#I just can’t decide whether he gets more stressed out by the carrier

[tintedglasses]

i’m home for the weekend and was originally only supposed to be home from like 8pm Thurs-Sunday morning so i didn’t want to bring Tuna because it’s a pretty short time but i ended up coming home a day early so i probably could have brought him and now im sad 😭😭😭

#I just can’t decide whether he gets more stressed out by the carrier #which he seems to hate while driving but likes to go in at home #or if he gets more stressed being alone #I put that question out to my brother and he said he thought it was the travel #and I probably shouldn’t #but then after me being home he was like ‘….you should have brought tuna’ #and apparently my sisters bf was sad I didn’t #😭😭😭 #should probably talk to my therapist about why I miss him so much 😂

[onlysarah235678]

A Little Bit Part 2

Pairing: Billie Dean Howard x female reader

A/N:  Here’s part two!  Thanks to those who read the first part, or are just joining! Enjoy! I start work again this week, but I’ll do my best to keep writing ❤.

Warnings:  Slight kitten angst? Gay panic and very brief harassment.

You hear from Billie Dean exactly two days later.

You’re actually at home since you worked the weekend, but you are just hanging out with your dog when the phone buzzed from the coffee table. You had just finished lunch and you were about to fall asleep when Milo’s head jerked up at the annoying sound. You sigh before leaving the comfort of the couch to see who it is. Hopefully it isn’t someone who needs anything from you because you had your Monday planned out already. You were staying at home for the rest of the day trying to relax for once. You might take a long walk with Milo later, but you weren’t so sure.

All thoughts of where to hike left your mind as you grab your phone and see you have a text from an unknown number. You don’t really get out much and only talk to a few friends, but all of their numbers are in your phone. It doesn’t even occur to you that it might be Billie. You honestly just thought she was being nice to you since she’d been super late to her appointment.

Despite the flirting smiles and curious looks she’d shot you during the appointment, you hadn’t wanted to think too much into it. You’d hate to get your hopes up for nothing.

What you were hoping for, well you weren’t going to admit that yet.

Once you managed to find the courage to actually look at what the message said—beyond her name of course, you took a deep breath and sat back on the couch.

Hi Y/N, it’s Billie Dean. Are you busy, sweetheart?

There the nickname was again. You ignored how reading it and of course imagining her saying it made you feel and decided to focus on the question she asked. You looked around your living room where the television was paused on a scene from The Blair Witch Project, and where Milo sat on the couch next to you, his giant paws on your leg. You shook your head muttering something under your breath about being silly before you typed out a quick response.

Not at all.

You contemplated typing more because you supposed you should ask if she needed something. However, once you saw she was already typing a response you had to stop yourself from throwing your phone. You shouldn’t be this flustered. Not by the prospect of answering questions about kittens. That’s all this was going to be. Of course it was. You were just helping -possible helping – a client. A beautiful and charming client.

Don’t be silly.

Billie Dean Howard had worked hard to get where she was. Her career was somewhere she wouldn’t have even dared to imagine just 10 years ago. She was an accomplished woman who used her gift to help people. It wasn’t always easy of course, but as she traveled to random, remote places around the world trying to guide stubborn lost souls, she knew she wouldn’t change a thing. She loved what she did, and she liked to think that she was good at it.

Today, however, she was realizing that despite her best efforts, she may not be good at everything. Try as she might, she couldn’t get a hang of this kitten thing. They were a lot more work than she had anticipated. After leaving the vet’s office on Saturday, she’d gone to the pet store and spent a small fortune on food, toys, litter, and a bed. You had told her that the kittens wouldn’t be using litter for a while and she’d foolishly thought that meant they wouldn’t need to go. How idiotic.

As she found out the moment she got home, after the kittens had gotten a meal from Bit, they had all needed to go. She spent a good twenty minutes cleaning out the carrier and each kitten that had gotten themselves dirty. She had set everything up in the house, placed all of the clean kittens on their bed in a nice quiet room, only to have Bit take each one of them into a different room. The laundry room of all places. Billie had let her because she really didn’t want to fight with her, but she’d been constantly checking on them to make sure everything was okay.

