorini, most of the restaurants in Taormina were indoors, rather than spilling out into the streets.  There simply wasn’t room for them here.  That would slow them down considerably.

Sharon and Sir Stephen went together, of course, as did Sam and Clint, who seemed to have bonded in mutual mistrust of Jim.  That left Jim himself with Natasha – and that, she realized, meant they were going to have to talk about their sexual dalliance and what the rest of the group thought of it.  Nat would definitely pass on what Allen had told her, but she wondered whether Jim would believe her.  Would he think she was just sparing his feelings?

Sure enough, once they were away from the others, Jim brought it up almost immediately.

“I think I need to apologize,” he said.  “I didn’t realize they were gonna be so… it was selfish of me to ask you, and…”

“Don’t,” said Nat.  “I can’t take any more apologies.  You asked my permission, I gave it to you, we both enjoyed it, and they don’t care as much as it looked like.  I talked to Dad about it.”

It seemed he did believe the explanation when she passed it on, because he looked relieved.  “That’s… still really awkward.  But I wouldn’t want your colleagues to think less of you.”

“Oh, they wouldn’t,” said Nat.  “Trust me, I wouldn’t let them.”

Jim had to smile a little at that.  “I believe you.”

Meanwhile, Natasha had realized that the two of them were clearly marching down the street with a purpose – they were not blending in.  “We look too much like we’re on a mission,” she said.  “Slow down, and put an arm around me.”

Jim laughed.

“Seriously,” she gave him a poke.

“Just for the mission, huh?” asked Jim.  He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her in, until their hips touched.  “Wouldn’t want to stand out.”

Nat smiled, too – she could have stopped herself, but right now it could be part of their act.  She rarely got to enjoy this kind of closeness.  Allen hugged her, but there was still a level on which he had to love her because he was, in whatever sense the word was meaningful, her father.  It was possible to argue that Jim didn’t have much choice, either.  He had no family or friends of his own, so if he needed human contact, his options to get it were extremely limited.

Yet at the same time… this was nice.  Maybe the honesty had something to do with it.  As Natasha had noted earlier, she rarely got to be honest with people.  Allen encouraged her to be honest no matter how terrible the truth might be, and yet she rarely did, just because she was afraid of hurting him with it.  Now, here she was and here was Jim, and they were both whatever they were.  If either of them had wanted to get close to anybody else, they would have had to lie about it, but not with each other.

Nat’s phone buzzed.  She stopped and pulled it out, and found a text message from Sharon.

We’ve got Desrosiers, it said.  She’s alone at the sushi place above the bus parking.

On our way, Nat texted back.  “Looks like we have to turn around,” she told Jim.

“Yeah, I saw,” he said.  “Does this mean we stop blending in?”

“Of course not,” Nat said, and patted his hand on her hip, indicating she wanted it to stay right there.

Just outside the city gate, next to the self-consciously spectacular Excelsior Palace Hotel, was a very tiny mobile midway consisting of a merry-go-round and a bouncy castle in a car park.  Just beyond those was a petrol station with a row of bank machines and a couple of elevators to go down to the parking garage below.  Beside that was a little restaurant serving sushi and antipasto on a balcony overlooking the bay, and Madame Desrosiers was sitting there as if waiting for somebody.

She was, as always, flawlessly dressed in a flowing gray dress and very tall heels, with a tortoiseshell comb in her hair.  She was sipping at a glass of water while staring out across the water at the lights on the Calabrian coast.  Every so often, she would glance at her watch, but she kept her back to them at all times, which Natasha thought was suspicious in itself.  If she were really expecting somebody, she ought to be facing the car park so she could see them coming.

Natasha approached.  The others, who’d been waiting for her, Jim, and Allen to join them, followed her.  When she got close to Desrosiers’ table, the woman looked up and said, “oh, it’s you again.”

“You say that as if you haven’t been sitting here for half an hour waiting for us,” said Nat.

Desrosiers sighed.  “Very well, sit down,” she said.  “I was worried I’d made it too difficult for you to find me, but I thought if I made it easy you’d get suspicious.”

“You’re right,” Nat said.  “Right now I’m extremely suspicious.”

They arranged themselves around her.  Natasha, Jim, and Sir Stephen sat with Madame Desrosiers, the other four at the table next to them.  Nat did notice that although her back was to the door, Desrosiers was also sitting closest to it, with the least furniture in the way.

She didn’t try to run immediately, though.  Instead, she looked at Jim and nodded.  “How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Fine so far,” he replied.  “I’d like to stay that way.”

Desrosiers shook her head.  “There’s not much to be done for that.  You can only continue to exist by being regularly replenished – and even then, you won’t change the way a human being would.  You won’t get older, your hair won’t grow… you will look the way you do now for however long you last.”

Jim looked crushed.  “Why didn’t you tell me that before?” he asked.

“Because you were already upset,” Desrosiers said.

He must feel like yet another bit of humanity had been stolen from him, Natasha thought.  She felt sorry for him – and yet they had to stick to the point and learn as much as they could before Desrosiers ran off again.  “Why did you want to meet us?” Nat asked.  “Was it to give Jim more doses?”  If it were only that, she would be… delighted on one level, deeply disappointed on another.

“No.  The rest is at home in my workshop and I can’t spare it on short notice,” said Desrosiers.  “I’m here to ask a favour.  You have Neustadt’s notebooks.  That’s why you went to Santorini, isn’t it?  I need them.”

#fanfic #natasha romanov #steve rogers #bucky barnes #sharon carter #sam wilson #clint barton

[jennylamb2006]

Decline 45th High School Reunion

I cannot attend the reunion for reasons cited below but rest assured that my spirit will be there.

I remember attending 9th grade home room in the fall of 1969 as a skinny 14 year old not knowing what my future will be at East Paterson High School. Well I am 63 years old and the results are nearly in.

I had just finished 8 years at St. Anne's Parochial School. I had a good friend named George Wolfe who had dated Rhonda Frattolillo. He attended Fair Lawn High School so I felt lost in the new environment.

Growing up on 18th Avenue I had also known Tommy Moriarty. I spoke to a childhood friend the other day. She told me about the passing of Tommy who died at the age of 62. Tommy had down syndrome. He lived with his rather large family on 16th Avenue. My memory is hazy but some of the details of my childhood have stayed with me. We grew up together for the period of roughly 1965-1968. Many hours were spent sleigh riding on the small hill located near Tommy's house on 16th Avenue. One day my family's dog ran out the door and it seemed like at least 20 children including Tommy tried to catch him. Pepper ran into the woods near the Garfield Water Works. Eventually despite the snow and other dangers Pepper was returned. I asked my Mom about Tommy being different and at the time the term retarded was used. My Mom who was generally soft spoken told me that God made all children in his likeness. Soon after this I was standing on top of 16th Avenue hill waiting to sleigh down it. Tommy was there and asked me if I was his friend. We rode down the hill on the sleigh together. Rest in peace Tommy.

At East Paterson High School I remember being called to Dr Varese the Principal's office in 1972. I was nervous but he congratulated me on receiving a New Jersey State Scholarship. I believe my father who was a Veteran of World War II at Pearl Harbor had something to do with it. I did not serve in the military the draft had ended when I became eligible. Besides I had seen enough fighting outside the third wing of the high school to realize that it was just plain stupid.

I was interested in sports especially baseball throughout my high school years. I am enclosing a picture of my high  school jacket. I was too nervous to ask any girls to the proms but if I had the nerve I would have asked Roberta Fisher. Please hug her for me at the reunion. She is a good friend and a wonderful lady. I remember wrestling with you and realizing that you were a skilled wrestler. I remember playing one on one Basketball with Tony Zappala and losing but I was not intimidated by his New Jersey All State superior skills. I remember pitching my first inning in Varsity baseball and realizing that my 80 MPH fastball was not enough to win a ticket to the Major Leagues. But I loved the competition and had some meager success to build on.

After high school I attended College and continued to play baseball. In 1974 I pitched a three hitter against the 11th ranked community college in the nation putting our team in first place. I remember Dennis Walling hitting a double off me in the first inning. When I walked back to the bench my coach told me he was a really good hitter and somehow I got him out the next three times I faced him. Walling went on to have a Hall of fame career in the major leagues. But my ego grew really large that day. I wanted to pitch the 2nd game of the doubleheader but the coach thought otherwise.

In 1974 I heard Paul McCartney’s Band on the Run and my life was changed. If you are ever in a bad mood play this song and you will know what I mean.

In 1976 I dated the first love of my life named Linda Lane. Her father was a wealthy businessman from Paterson New Jersey. Linda attended College in Pennsylvania. I remember driving down to see her and wondering what the future holds for me. In 1977 I proposed to Linda at Valley Forge State Park. She said yes if we could resolve our religious differences. This was true love only encumbered by my Roman Catholic faith vs. her born again Christian beliefs despite the fact that her father was Jewish and her mother was Roman Catholic.