She had to make sure they were all warm enough and that Bit was doing her job feeding and grooming them. It was exhausting and Billie was definitely reconsidering this whole fostering thing.

By the time Monday rolled around, she was already stressing about work. She had found someone in the neighborhood who agreed to watch the kittens while she left to do some promotional work for her show, but she quickly found she couldn’t focus. She rushed through work and was home by noon checking on the kittens again.

They all seemed fine at first glance, but then she recounted them and realized that one was missing. She did her best not to panic immediately. She moved Bit a little, earning a hiss of annoyance, to see if the last kitten was hiding underneath her.

No such luck.

Next, Billie looked around the laundry room before moving to the closest room to start a wider search. It wasn’t until she checked her bedroom that she found the kitten just sitting on the comforter. She cursed under her breath as she hurried to check on the little furball.

He, Billie had decided the runt was a boy, was cold to the touch and she panicked. She thought about her options before she ran back downstairs to where she’d abandoned her purse. She held the little kitten close as she found her phone.

When you responded to her first text, Billie considered sending another one, but decided against it. She ended up just calling you, and the urge to curse was strong, but instead you took a deep breath before answering.

“Hi Billie.”

“Hi, Y/N. I’m sorry to bother you. You’re not at work, are you?”

You smile at the concern in Billie’s voice until it occurs to you it may not be for the reasons you think. Still, you shook your head before explaining that you had the day off and that you were at home. She didn’t say anything immediately, but when Billie did speak up, you could tell she was a little stressed.

“Oh. I don’t mean to interrupt your day off, but I had a kitten question.”

So Billie tells you about what’s going on. That she found the kitten away from Bit and the others, cold and just randomly in her room. You ask a few questions, and Billie’s answers are more concerning than reassuring. You decide to focus on the matter at hand before asking anything else.

“Do you have an electric blanket or something you could use to warm him up?”

Billie nearly laughs at the thought, but she stops herself just in time. She simply shakes her head as she heads up the stairs to the linen closet.

“In LA? I’m afraid not.”

You nearly roll your eyes at your stupidity. You had forgotten the fact that it rarely reached freezing in this city. You had moved from a state of unpredictable weather where you needed to be prepared for ice storms and heat waves, and you sometimes forgot that wasn’t normal. You nodded in acknowledgment before you went to the next suggestion you had.

“Right. What about towels?”

You stay on the phone with Billie while she puts some towels in the dryer to warm them up. Surprisingly Bit and her other kittens don’t seem to care despite being right next to it. She then goes to her bedroom and grabs the first blanket she sees that coincidentally already has cat hair on it. She had forgotten about that part of having a pet.

“Be honest. Should I be worried?”

You hold back a sigh as you stand up and begin to wander aimlessly around the room. You don’t want to lie to Billie, but at the same time you remember how on Saturday she’d already claimed that the runt, the boy, they’d decided was her favorite. You would hate for her to be upset by his loss. That said, you couldn’t really give her an honest assessment over the phone.

“Has he been nursing today?

Billie shook her head at this as she put her phone on the bed so she can wrap the kitten in the blanket. She speaks a little louder as she works on making a kitten burrito.

“I’m not sure about today. I had someone watch them while I worked, but yesterday he seemed fine. Normal at least.”

You thought about this before considering your options. Billie had already told you that other than the fact that he was a little cold, he seemed fine. You decided to go with your gut on this one.

“He could get worse, but if you can just keep him warm today and see that he eats, he’ll improve. Let me know if anything else changes though.”

I’ll be back at work tomorrow.

You almost say this, but decide against it because you don’t want it to sound like you wouldn’t be willing to…No. Would you? Of course you would. It was your job. You couldn’t just not see a kitten who was sick. You could of course just tell her to go to work and see another doctor, but you secretly wanted to see her yourself.

Your musing is cut off by the sound of the blonde sighing in what you realize is relief. You smile slightly as she thanks you, but don’t really know what to say in response.

“Thank you so much, Y/N. I’ll let you get back to whatever you were doing before I freaked out on you.”