I broke up with Linda and decided to take my 1968 Chevy Nova (I had rebuilt the engine in the snow of the 1977 winter) and move to California. I lost the opportunity for inherited wealth for the California dream by humming the Beach boys songs of the 60's as my friend Lamont and I drove to Long Beach California. I also had an Accounting degree from William Paterson College and $5,000.00. I planned to retire by age 40 with $100,000.00. I remember saying that I had no intention of reading another book until I have some fun. While we looked for apartments I found one but when Lamont turned up to sign the papers it was rented. I found another and made sure Lamont was not there to sign papers. There are bigots apparently all of the country. I really hate bigots.

In late 1978 I met a California girl with a golden smile named Laura Lambert that has graced my life for 40 years. That year I also met Ron Beaman from Nebraska. We have been friends all these years which I consider myself lucky. The next 8 years were spent living in a two bedroom apartment one block from the beach playing basketball with about 40 friends every weekend. I owned a small accounting business.

In 1980 I cried when John Lennon died.

In 1986, Laura and I bought our first piece of Real Estate, a one bedroom condo. It was a bit intimidating. By 2008 we bought/sold over 100 properties, so much for being nervous.

In the late 80’s I met the first of two attorneys that I am also friends with. Gene Goldman is a good attorney whose only deficiency is being weak in billable hours. I believe his calming disposition helped me in dealing with homeowners associations.

By 1994 Laura and I had accumulated 10 pieces of real estate and I had obtained real estate Brokers licenses in California and Nevada. My first real estate sale was to a single mom. She cried when I gave her the keys and I did too when I received a check for $2,200.00 for about 4 hours of work. It seemed so easy. At the loan signing her parents apologized for her being gay. I did not know what to say to the assholes. I wanted the deal to go through so I kept my mouth shut. In 1996 my daughter Rhiannon was born (named after the Fleetwood Mac song of 1977).

In 2002 I attended two concerts, Paul McCartney and Bruce Springsteen in Las Vegas. This makes up for not seeing Bruce Springsteen at Mr. D’s on the corner of Market Street and Midland Avenue. I realized that Paul McCartney and the Beatles were God’s gift to mankind. How lucky were we to experience this?

By 2004 I had a million dollars in the bank and 8 properties. I would go down to the Las Vegas courthouse to buy foreclosures. One property I did not have any information on started bidding at $30,000. I knew the people bidding were attorneys who regularly bought so when the bidding reached $400,000 I started chirping in. I bought it sight unseen for $425,000.00. As I paid the lady one of the attorneys said he was upset and wanted it. I drove my Lexus quickly to the property which was in a gated community. It was a fixer upper that I hoped to sell $575,000.00 and make $30,000.00 on. Well in 4 months after remodeling the price had soared to $675,000.00. I had made $100,000.00 on a house bought sight unseen. My ego grew again.

In 2005 at Christmas time I walked into Wells Fargo Bank in Henderson Nevada with my daughter Rhiannon and asked the teller how much the Wells Fargo Stuffed Stagecoach was. She responded by giving it to my daughter telling her that I was their biggest customer. My ego expanded again.

In 2006 Laura and I met Lon and Mary Searle and their fine family. They are mormons that have great values. Of course we do not agree on Joseph Smith.

By 2008 my material wealth had diminished considerably but luck would have it I found out that my ancestors arrived at Jamestown Virginia in 1629 and I was the 12th generation. I decided to take Laura and Rhiannon and move to Williamsburg Virginia. There was no stopping my love for United States History which began reading about Ethan Allen and the Green mountain Boys at St. Anne's in 2nd grade. Sure Kennedy was shot that same year but if the truth be known it wasn't Oswald who did it. There was a severe recession on except I did not notice it because of my families history unfolded before my eyes. I found the original family cemetery and plantation and a historical figure named Dred Scott who did not have his birthplace recognized. I fixed that in a couple of years by connecting two documents 40 years and 700 miles apart. Isn’t history grand?

In 2009 I met Richard Lincoln Francis, clerk of the Southampton County Court in Virginia. He is descended from Abraham Lincoln and I consider him a good friend who is qualified to be President of the United States. He is my East coast attorney, we have had more fun than should be allowed. To give you an example we had a trial over a Hines lucky rock that rivals the OJ Simpson trial of the century. I have taught Rick the 8 things to drive a golf ball successfully. He is a terrible student who has a tendency to make phone calls while teeing off. I believe this violates some rules.

Since moving to Williamsburg Virginia I have written five books. My disdain for reading that occurred after college was over. The second book involving the research to discover Dred Scott's birthplace is being converted into a movie. It is entitled Walk With You, the story of Dred Scott and the Blow Family of Virginia. It is about 8 children 6 white and 2 black that grew up and bonded together to take on the President and Chief Justice of the United States. I have met Hollywood stars including Ed Asner. My time is currently possessed in seeing this venture is completed to fruition.

My life has been blessed by God and living in the greatest country in  the world. I have lived the American dream which consists of association with all ethnic groups. My first twenty two years living in New Jersey were great. My next twenty three years in California were better. My next 8 years in Henderson Nevada were living the dream. The next 5 years in Williamsburg were amazing. And the last few years touring the United States with Laura are the best ever. Opportunities if you use education to  advance yourself. If these members of our class are among the living: Robert Motta, Robert Hurley, and Joseph Lasica, please give them my best.

Our democracy is currently under attack by a greedy lying moron who has no business occupying the world's beacon of freedom head office. This will change soon. If any of the morons who voted for this clown have issue I will be happy to meet them outside the 3rd wing at EPHS and give them a taste of true Democracy from someone who has lived it. I have had only two fights in my life. I am undefeated and plan to stay that way.

Warmest Regards,

Jeffrey Allen Hines

Class of 1973

#walkwithyou

#neveragain

#bluewave2018

[mel-the-fangirl]

In The Rain - Requested

Sam Holland x Reader

Words: 2,513

Requested by: anonymous (anon, please forgive me. please.)

“Could I have a Sam Holland imagine where they have been dating for 4 years but know each other forever(Him and the reader are 20) and he takes her to their spot (your pick as long as it’s outside) and he has this plan in his head to propose to hear, but when he is about to talk it starts raining and he gets sort of sad, but then it’s all fluffy and he proposes?”

Good GOD this took way longer than it needed to. Please support me huhuhu I’m still here guys, I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking rusty please bear with me on this one, and please. TELL ME HOW I DID. COMMENT. MESSAGE ME. PLS LOVE ME HUHU I’M SO SORRY GUYS

——————————————————————

You’ve been with Sam Holland for four amazing years, but you’ve known him even longer than that and it was such a beautiful thing to have your relationship progress so naturally. When you two met as children, you two clicked instantly, almost like it was always meant to be. As you two grew older, you never admitted it but you were afraid that you two would grow apart, that Sam would come into his own and forget all about you, replace you with better, more interesting people.

But that never happened.

Regardless of what you thought, you and Sam grew even closer as the years went on. You both knew that you had found something special in each other and nothing could take that away from you.

When you reached the scary and somewhat predictable world of high school, one thing that you never saw coming (but everyone else did) happened. Sam, your best friend, your confidante, your shoulder to cry on, asked you out. On a date.

And that was kind of the shock of your life, I mean, who would’ve thought? But like all things surrounding you and Sam, it just made sense and most of all, it felt right. Besides, you couldn’t really say no to your best friend, could you?

Your first date with Sam was one of the days of your life you would never forget. He took you to the cinema, picking that cheesy romantic comedy you’d been going on and on about for weeks, he didn’t care for it but just seeing you laugh and swoon at all the right moments was more than enough for him. After the film, Sam took you to dinner, holding your hand all the way and wrapping his coat around you when the night got too cold.

The only problem was that you were so nervous throughout the whole thing that Sam had to steal some fries off of your plate just to get you to act like yourself again.

“Oi, put it back where you got it, fucker.” you growled at him

“There she is.” Sam grinned broadly, placing the offending fries back on your plate

With a roll of your eyes and a smirk on your lips, you two eased back into your usual banter but of course the whole situation was anything but usual. Somewhere behind the laughter and the playful shoves was a subtle electricity wrapping around the two of you like a vise, it wasn’t much but it was a glimpse of something more to come.

After dinner ended, you walked to the park and honestly it was such a cliché, would you believe it actually rained? You two were soaking wet, running through the slick grass, hand in hand, laughter echoing all around you.

You two finally found shelter underneath a tall sycamore tree and you promptly wrung the rain water out of your hair while Sam shook himself out like a dog, effectively soaking you again.

“Sam!” you squealed as the cold water hit you

He laughed heartily and you couldn’t help but join in. When the laughter finally bubbled down into breathless chuckles, your eyes met underneath the glow of the moonlight escaping through the trees.

Sam felt like he was floating up in the night sky. His head was light and his freckled cheeks were burning, all that from one night with you. He didn’t know what came over him or how he found the strength to place his shivering hands upon your crimson tinted cheeks, but he did.

You exhaled sharply when his palms made contact, sending sparks and shivers throughout your body. You looked up at him, confused.

If the sound of the rain wasn’t so loud, you were sure Sam would be able to hear how hard your heart was pounding against your chest. It wasn’t any better for him, either. He was so nervous, he felt as if your beautiful eyes were boring holes into his own.

But it was now or never.

So he asked,

“Can I kiss you?”

His face was already mere inches from yours and his breath touched your lips as he spoke. It was dizzying. You nodded your head almost imperceptibly, frozen in the moment.

Slowly, Sam finally closed the distance between you, pressing his lips against yours.

Fireworks exploded behind your eyelids as your eyes fluttered shut. How on earth were his lips so warm in this weather? It seeped into your body as your lips melded together in perfect sync.

You two pulled apart sooner than both of you would’ve liked. You rested your forehead against his and shut your eyes, trying to steady your frantic heart. Unable to contain himself any longer, Sam cupped your cheeks in his hands and pulled you into a fiery and passionate kiss. Finally, you pull apart and open your eyes.

“Wow.” you mumbled under your breath

“I think we should do that again.” Sam chuckled, not wasting another minute before pulling you into him once more.

That was how it all began.

Four years later, on the day of your anniversary, you stood at the ticket booth in the same movie theatre Sam took you to on your very first date, with your hand in his. You watched him as he bought your tickets, his auburn hair flopping against his forehead in that messy way only he could pull off, his emerald eyes were shining underneath the glare of the fluorescent lights.

He just got more handsome as the years went by.

How on earth did you get so lucky?

The sound of his dorky laugh brought you back to the present, just in time to see the ticket clerk hand the tickets over to your freckled boyfriend. With a cheeky smile, he tugged your arm in the direction of your designated cinema number.

“What was so funny back there?” you asked Sam inquisitively, noting that he was more fidgety than usual

“Huh? Nothing! Just a good joke.”

Your eyes narrowed into tiny slits as you watched him fumble with your movie tickets, handing them to the attendant with shaky hands, you observed.

Oh, something was definitely up. You so hoped that Harry didn’t put him up to any pranks, the gall of those twins really if they were going to prank you on your anniversary. As you entered, you swiveled your head around the dimly lit area, checking for any sign of Harry, or even Tom. But strange enough, there wasn’t anyone in there.

“Are we too early?” you whispered to Sam as he led you to your seats

He shrugged his coat off, steeling his face into something more nonchalant.

“Uhhh, no I don’t think so, darling. I think we’re right on time.” he said, crossing his legs and placing his hand in yours

“Okay, what is going on?”

Your question was immediately ignored as the lights shut off and the movie began but even as the first notes of the film’s opening sequence began, you kept your eyes on him. What on earth was he up to?

And where the hell was everybody else in this fucking theatre?

You began looking around the room again to see if anyone else had come in or if either Harry or Tom was lurking around, hovering over your seat with a bucket of water or something to that effect. When you found no one, you settled back in your seat and put your hand back in Sam’s.

Focusing on the film in front of you, you were more than a little confused to hear and see a familiar scene playing out on the giant screen. A huge grin began to spread on your lips as you turned to Sam once again.

“I thought we were seeing something new?” you asked him, realising what he’d done

He let out a little chuckle, turning as well so that you were both facing each other.

The faintest and softest of smiles was playing on his lips, he looked into your eyes for a second before placing his lips against yours.

“Happy anniversary, darling girl.” Sam mumbled against your lips before pulling away

It was nothing short of amazing how after all these years, he could set your body on fire even with the most delicate kiss.

With the very same cheesy romantic comedy you watched on your first date playing on screen, you were reminded of just how much that day meant to the both of you. After the movie ended, you found yourselves on the same road you walked all those years ago.

It was silent, the both of you caught up in old memories. None of you seemed to be aware of where you were going. You two walked and walked, hand in hand, plainly enjoying each other’s quiet company.

You and Sam reached the park, the addictive smell of dewy grass mixed with the fresh night air mingled together, permeating your senses. Neither of you said a word, but almost certainly, you both knew where you were headed.

Underneath the sycamore tree.

Branches stretching and reaching towards the starry night sky, its leaves almost kissing the moon. The two of you sat underneath it, leaning against the trunk.

“You’ve been awfully quiet.” Sam observed, nudging his leg against yours

“So have you.” you replied, nudging back

“I guess I’ve just been thinking.”

“Oh, that’s no good.”

“Hey!” he frowned at you for a millisecond before tackling you down onto the soft grass, his fingers unleashing no mercy on your sides

“Sam, please no!” you begged in between your maniacal laughter

He had you rolling all around the grass, pieces of it stuck to your hair and on your clothes, lucky you weren’t wearing anything white. His attack was severe and you were gasping for air until in a flash, his hands were gone.

You were left with your back on the ground, your eyes facing towards heaven. As you took in lungfuls of air, you watched, entranced, as the stars danced in the sky. It just couldn’t have gotten any better at that moment.

The events of today took you on a trip down memory lane, you felt like you were sixteen years old again, holding Sam’s hand throughout the day, sneaking little kisses in the movie theatre, laughing like mad..

“This has been the perfect day, Sam. Thank you so much.” you said, hoping he would hear you despite how breathless you were

When he didn’t respond, you sat up and almost fell back down at what you were seeing.

Sam, a little pale, with one knee against the grass, holding a little velvet box in his shaking hands.

“Sam..” you drew a long breath in. Your heart was pounding and you hadn’t even recovered from his tickle assault.

“Y/N,” he began, his deep voice wavering ever so slightly

You watched him in a state of shock, your hand was covering your mouth and your chest was rising and falling rapidly. He took your stunned silence as his cue to begin.

“Y/N, my darling, my love, the light of my fucking life, I love you. And I know that in the majority of proposals, they always say stuff about looking to the future and things like that but I want to take a moment to look back,” Sam gave you a wobbly smile as his eyes began to shine with unshed tears, he didn’t want to cry, not yet.

“My entire life so far, I’ve spent it with you. We’ve had the most incredible adventures together, and I want you to know that I am so grateful for you, your presence, your advice, all of it. And I-”

Just as the first tear dripped down the side of his cheek, a crack of lightning shot through the sky, and pelting rain came not long after. He stood up abruptly, looking all around him as what he thought was going to be the perfect setting for his proposal turned into a fucking huge muddy puddle.

“Fucking shit.” he muttered in sheer annoyance, running a hand through his dampening hair

“Excuse me?” you called out to him, arms crossed against your chest

He spun on his heel and walked briskly to you, placing his hands on the sides of your arms.

“I am so sorry, Y/N. I didn’t think it was going to rain and I just wanted everything to be perf-” you cut him off by placing a finger to his lips

“Take the knee, Holland.” you commanded him

Sam looked into your shimmering eyes, smiled, and plunged a knee into the muddy ground without hesitation. You nodded your head in approval, struggling to maintain your composure as you took in the sight of him kneeling in front of you, ring box in his hand, and love glowing in his beautiful teary eyes.

“Please continue.”

“Right. So, as I was saying,” he chuckled, wiping at his eyes with his free hand

“I just can’t describe the feeling you give me. It’s like the feeling you get when your favourite song plays on the radio, the sky is that colour that makes you whip your phone out to take a picture, and the air isn’t too cold or too hot, but just perfect so that the wind can blow against your face,”

He took a deep shaky breath. Your heart was being pulled in so many different directions as you watched him start to cry freely, putting every emotion he was feeling into his proposal.

“God,” Sam sighed, shaking his head. “Y/N, you just make me forget everything that’s going on in my life and I don’t care how cliché it sounds, but you make me so incredibly happy.”

He looked up at you with more tears in his eyes and opened the tiny box. Nestled inside in a bed of black velvet, was the most gorgeous ring you’ve ever seen. It took your breath away and more tears began to streak down your cheeks with lightning speed, mingling with the rain.

“Marry me?” Sam whispered just above the roar of the downpour

You two were soaking wet and Sam’s trousers were getting muddy but neither of you cared. You took one look at your dashingly handsome fiancé and nodded your head, droplets of rain water shaking off of the ends of your hair.

“YES!” you screamed, jumping up and down where you stood

“Yes?!” Sam echoed ecstatically, getting up and immediately taking you in his arms

“Oh my God!” he laughed happily, slipping the ring onto your finger with ease despite his shaking hands

“Perfect fit.”

Sam held you gently, cupping your face with one hand. He gazed at you lovingly, the woman of his dreams, his best friend, his fianceé.

With the incredible thought in his mind that he was actually going to marry you, Sam wasted no time in placing his lips on yours. And just like the first time and every time he kissed you, sparks flew in every direction, and the world slowly disappeared around you.