You laugh slightly as you shake your head and turn back toward where Milo was still sitting on the couch. He was waiting for you to return so you both could go back to the movie you’ve honestly seen too many times. You didn’t realize you’d said this until it was too late. Fortunately, you didn’t get time to cringe at your word vomit before you heard Billie laugh.

You weren’t sure you’d ever heard something sound quite so nice.

“Don’t worry about it. I was just watching the Blair Witch Project which I’ve already seen about a dozen times.”

“You like stories about the supernatural?”

You don’t answer immediately because you can’t help but feel like this is a trick question. You do in fact like a good ghost story, but the question seems to be more about whether or not you believe in them. At least that’s where you see this going. So you jump the gun a little with a small smile as you plop back down next to Milo.

“I definitely like them. Good ones at least, but do I believe in them? It depends.”

At this point, Billie was seated on her bed with the kitten that she definitely hadn’t named Mickey on her lap. She could practically see you shrugging and she couldn’t help but ask.

“Depends on what?”

You’re not sure what possesses you to answer the way you do, but you’re smirking and speaking before you can stop yourself.

“Maybe I’ll tell you sometime.”

You barely resist the frantic urge to start screaming at yourself for your out of character display of courage. You’re not usually the one to instigate things. You’ve been accused of being a wallflower in the past by many of your friends and a few people you’ve dated. However, there’s something inexplicably appealing about the idea of getting to see Billie Dean again.

It doesn’t occur to you until too late that your statement could be taken as flirting. Only after you hear her chuckle in amusement do you realize what you’ve done.

“Is that an invitation?”

Despite your initial hesitance about flirting with a client, you decide to throw caution to the wind and just see where this goes. The worst you could do was embarrass yourself, right? It’s not like you were at work now anyway. Not like last time.

“That depends. Would you be interested?”

You and Billie Dean agree to meet later that week. With both of your work schedules full until the weekend, you have a whole 4 days until you’ll see her again, but you’d manage. Somehow.

Well, she did agree to send you updates on the kittens, but that would most likely be by text. You wouldn’t get the perk of hearing her voice.

That thought made you pause. After hanging up the phone, you’d returned to your movie with Milo, but you paused it again before reaching for your computer. You tried not to feel like a creep as you opened your browser and searched Billie’s name.

You figured that you should know at least the basics about her and her show so you didn’t put your foot in your mouth when you saw her on Saturday. The first thing you see when you look is her award-winning smile, literally with some information written underneath it. You disregard the details about where to watch her show for now and go to her website.

For the next hour or so you read a lot about how she got started as a medium and what she’d been doing for the past ten years. You watched a few interviews and started an episode of her show when Milo reminded you of how late it was.

You decided to take a break from being too curious and take Milo on a walk like you’d originally planned. He jumped up at the word ‘walk’ and ran to grab his leash while you ran upstairs to change. On your way back down the stairs you grab your phone and keys before heading to the parking lot. You’re determined to enjoy your day off, so you follow Milo out to the car and do your best to ignore the growing anxiety associated with seeing Billie again. You’re excited of course, but you don’t know what to expect from the medium. Perhaps you just shouldn’t have any expectations for this…get together. You hadn’t called it anything in particular. You were just going to get lunch.

You still hadn’t convinced yourself not to worry by the time you got Milo buckled in the backseat.

Billie Dean hadn’t really given much thought to the idea of having children. Since her career had taken off, she’d convinced herself that she was too busy. She wouldn’t have the time for them and she honestly wasn’t sure she wanted them. She’d never really thought she’d be a good mother.

That said, if raising children was anything like taking care of kittens, then she was definitely right. This experience was very humbling.  

Since she’d hung up with you, she’d been multitasking like a pro. She’d been spending time with the kittens, and making sure that Mickey had nursed and was cuddled up to Bit like the rest of his siblings. Billie had noticed quickly that Bit didn’t pay as much attention to the runt of her litter as she did to everyone else. This observation made her worry and as a result, she spent a lot more time caring for him to make up for it. She was getting a hang of this, but it was exhausting.

Between going over the rest of her week with her assistant and responding to emails from her producer, she was checking on the cats to the point that Bit was probably annoyed.