——————————————————————

permanent taglist: @theholyholland, @optimisticbee, @johnxstilinski, @lyssamorgan, @osterfield-holland, @planet-holland-writing, @draqcnheartstrinq, @leahhensonx, @twong2001, @cubedtriangle, @sebenagomez, @aussie-mantle, @the-crime-fighting-spider, @writerunhuman

(please message me if you’d like to be added!)

#sam holland #sam holland x reader #sam holland fic #sam holland imagine #tom holland #harry holland #hollander #quacksons #holland family #requested #requests are open #im sorry im sorry

[trb-reacts]

The Raven Boys, Chapter 4

Gansey had once told Adam that he was afraid most people didn’t know how to handle Ronan. What he meant by this was that he was worried that one day someone would fall on Ronan and cut themselves. 

I love this so much, not least because I am very biased for Ronan right now and he just... like [Gansey] was worried that one day someone would fall on Ronan and cut themselves. Like wow, poetry in motion and double meanings. Why am I sensing a Ronan/Adam vibe here?

I mean, I was about to skip over it but: Believing in the supernatural, tolerating Gansey’s troubled relationship with money, and co-existing with Gansey’s other friends. The former two were problematic only when they took time away from Aglionby, and the latter was only problematic when it was Ronan Lynch. There’s definitely something about Ronan and Adam together? Adam seems very much like the guy that also gets along with everyone else in a very distant polite way, except when Ronan Lynch brings out very true and undeniable genuine feelings in him (the good, the bad and especially the ugly).

Or maybe I’m just choosing my ship too soon.

Girlfriend, in fluttering white silk, looked a lot like Brianna, or Kayleigh, or whoever Declan’s last girlfriend had been. They all had blond, shoulder-length hair and eyebrows that matched Declan’s dark leather shoes.

I really don’t like Declan so far, just from the way Gansey and Ronan react to him and his propensity to switch girlfriends. Adam is also weirdly throwing me off here because we’re told that Declan’s lastest girlfriend’s name is Ashley but Adam is kinda insistent on just calling her Girlfriend in this very objectifying way?

He wasn’t quite sure how to put this feeling into concrete terms. It was a stare caught out of the corner of his eye, a set of scuffed footprints in the stairwell that didn’t seem to belong to any of the boys, a library clerk telling him an arcane text had been checked out by someone else right after he had returned it. It wasn’t that Adam wondered if Declan was spying on them. Adam knew he was, but he believed that had everything to do with Ronan and nothing to do with the ley line. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to do a bit of observation.

Intriguing. So Adam is the Practical Friend, which I buy since he is very much a commoner in a high class surrounding that he’s not used to that he just has to notice everything.

Also, messed up brotherly relationship much? Resorting to spying?

Adam watched the way Declan’s lip barely brushed the bottom of Girlfriend’s earlobe as he spoke to her; he looked away just as Declan glanced up.

I don’t know why just this line makes me think that Adam is gay. The focus of this line is very much Declan’s lips doing intimate acts and Adam watching that (being gay) without being seen (outing himself).

Adam was very good at watching without being watched. Only Gansey ever seemed to catch him at it.

I just like the thought that Gansey is very observant and the reason why they’re such close friends. It also gives this other dimension to Gansey, that Adam may be the Practical Friend, but Gansey is not really the Oblivious Friend. Gansey only plays the Oblivious Due To Immense Focus On Other Important Stuff Friend because he can trust Adam to watch his back.

Not the tidy stacks of an intellectual attempting to impress, but the slumping piles of a scholar obsessed. Some of the books weren’t in English. Some of the books were dictionaries for the languages that some of the other books were in. Some of the books were actually Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Editions.

I love this type of characterization so much??? Especially Not the tidy stacks of an intellectual attempting to impress, but the slumping piles of a scholar obsessed.

Adam felt the familiar pang. Not jealousy, just wanting. One day, he’d have enough money to have a place like this. A place that looked on the outside like Adam looked on the inside.

Oh, Adam. Also, I can’t quite figure out what  A place that looked on the outside like Adam looked on the inside means exactly. There’s lots of metaphors for me to parse out in this books, and we’re not even five chapters in.

Girlfriend held her hands to her chest in an unconscious reaction to masculine nakedness. In this case, the naked party was not a person, but a thing: Gansey’s bed, nothing but two mattresses on a bare metal frame, sitting baldly in the middle of the room, barely made. It was somehow intimate in its complete lack of privacy.

I do love the image of Gansey’s bed as an island in the sea of books and there’s something about it that speaks of his obsession, like he spent all those money on books that he could careless about the place he sleep in. Masculine nakedness, I’m not sure where that comes in. Ideas?

Adam was struck, as he occasionally was, by Gansey’s agelessness: an old man in a young body, or a young man in an old man’s life.

Adam’s really observant. I had a feeling of Gansey like that, but he describes it so well with his comparison.

There were two Ganseys: the one who lived inside his skin, and the one Gansey put on in the morning when he slid his wallet into the back pocket of his chinos. The former was troubled and passionate, with no discernible accent to Adam’s ears, and the latter bristled with latent power as he greeted people with the slippery, handsome accent of old Virginia money. It was a mystery to Adam how he could not seem to see both versions of Gansey at the same time.

I like it and I’m curious to see how the other slipper Gansey who is born in money acts.

He knocked fists with Adam. Coming from Gansey, the gesture was at once charming and self-conscious, a borrowed phrase of a another language.

Gansey and Adam, both charmingly awkward in speaking the other’s vernacular.

She glanced at Adam. Her eyes didn’t linger, but still, he remembered the fray on the shoulder of his sweater. Don’t pick at it. She’s not looking at it. No one else notices it.

With effort, Adam squared his shoulders and tried to inhabit the uniform as easily as Gansey or Ronan.

Why, hello, Imposer Syndrome. I do really feel for Adam. This is such a nice detail to include. Also, mentions of Gansey and Ronan but not Noah? I’m very curious about the fourth member of their group now.

Ashley blinked vapidly, then said, "Sounds like a metaphor." Perhaps she wasn’t as dumb as they’d thought.

Rude. Just because she’s with Declan?

He left out the part about how he believed the eternally sleeping Glendower would grant a favor to whoever woke him. He left out the part about how it haunted him, this need to find this long-lost king.

And the award for obsessiveness goes to none other than Gansey. Also, though, why? What favor does he need granted? Why is this need to find the long-lost king haunting him so much that it hurts?

Some days, some rotten days, Adam believed the former, and only barely. But being Gansey’s friend meant that more often he hoped for the latter. This was where Ronan, much to Adam’s dissatisfaction, excelled: His belief in the supernatural explanation was unwavering. Adam’s faith was imperfect.

And the barely disbelief feels like betrayal, in some ways, to Adam, when Gansey had reached out to him. I’m also getting a very opposite attracts vibe from Ronan and Adam. I think Adam’s faith is imperfect only because he is practical and believes very much in forging his own destiny like Blue. Ronan and Gansey have what Adam wants to have - money, power, connection -, sees that forging their own destiny isn’t really a thing even with those things, and so turn to the faith in supernatural.

Or so that’s what I think so far with the stuff that I’ve read. Maybe I’m reaching too much and later details will prove me wrong.

"That’s Noah," Declan said. He said it in a way that confirmed Adam’s assumption: Monmouth Manufacturing and the boys who lived in it were a tourist stop for Declan and Ashley, a conversation piece for a later dinner.

Why, just why? It’s like using a dog to start a conversation with a cute girl. Except now Declan dehumanize them to dogs and parade the boys around like clowns, turns around to his girlfriend with laughing eyes to say, “aren’t they just so strange?”

"Oh! Your hand is cold." Ashley cupped her fingers against her shirt to warm them. "I’ve been dead for seven years," Noah said. "That’s as warm as they get."

I can just imagine Noah saying this in such a deadpan way that no one would know if he’s telling a joke or being serious.

Ronan and Declan Lynch were undeniably brothers, with the same dark brown hair and sharp nose, but Declan was solid where Ronan was brittle. Declan’s wide jaw and smile said, Vote for me while Ronan’s buzzed head and thin mouth warned that this species was poisonous. "Ronan," Declan said. On the phone with Adam earlier, he had asked, When will Ronan not be available? "I thought you had tennis." "I did," Ronan replied.

?? I thought Declan was gonna stop by when Ronan has class, not tennis. Also, the idea that Ronan is brittle fits oddly well, along with his appearance that warned he’s poison. I’m thinking about poisonous plants and self-protection via self-destruction, since the only way for Ronan to poison someone is for someone to take a bite out of him and harm him first.

As he pulled Ashley out into the tiny stairwell and down the stairs, Adam heard the beginnings of damage control: He has problems, I told you, I tried to make sure he wouldn’t be here, he’s the one who found Dad, it messed him up, let’s go get seafood instead, don’t you think we look like lobster tonight? We do.

I’m sorry and excuse me, what WTF? Wow, Declan, wow, really? Why did you even go there in the first place? Also, he’s the one who found Dad, it messed him up. Is this hinting that Ronan found their father’s dead body after he committed suicide or I was just obsessing too much about Kakashi and Sakumo recently?

I also just remembered there’s three of these brothers. I’m gonna assume Declan is the oldest if he holds the key to Ronan’s freedom (tho that seems odd to me seeing as how Declan doesn’t seem to quite able to hold Ronan’s leash at all, even in this short conversation), I’m wondering in a I-Don’t-Really-Want-To-Meet-Him-Way if the other brother’s just as bad.

Ronan’s expression was still incendiary. His code of honor left no room for infidelity, for casual relationships. It wasn’t that he didn’t condone them; he couldn’t understand them.

I can buy that, tho I’m wondering if Ronan is really only angry at Declan because Declane switches girlfriends a lot (hence the reference to infidelity) and does it really have nothing at all to do with the brothers’ tumult relationship or the fact that Declan seems to be constantly talking down at him and talking shit about him.

Ronan was not really Gansey’s problem, either, in Adam’s opinion, but they’d had this argument before.

I beg differ, Adam. When you’re friends, everyone is each other’s problem.

Ronan looked chastened, but Adam knew better. Ronan wasn’t sorry for his behavior; he was only sorry that Gansey had been there to see him.

Aww, interesting. From ‘I didn’t take notes for you because I thought you died in a ditch’ to ‘I’m sorry that you had to see this ugly side of me’.

But surely Gansey knew that as well as Adam. He ran his thumb back and forth across his bottom lip, a habit he never seemed to notice and Adam never bothered to point out. Catching Adam’s gaze, he said

Lips again. Like, when I write I have the tendency to over focus on the lips quirking, hand gesturing, eyes looking, but this is Adam looking at Gansey’s habit with his lips and just... never bothering to point it out and always very aware of it. But here’s also Gansey showing that he always knows more than he points out or lets on, like with Ronan and now Adam, since he catches Adam’s gaze as he looks.

Because of his money and his good family name, because of his handsome smile and his easy laugh, because he liked people and (despite his fears to the contrary) they liked him back, Gansey could’ve had any and all of the friends that he wanted. Instead he had chosen the three of them, three guys who should’ve, for three different reasons, been friendless.

Okay, it’s done. Everyone can go home now. This sums everything up about them so nicely that I’m just like let’s stay here forever. The story doesn’t need to go on. Let them be frozen in this period of youth and friendships despite odds.

Also, Gansey is obviously the center of their friendships so when he dies, I can just imagine all of the others breaking down and shattering in different ways and when that happens, all of them will cut each other with the sharp edges of their broken remains.

"I’m not coming," Noah said. "Need some more alone time?" Ronan asked. "Ronan," Gansey interjected. "Set your weapons to stun, will you? Noah, we won’t make you eat. Adam?"

More eccentricities. Why doesn’t Noah eat?

Also,  Set your weapons to stun. That’s such an odd phrase to say, but coming from Gansey, it works? I also think here we see a bit of the other side of Gansey. When he comes out of his obsession long enough to bring his friends together, i think we can see a bit of the other side of Gansey that Adam mentions, the slippery side of Gansey that knows what he wants and knows exactly how to get it.

But Gansey and Adam sought Glendower for different reasons. Gansey longed for him like Arthur longed for the grail, drawn by a desperate but nebulous need to be useful to the world, to make sure his life meant something beyond champagne parties and white collars, by some complicated longing to settle an argument that waged deep inside himself. Adam, on the other hand, needed that royal favor.

I... still don’t really get it? The more that’s revealed, the more befuddled I get.

Even though Ronan was snarling and Noah was sighing and Adam was hesitating, he didn’t turn to verify that they were coming. He knew they were. In three different ways, he’d earned them all days or weeks or months before, and when it came to it, they’d all follow him anywhere.

And their journey continues, this odd band of rich misfits. This chapter as a whole reminds me a bit of a fanfic analysis after everything said and done occurred.  

#the raven cycle #the raven boys #chapter 4 #trc #trb

[euroman1945-blog]

The Daily Thistle

The Daily Thistle – News From Scotland

Thursday 28th June 2018

"Madainn Mhath” …Fellow Scot, I hope the day brings joy to you…. where ever you are in the world, for some it’s time for bed, others fast approaching midday, but for me on the sunny Southern Shores of Spain, the sun is getting ready to pop his head over the horizon and give me another sunny day.. So as always, Bella is recumbent at my feet after her constitutional and the coffee is steaming on the table, then let’s take a look at the news.

MAN SOUGHT OVER PIZZA SHOP ARMED ROBBERY IN EDINBURGH…. More than £1,000 has been stolen in an armed robbery at an Edinburgh pizza shop. A man threatened a 21-year-old worker in the basement of Papa John's in South Clerk Street at about 11:15 on Friday and made off with a four-figure sum of cash. Police would not say what weapon the suspect had or the exact amount of money taken. The 21-year-old man was not injured but left "very shaken". The suspect is described as white, about 6ft tall, with a heavy build. He spoke with a Scottish accent and was wearing a black hat, a black scarf covering his face, a large black jacket and faded black jeans that had rips on the legs. He was also wearing black Converse trainers, blue latex gloves and was carrying a black Puma rucksack. Police said they were keen to hear from anyone who was in the Newington area of Edinburgh and may have witnessed the incident. Det Sgt Bob Campbell said: "The area was busy with traffic and pedestrians and anyone who recognises the description of the suspect, or who has any information that can help with our investigation, is asked to contact us as soon as possible."

LOOTERS TARGET FIRE-DAMAGED BAR NEXT TO GLASGOW SCHOOL OF ART…. Looters have raided a bar that was damaged by the fire at the Glasgow School of Art. Intruders are understood to have stolen a quantity of alcohol from Campus. The bar is inside a cordon placed around the block on Sauchiehall Street following last week's devastating fire. A police spokeswoman said inquires were ongoing. Glasgow City Council had earlier warned people not to breach the cordon amid safety fears. Police Scotland said officers were alerted to the raid at about 03:20 on Thursday. A police spokeswoman said: "Inquiries are continuing following a housebreaking at a premises in Sauchiehall Street, Glasgow, around 3.20am on Thursday 21 June." Officials from Glasgow City Council have warned people not to enter the cordon, saying parts of the art school structure could collapse without warning. More than 120 firefighters were involved in fighting the blaze which engulfed the school of art. A number of businesses remain closed, and residents are being restricted on where they can park.

UPDATE: SCOTS ATLANTIC ROWER ABLE TO LEAVE RESCUERS' SHIP…. A Scot who was forced to abandon his bid to row across the North Atlantic has been able to leave his rescuers' ship and enter Canada. Niall Iain Macdonald was making his third attempt in four years to row from the USA to Scotland when he got into difficulty in rough seas. He was rescued by a Canada-bound cargo ship, but had to remain on board until he got permission to come ashore. In a tweet, he has thanked the Canada Border Services Agency. Earlier this week, he had appealed to the agency and Canada's prime minister, Justin Trudeau, for help in entering Canada. Mr Macdonald, who had hoped to row to Stornoway in Lewis, was concerned his rescuers would become caught up in his situation through no fault of their own. Another Scot is making a separate bid to row from the USA to Scotland. Duncan Hutchison, from Lochinver, hopes to complete his challenge in about 90 to 100 days.

SCOTTISH FRUIT AND VEGETABLE GROWTH STRATEGY UNVEILED…. Scottish fruit and vegetable producers have drawn up a new strategy to boost the industry in response to Brexit. Business leaders fear it could be hit by a slowdown in European exports and a shortage of workers once the UK leaves the European Union. The Fruit, Vegetable and Potato Industry Leadership Group wants to support the industry through to 2030. It said the strategy would benefit the nation's health and environment - as well as the economy. The Scottish fruit and vegetable retail market, excluding foodservice, is worth over £1bn. The leadership group includes a wide range of producers as well as Scotland Food and Drink chief executive James Withers. The group's chairman, Allan Bowie, said there was "huge potential" for the sector to grow. He added: "We recognise that the fruit, vegetable and potato sector in Scotland is diverse and each sub-sector has its own distinct challenges and opportunities. "But we believe that if the sector works collectively with a focus on skills, innovation, strengthening the supply chain and developing markets the sector can carve its place in Scotland's food and drink success story." Rural Economy Secretary Fergus Ewing said: "Scotland has some of the healthiest, freshest and highest quality produce anywhere in the world, and there are exciting opportunities ahead for our growers and producers across the fruit, vegetable and potato sector. "There is no doubt that we face challenges, particularly relating to Brexit, but this sector has huge potential if we can increase consumption, displace imports, and capitalise on our reputation internationally."