She hadn’t decided what she was going to do with the cats once they were old enough to adopt out. She knew with her work she couldn’t keep them. Not without changing her schedule significantly. She didn’t want to keep them just to have them stay with other people.

Unfortunately, no one had responded to the found posters she’d had her assistant print out and post around her neighborhood. This made her think that Bit really had been a stray, or at the very least no one wanted her. She sighed as she looked down at her watch again. She’d been checking on them about every half hour which seemed excessive, but she’d found that if she waited any longer, she’d just get antsy and not get any work done. She put out her cigarette in an ash tray, she’d only been smoking when she was away from the cats, and headed upstairs.

When Billie arrived to the laundry room, she saw Bit getting situated again onto the bed with all of her kittens. Or at least 5 of them. She sighed in annoyance before she confirmed who was missing, and immediately left the room in search for him.

This was the third time the Bit had moved Mickey to her room. She found him exactly where he’d been last time, on her pillow. She moved to pick him up and he stirred slightly before making the cutest little noise. Billie smiled before taking him back to the laundry room where Bit was busy grooming herself. She put him back among the other kittens, and after checking on them she headed back downstairs.

It was only a few minutes later when she heard the sound of quiet footsteps upstairs. She listened carefully and waited until she heard Bit jump up onto something to go investigate. She reached the top of the stairs at the same time that Bit was leaving her room and darting back to the laundry room. She groaned loudly as she saw Mickey lying on her pillow again shifting and mewling from being jostled once again.

“For the love of…”

You were still hiking at one of your favorite spots when Billie was struggling to deal with her cats. It wasn’t too crowded at the park you’d chosen because it was the middle of the day on a Monday. That said, there were still plenty of people and dogs around to keep your mind from wandering too much to Billie.

You had to be a little careful with Milo when out in public. Not because he was aggressive, but because it was easy for him to get overwhelmed.  He was blind in one eye due to an injury he’d suffered when he was a puppy, and it was sometimes difficult for him to keep track of everything around him. That said, even though parts of this park were designated off-leash areas, Milo usually preferred to stay by your side. He could be a little anxious when surrounded, but he was getting a lot better from going to work with you every day.

For this reason, you weren’t too concerned when you saw a family with several children approaching you on the trail. Milo loved children.

After Milo got his fill of pets from the children, the two of you continued on your path toward the park. Your mind started to wander as Milo dragged you toward the wide-open space with at least a dozen dogs. The two of you were only half way through your walk, but you had a feeling you’d be stopping for a while to make friends.

At the end of the walk when you arrived back to your car, you realized that you had been without cell service for most of the walk. You had a couple of text messages from Billie Dean, one of which included a picture. That made you smile until you read the message that came with the picture of Mickey sleeping in Billie’s arms.

Why does Bit keep moving him out of bed and dumping him in my room?

You frowned at the thought of this happening, but before you could respond Milo barked and reminded you that you hadn’t opened the door for him. You sighed before getting him settled in the backseat before leaning against the car to type a quick response.

I’m not sure, but Bit may just not want to take care of him.

You consider how that might make Billie feel, but realize that you can’t really sugar coat it. Sometimes a mother abandoned their runts because she didn’t think they’d survive. You hoped that this wasn’t the case for Mickey, but hearing what Bit’s been doing doesn’t make you feel very optimistic. You realize that Billie had sent this message over an hour ago so you send another quick message before heading home.

Sorry I didn’t respond earlier. I’m out hiking with Milo.

The drive home takes a little longer than it usually would because you take a detour at the pet store. You made the mistake of making Milo wait too long in the backseat by himself and he’d chewed his leash in half out of spite. At least that’s what you told yourself. So you led him on a short leash into the pet store to find a replacement. You find one in a few minutes and are headed to the register when you hear someone behind you say your name.

“Dr. Y/L/N.”

You turn to see an employee that you had honestly hoped wasn’t working today. She wasn’t at the register like she’d been last time and you’d foolishly hoped that meant she wasn’t in. You tried not to sigh in annoyance as you turned around with a tight smile, waving the leash in your hand slightly.