SOMETIMES STUPID IT JUST NOT ENOUGH: LEARNER DRIVER RAMMED POLICE CAR DURING CHASE…. A learner driver who rammed a police car during a high-speed chase has been banned from the road for 27 months. Isaac McPhee reversed into the officers' vehicle before leaving his van and running away during the incident last August. McPhee, of Dundee, admitted driving dangerously on eight Perthshire roads and in the town of Alyth. The 29-year-old was also ordered to carry out 225 hours unpaid work in the community. McPhee admitted failing to stop for police officers and driving without insurance. Depute fiscal Robbie Brown told Perth Sheriff Court that officers began to chase McPhee on the B952 shortly after midnight. He said: "The accused was maintaining speeds up to 70mph on a single carriageway severely affected by standing water. "The vehicle went through a large area of standing water which caused a malfunction to the engine and it came to a halt. Mr Brown said McPhee's van then reversed into the police car. He said: "It then appeared not to be able to get beyond 20mph (High Speed?) . "It continued into a farm steading and came to a halt. "The accused ran off but he had been recognised and was subsequently apprehended." Solicitor Pauline Cullerton, defending, said: "He fully accepts responsibility for his actions and accepts what he did was reckless and stupid. "There could have been serious harm caused."

On that note I will say that I hope you have enjoyed the news from Scotland today,

Our look at Scotland today is of Flora Stevenson's P7 football team enjoy their winning turn after taking the Inspectors Cup for the first time in 41 years. The title has been contested by Edinburgh's primary pupils since 1893…the photo was taken by Alan Bain…

A Sincere Thank You for your company and Thank You for your likes and comments I love them and always try to reply, so please keep them coming, it's always good fun, As is my custom, I will go and get myself another mug of "Colombian" Coffee and wish you a safe Thursday 28th June 2018 from my home on the southern coast of Spain, where the blue waters of the Alboran Sea washes the coast of Africa and Europe and the smell of the night blooming Jasmine and Honeysuckle fills the air…and a crazy old guy and his dog Bella go out for a walk at 4:00 am…on the streets of Estepona…

All good stuff....But remember it’s a dangerous world we live in

Be safe out there…

Robert McAngus #Scotland #travel #crime #love #Coffee

#robertmcangus #robert mcangus #scotland #news #blog #travel #love

[ncmec]

Twins Missing:  Jeannette and Dannette Millbrooks

Dwelling in the private world known only to twins, Jeannette and Dannette Millbrooks spent much of their free time relaxing on their front porch in Augusta, Georgia, talking to one another and watching the world pass by. If anyone spoke to them, they would just smile.

“They didn’t come off the porch,” said their cousin, Yolanda Curry. “I can see their smiles with my eyes closed.”

Then one day – March 18, 1990 to be exact – the fraternal twins left the safety of their beloved porch – and vanished.

What happened to Jeannette and Dannette is a mystery, but their family has never given up hope of finding them. If by any chance the girls, who are 43, are reading this story, Curry wants them to know this: “I love them and I will never stop looking for them until the day I die.”

Just days before their 16th birthday, the twins headed out to visit a family friend. Their 12-year-old sister, Shanta (shawn-TAY’) Sturgis, begged to go with them, but the teenagers didn’t want their baby sister tagging along. Jeannette and Dannette made it to their friend’s house at about 4 p.m., then walked on to what was then a Pump-N-Shop gas station and convenience store near the intersection of 12th Street and MLK Boulevard. They went inside and bought chips and drinks. The store clerk later told their sister that the twins seemed fine. It was about 4:30 p.m. when the clerk, busy at a cash register, saw the twins leave the store. She caught a vague glimpse of a vehicle outside, but didn’t see enough to give sheriff’s deputies a detailed description, or to say whether the twins got in or what direction they might’ve gone.

The National Center for Missing & Exploited Children’s Robert Lowery says it’s “extremely rare” for two siblings to be abducted together by a non-family member. It does happen, however. In 1975, sisters Katherine and Sheila Lyon, aged 10 and 12, went missing in Wheaton, Maryland and have never been found. In 1997, sisters Kati and Kristin Lisk, ages 12 and 15, were murdered after being abducted outside their home in Spotsylvania County, Virginia. In 2014, Amish sisters Delila and Fannie Miller, 7 and 12, were abducted in upstate New York. They were released within 24 hours following an AMBER Alert, but not before they were sexually abused. Their kidnappers told police they used a dog to lure the girls to their car, and that they had intended to keep the girls as slaves.

Lowery, vice president of NCMEC’s Missing Children Division, says while it’s important not to raise false hopes, “It’s important that we not give up hope, because a number of these long-term missing kids have been found and reunited with their families. Some amazing things have happened.”

The twins sister, Shantay and mother Mary Sturgis

For example, Jaycee Dugard was found alive after 18 years in captivity in California. Three girls who were abducted and held – much of the time in chains – in a Cleveland house for a decade are free today because one of them escaped and called law enforcement. And when she was 23, Carlina White of New York discovered she had been abducted as an infant, contacted NCMEC, and was reunited with her biological family.

Law enforcement is appealing to the public for any information that might help them find the Millbrooks twins, any observations or memories that would help shed light on the case would be greatly appreciated.

Jeannette and Dannette Millbrooks are African-American. When they went missing, their black hair was styled in soft, shiny loose curls known as Jheri curls. Both have brown eyes, pierced ears and scars on their navels from operations shortly after birth. Dannette was 5 feet 6 inches tall, 130 pounds and bowlegged. She was last seen wearing a white top with Mickey Mouse on it (both girls loved watching cartoons), white jeans and black shoes. Jeannette was 5 feet 4 inches, 125 pounds. She was last seen wearing a blue pullover shift, a white turtleneck, a beige skirt, white stockings and white sneakers. The twins were in the ninth grade at Lucy Laney High School.

The photo on the left shows Dannette as a teenager. She was 15 when she went missing. The image on the right is an age progression showing what Dannette may have looked like at age 39.

The photo on the left shows Jeannette as a teenager. She was 15 when she went missing. The image on the right is an age progression showing what Jeannette may have looked like at age 39.

View their poster: http://www.missingkids.com/poster/NCMC/736454/1#poster If you have any information, please call NCMEC at 1-800-THE-LOST (1-800-843-5678) or the Richmond County Sheriff’s Office in Augusta, Georgia [phone].

[insideabunker]

Cold Snap: Chapter 4

October 26th, 10:15 PM NZST:

“I think you should consider it.”

Clarke threw rolled up gauze at Wells.  “I’m not having this conversation with you.”

The taller boy swatted the refuse away, rolling his eyes dramatically.  “Clarke, you’ve spent the past seven years putting everyone else’s needs before your own.”

“So what?”  She shook her head, recounting the prepackaged bandages and iodine swabs in the cabinet.

“So, this is an opportunity to think about yourself for once.”

When Clarke didn’t reply, Wells hopped off the exam table, making his way over to the supply cabinet she was inventorying.

“Lexa is obviously into you.”  He leaned in, placing a hand on top of hers.  “There’s nothing wrong with having a little fun. You could keep it casual.”

Clarke finally gave up on the inventory, abandoning her task for the moment.  She took a seat, leaning back against the cabinet as she stared defeatedly at her friend.  “Wells, I’m not casual. I’ve never been casual.”

The boy sighed, resting his palm on her knee.  “But,” he paused, unsure how willing he was to tread into the murky waters of Clarke’s emotional life.  “It seems as though you like her too.”

Wells slumped down next to her, smiling earnestly.  “There’s a particular smile you get when you’re around Lexa.  I haven’t seen it since…”

“Don’t,” she cautioned, shooting him a serious look.

“I’m just saying.”

Clarke pushed herself off the floor, avoiding his gaze as she turned her attention back to the cabinet, and began rifling through the top shelf.  “Finn and I had a four-year relationship and two sons together; I hardly think there’s a comparison.”

Wells groaned.  “Clarke, the last person you looked at that way was Collins.  You can avoid the subject all you like, but that has to mean something.”

An irritated groan echoed inside the cabinet.  “Wells, don’t you have pills to count?”  

Clarke spun around, tossing another packet of gauze at him.  “Besides, you’re one to talk.  I saw the way you looked at that Raven girl.  Have you gone to see her yet?”

Wells frowned, his mouth puckering as though he’d just eaten a lemon wedge.  “I’m waiting for the right moment.”

The friends stared each other down, equally annoyed, neither one willing to break eye contact first, thereby admitting defeat.  Finally, Wells growled in frustration.

“Look, just talk to Lexa.  There’s no harm in feeling out the situation.”

Clarke huffed. “Fine!”

“Fine!”  With that Wells walked back towards the pharmacy, leaving Clarke to stew over the triage supplies.

October 26th, 2:15 PM NZST:

“Two kids, Lexa. Two of them.” Lincoln dropped a pallet full of equipment onto his sled as he spoke, and began stacking his survival gear on top of it.

“Not just one.”  He dropped a mammoth looking tent bag onto the load.  “Two.”

Lexa rolled her eyes, annoyed at how predictably single, male, twenty-something he was being.

“Yeah, so what?”

Lincoln looked at her as though she were an idiot, staring at her stoically for a beat before he returned to loading the sleigh with supplies.  “So, she isn’t some Ph.D. candidate who’s up here on an unpaid internship.”

He flung the large canvas flaps of the sleigh closed and pulled the security cord that bound the two together, synching them closed to secure the load.  “Clarke isn’t going to want to get involved with someone while she’s up here.  She has responsibilities.”

Lexa frowned, “You mean she has baggage.”

He shot her an annoyed glare.  “No, I mean she has different priorities.”  He tugged the rope again and fastened it with a top knot.  “Her two kids, specifically.”

Lexa set about testing the lines on his sled, double checking to make sure they were tight enough.  She tugged at a rope and nodded when it showed no signs of play.  “What if I don’t mind that she has kids?”

Lincoln grabbed the dog’s leads off a nearby table, tossing a few to her.  “Lex, you’re missing the point.”

“I mean I like kids.”

“That’s not the problem.”

“And Clarke isn’t just some girl that I’m trying to fool around with.”  Lexa looked up from the sled harness.  “I like her, Lincoln."

She paused, connecting another tether.  "A lot.”

Lincoln snapped the last lead onto the harness and sighed.  “It’s not Clarke that I’m worried about, Lexa.”

He leaned back into the sled, resting against the cargo bundle.  “I know you like the Doc.  That's why I’m worried about this.”

Lexa dropped down next to Lincoln, frowning skeptically.  “Why would you be concerned about that?”

“Because for once the tables are turned.  The girls you usually meet are starry-eyed college students who fall for you no matter how much you insist you’re just looking to have fun.  It's your saving grace that those girls are never up here for more than a few months, and when they’re gone, you get to move on to the next Marine Life Science major or Climatology Ph.D. candidate or whatever.”

Lexa shrugged.  “And?”

“And, this time you’re the starry-eyed one, and Clarke isn’t just here for a few months, she’s pulling a year-long rotation.  More importantly, when she goes home, it’s going to be to two kids who take priority over everything else in her life.”

Lexa nodded, trying to make sense of her friend's point.  “I still don’t understand why that’s a problem.”

Lincoln rolled his eyes, his partner’s willful ignorance playing on his last nerve. “Think about it, Lexa."

He threw a cargo strap over the side of the sled. "Clarke has a life. The whole reason she’s up here is to make that life more stable."

He passed another strap to Lexa and began ratcheting down the first one.  "She’s not going to want to complicate that by getting involved with someone who lives at the bottom of the world and has their mail delivered courtesy of the U.S. Air Force."

The burly musher stared at his longtime friend hesitantly.  He softened his voice, reluctant to crush her spirits in spite of his concerns.   “You need to be prepared for the possibility that Clarke isn’t going to want something serious with you.”

The reality of her friend's words slowly sank in, and suddenly Lexa felt as though her body was made of lead.  She dropped to the floor, defeated and unwilling to continue the argument.

Lincoln sighed, nudging Lexa with the toe of his boot.  “Lex, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen you this interested in someone.  That’s great, but I think you need to be careful about getting too invested.”

He nudged her again, offering a halfhearted smile. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt again.  Okay?”

Lexa nodded, knowing that his advice was sensible, though she hoped time would prove him wrong.

October 26th, 4:15 PM NZST:

“Excuse me?”

Wells tiptoed into the shop hesitantly, covering his ears to drown out the thumping sound coming from a malfunctioning generator that sat in the center of the room.  The machine rattled as though it was trying to pull itself apart.  It shook and sputtered until it died.

“Damn it!”  A loud clang rang out as a boot connected with metal.  “Worthless piece of junk!”

Raven appeared from behind the generator, her sweaty face covered in streaks of grease.  Wells watched the girl grit her teeth together as she stood.  She leaned on the side of the machine for support and shifting her weight to her right leg.

“Excuse me,” he called again, finally catching her attention.  

“Shit!” She jumped, nearly losing her balance as she turned towards him.  “Jesus, you scared the hell out of me.”

Raven looked Wells up and down without a hint of recognition, appearing to have forgotten their introduction.  

“If you’re here to file a work order the forms are in the office.  You can leave it with our clerk when you’re done.”  

She wiped a dirty hand on her coveralls and grabbed her crutches from the side of the generator, slumping against them as she made her way over to a tool chest with no small amount of effort.

The frustrated engineer began rummaging through the drawers haphazardly. In her haste, she leaned a bit too far to one side, grimacing as her body weight shifted onto her left leg.  She grabbed at the top of the chest and winced, sucking in a pained breath.

In an instant Wells was at her side, grabbing her elbow and placing his arm on the small of her back to help support her.

“Hey, are you all right?”

Raven nodded, her eyes still screwed shut in discomfort.  “I’m fine!”

The young pharmacist recoiled at the tone of her voice, a mixture of frustration and annoyance, but his hands remain firmly wrapped around her. A moment later she gave him an apologetic gaze. “Sorry, it’s just…”

She sighed. “Can you help me sit down for a second?”

Wells complied silently, easing the petite girl onto the floor as delicately as he could manage.  He crouched beside her, watching as Raven closed her eyes and began rubbing her lower thigh.  When her breathing evened out, and the grimace on her face had faded, she looked over at him bashfully.

“Thanks.”

The engineer leaned her back against the bottom of the tool chest, her face shifting as recognition finally dawned on her.

“I know you.”

Wells smiled, nodding.  “We met the other day.”

She nodded.  “Yeah, I remember. You’re hot Doc’s friend.”

He rolled his eyes, extending a hand to her.  “Wells Jaha.  I’m the new Pharmacy resident.”

Raven smirked, eyeing him a little suspiciously. “Pharmacist, eh? I don’t suppose you’ve got any ibuprofen on you?”

Wells shook his head.  “Sorry. Fresh out.”  He stared at her leg.  “Is it a knee problem?”

Raven stared at him for a moment, completely nonplused.  When she realized his question was a serious one, she laughed, grabbing at the fabric of her coveralls.

“More like a lack of a knee problem.”

The girl tugged her left pant leg upwards, revealing a prosthetic leg that began mid-thigh.  The skin around the lip of the prosthesis was chafed and showed bruising in several places.

Raven sighed, unstrapping the device and pulling it off to reveal a sock-clad stump of a thigh, amputated halfway to the hip.  “Damn prosthesis needs adjustments again.”

She looked at the leg disgustedly.  “The engineers who designed that thing should be shot.”

Wells stared at the prosthesis, considering it carefully.  “You know, I might be able to help you with that.”

Raven looked at him skeptically.  “Oh?”

Wells pointed hesitantly to the device, waiting for Raven to give the go-ahead before he picked it up.  He turned the leg over, studying the socket thoughtfully and looking back and forth between the leg and Raven’s tight.  “I don’t mean to be indelicate, but did you lose any weight recently?”

Raven’s brow furrowed.  “How did you know that?”

“My grandfather lost one of his legs to diabetes when I was 14.  In high school, I used to drive him to his medical appointments.”

Wells looked the leg over again before placing it back down.  “My grandpa had trouble keeping weight on, so his prosthetist showed me a few tricks to help keep him comfortable between fittings.”

Raven stared at Wells curiously as she began to reattach the leg.  “So, you can fix this thing?”

Wells shrugged.  “I might be to make it a little more comfortable, at least until you get stateside or put on a few pounds.”  He bit his lip, realizing that bringing up the woman's weight might have been a mistake.

“I mean, not that you’re not fine.”

Raven’s brow creased at the comment, sending Wells into a small panic.

“Sorry! I meant that your weight is fine, not you.”  He grimaced, fumbling to correct himself.  “I mean you are, but I didn’t mean…”

“That you think I am fine?”

“Yes. I mean no! Damn it!”  Wells shut his eyes, willing himself not to die of embarrassment.

Raven finished attaching her prosthesis and rolled her pant leg back down.  “What was it you came in here for again?”

Wells sighed.  “Um, I…”  He put his hand on his forehead, trying to remember what his plan had been when he’d stepped into the shop.  For days he’d been waiting for something to stop working, for any excuse to see the brilliant engineer.  When the lights in the pharmacy had finally started flickering, he’d jumped at the opportunity to talk to Raven in person.

“There’s a problem with the lights in the Pharmacy. They keep blinking on and off.”

Wells smiled, ignoring his racing pulse as he made an attempt at small talk.  “I think it may be a wiring issue,” he offered, trying to sound knowledgeable.

Raven nodded, pulling herself up on the tool chest and taking a moment to regain her balance.  “Well Wells, like I said, if you’re here to file a work order the forms are in the office.”

Wells nodded, his mind racing as he thought of a way to stretch the conversation.  “Will you be able to come take a look at them soon?”

She started rummaging through the chest again, shoving wrenches and sockets around as she searched for a tool.  “Probably tomorrow.  I can send out one of the electrical apprentices in the afternoon.”

“It won’t be you?”

She peered over her shoulder at him.  “Not to toot my own horn, but flickering lights aren’t exactly a job for the head facilities engineer.”

“But…” Wells wrung his hands nervously.  “If you come by, then I could help you with your leg. I have a pretty good idea of how to fix it.”

He smiled hopefully, watching as she continued to sift through the drawer.  The engineer growled as she pulled open another drawer and riffling through the contents to no avail.  “You honestly think you can fix this thing?”

“Pretty sure.”

“How sure?”

He scratched the back of his head nervously.  “Eighty-five percent.”

Raven groaned, snapping her fingers a moment later when she realized where the item she sought was.  She pulled open another drawer raising a tap and dye set aloft triumphantly, before turning back to him, a grin on her face.

“Fine, I’ll come by.”  She grabbed her crutches, limping back towards the generator.  “But I won’t be able to stay for long.  Don’t expect any miracles with the lights.”

Wells lingered for a moment before leaving, staring longingly at the grease stains on the girl’s olive skin.  “Sounds good to me.”

October 26th, 7:30 PM NZST:

“Hey, you.”

Lincoln’s strong frame twisted as he jammed a spoonful of mashed potatoes past his lips.  Clarke slid into the seat next to him, and he smiled, attempting to greet her through a mouthful of food.

“What’s good, Doc?”  He swallowed hard, forcing down the potatoes with a wince.

Clarke ran a hand through her hair, glancing anxiously around the dining facility.  “Have you seen Lexa? I’ve been looking for her everywhere.”

The musher shoveled another spoonful into his mouth, washing it down with a large swig of lukewarm coffee.  “Can’t say I have.”  The corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly as he considered the anxious looking woman next to him.

“You mind if I ask you a question, Doc?”

“Not at all.”  She turned back to him, abandoning her attempt to find Lexa.

“What are your intentions with Lexa?”

Clarke’s mouth dropped open, shocked by his forwardness.  “I… I, uh.”

Her startled look only confirmed what he’d suspected. “You don’t know, do you?”

Reluctantly, she shook her head. “Is that such a bad thing?”

“Maybe.”

“You think so?”

Lincoln chewed a mouth full of food, staring thoughtfully at his plate.  Finally, he set his fork down and looked over at her.  “I think Lexa has a pretty big crush on you. That a new one on me, just between the two of us.”

Clarke allowed herself a few moments to process the information.  “And you think that makes me different from…”  The blonde hesitated, searching for a delicate way to phrase the question.  “The other women that she spends time with?”

Lincoln pushed his plate aside.  He leaned towards her, resting one elbow on the table top.  “Listen,” his voice was more serious suddenly.  “A lot of what Lexa does with those girls is out of boredom.”  He leaned in a little further.  “But at least some of it is about filling a void.”

“A void?”  Clarke tilted her head, squinting her eyes at him curiously.

He slumped against the table even further, considering how candid he ought to be.  “You’re not the only one with a past, Clarke. Lexa may come off cocksure, but she’s more vulnerable than you think.”

“So,” the doctor hesitated. “You’re worried that I’m using her?”

He shrugged.  “I'm concerned that Lexa is starting to like someone, who only sees her as a means to an end.”  Lincoln pushed himself off the table, clapping a large hand over the small woman’s shoulder.  “Seven years is a long time to go without the freedom to fool around.”

Clarke shifted uncomfortably in her seat, annoyed at the implications of the comment.  “I don’t fool around, Lincoln.”  She scowled, shrugging off his hand.  “I might not be looking for something permanent, but I’m also not aiming for a one night stand.  That sort of thing isn't me.”

The musher folded his hands over his chest, staring her down.  Finally, he gave her a half smile and bobbed his head, convinced that she was honest.  

“Alright then, just remember what I told you.”  He rose from the bench, grabbing his empty tray.

Clarke grabbed his elbow before he could leave.  “Wait, are you sure you don’t know where she is?”

Lincoln stared down at the blonde, eyeing the lemon poppy seed cake on her tray.  “That depends.”

She frowned.  “On what?”

“On how you feel about parting with that dessert.”

October 26th, 8:15 PM NZST:

Clarke trudged through the snow carefully, making her way toward the dormitory.  As she neared, she gazed up at the roof, eyeing the figure crouched there.  Lexa sat near the lip, right where Lincoln said she would be, knees pulled to their chest as she stared patiently into the night sky.

The doctor cupped her hands over her mouth and shouted up at her.  “Want some company?”

Startled by the noise Lexa peered down, straining to see the source of the voice.  She smiled when she spotted Clarke, and waved her hand toward the side of the building.

“Stairs are in the back.  Just be careful on the way up, some of the rungs are slippery.”

The brunette grabbed the ladder rails, steadying it as the blonde made the slow climb upwards.  As Clarke neared the ledge, Lexa reached out, offering her a hand.

“Thanks.”  Clarke grabbed her palm, hoisting herself over the edge.  “I’ve been looking for you since before dinner.”

Lexa rolled her eyes, blushing at the heavily bundled doctor.  “I guess Lincoln told you I was up here.”

Clarke winked.  “I traded him my dessert for information on your whereabouts.”

“That traitor.”

The girls stood in silence for a moment, their breaths puffs of white in the cold night air.

“So, I hear you’re going to be out on an expedition for the next three days.”

Lexa nodded.  “Lincoln is taking some National Geographic photographers to the South Pole base for a few days. I offered to go too so we could split the gear between sleds.”

Clarke bit her lip hesitantly, smirking a little.  “I don’t suppose this is your way of avoiding me, is it?”

The question was a blunt one, and the flustered sledder found herself fumbling to answer it without sounding nervous.  “I… No.  Why would I do that?”

The doctor stared at the ground, kicking a patch of ice absentmindedly.  “Look, I know that I dropped a lot on you the other night.  I didn’t mean for it to come up that way.”

“Clarke it’s fine.  It wasn’t a big deal.”  Lexa floundered, grasping at straws as she searched for the right thing to say.

Thankfully the blonde held up a hand, cutting her off.  “Lexa, it’s alright.”  Clarke sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose and half smiling.  “The truth is, I wasn't planning on telling you any of that.”

Lexa swallowed, suddenly more nervous than before.  She stared at the ground, worried that the conversation was taking an unfavorable turn. “You weren’t?”

Clarke shrugged.  “Well, certainly not on a first date.”

The sledder's pulse jumped, her heart skipping a beat.  “It was a date?”

Clarke rolled her eyes, pushing the brunette playfully.  “I mean, not that I’ve been on one in years, but I’m pretty sure that’s what the whole “Netflix and chill” thing is supposed to be. A date.”

Lexa started to correct her, but thought better of it, endeared by the doctor’s cluelessness.  “Yeah, something like that.”  She bit her lip nervously, her heart racing, feeling suddenly feverish in spite of the dropping temperature.  If there was a time to make a move, this was it.

“Clarke.”

“Lexa.” Clarke’s eyes widened, fixed on something in the distance.

“Just let me finish, ok?”

“No, Lexa. Look!”  She pointed over the brunette’s shoulder.

Lexa turned, immediately enraptured by what she saw. Glowing green lights illuminated the night sky, waves of emerald against a sea of space and stars.

“Aurora Australis.”

Lexa snapped her head around, staring dumbfounded at the azure-eyed girl behind her.  “How did you know that?”

Clarke smiled shyly.  “Astronomy 121. It was my favorite class Freshman year.”  She inched closer to the brunette.  “So this is what you come up here for.”

“It is.”  The sledder’s heart sped up as she felt Clarke slip a gloved hand into her own. “They’re hard to predict, but if you’re patient, solar storms like this one make all the waiting worth it.”

Clarke grinned.  “You know, you could catch your death sitting up here in the cold.”

Without another thought, Lexa turned, staring into Clarke's blue eyes.  She placed a hand on the doctor's waist, and the world began moving in slow motion.  Lexa leaned her head down, the few inches separating them feeling as though it was miles.

It took hours, days, years, to close the gap, but finally, she felt her lips graze Clarke’s, and Lexa’s shut her eyes instinctually.  In that instant, the chill in her bones was gone, and the only things that existed were warmth and beams of light, and the girl moaning softly into her mouth.  Lexa finally pulled away, pressing their foreheads together gently, and feeling the heat radiating off Clarke’s flushed face.

“Some things are worth catching your death over.”

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