“Hey. How are you?”

You ask as a courtesy because you honestly don’t want to spend any more time talking to this woman. You didn’t have anything against the brunette, except that she couldn’t take a hint. She was persistent to the point that it made you a little uncomfortable. The first time you were in here she’d asked you way too many personal questions, and since then you’d called the vet clinic here a few times and whenever she answered she’d flirt some more.

You hoped that this wouldn’t happen again, but when you noticed Claire’s smile you realized it was wishful thinking.

“Oh I’ve been fine. Just bored silly around here. You haven’t called much.”

You didn’t really know how to respond to this, so you shrugged before gesturing to Milo who seemed to remember the brunette. He tried to move forward to sniff her, but his leash wasn’t long enough.

“Well, I’m not at work today, as you can see. I just needed a new leash for Milo.”

Saying this was a mistake because Milo heard his name and his tail started wagging which was the only invitation Claire needed. She moved forward and knelt down to pet him making the same mistake a lot of people do. She reached for him on his blind side and he jerked back a little before turning his head so he could see the hand petting him. He panted happily once Claire took the hint before his tail resumed wagging. You tried not to glare at him for being a traitor. It wasn’t his fault.

“Aw did you eat your leash? Handsome boy.”

You were glad that at least Milo was having fun. You just nod before shifting slightly so you could look around you for an excuse to leave.

“Yeah, he wasn’t too happy with me.”

You pause as you spot the food aisle a little bit away before adding. “You’ll be lucky to get dinner after doing that, Milo.”

Your bluff had its intended effect and Milo pulled away from Claire and started pawing at you. You just rolled your eyes before leading him toward the end of the aisle. To your escape.

“Yeah, I know. Dinner time. We can go.”

Milo tugs you to toward the front door but you stop by the register first, not failing to notice that the brunette followed you. You went to the first open register and put the leash on the conveyor belt before shooting the person behind the counter a pleading look. She was on your side.

“Hi Emma.”

Help me.

The blonde looked between you and her coworker with a frown, quickly understanding what had happened. It wasn’t like Claire was subtle. She’d ask about you almost every day she was working in the clinic, not that she’d told you that.

“Hey, doc. What’s up?”

You offer the blonde a smile before you open your mouth to respond when you’re cut off. You watch Claire move so she’s standing right next to Emma, practically pushing her out of the way as she eyed you curiously.

“Yeah, if you’re not working you must be free tonight.”

There are a lot of different ways you’d like to respond to this, but you choose to do your best to hide how annoyed you are as you shake your head. You’re free as a bird tonight, but that doesn’t mean you’re going to tell her that.

The lie you come up with though isn’t one you had intended on using.

“Actually, I’m not. I’m going out with my girlfriend.”

Luckily it doesn’t seem like Claire’s prepared a response for this, and you just breathe a sigh of relief as Emma hands you your bag with a smile.

“Thanks. Good to see you two.”

You leave quickly and curse yourself the whole way to the car. What an idiot. Why would you say that?

You’re ticked at Claire for being so aggressive, again. You slammed the door shut behind Milo, without meaning to, and you hurried to get in the car to scratch him behind his ears. You shoot him an apologetic look before sighing in defeat. You hate that you’d lied and that your self-esteem took a hit as well, but what could you do? It’s not like you were going to agree to going anywhere with Claire.

“Sorry, buddy. Let’s get you home for some dinner, hmm? Then we can watch whatever you want.” 

Part 3

#american horror story #murder house #ahs fic #ahs imagine #billie dean howard x reader #billie dean howard #a little bit #my fic #ahs #more Billie dean in the next part #promise!

[lomlmarvel]

It’ll Always Be You

Randall Carpio x fem!Reader Series

Part One :)

Sophomore year of college was said to be more relaxed and less stressful than the previous year. Although, for most people, the stress they referred to was being independent for the first time, being home-sick, finally being responsible for your own things and the start of adulthood. For you, all of those were included, but another event that made your year more interesting was joining the Knights. It wasn't something you had planned to happen; it just did.

You passed all the freshmen walking through the corridors with their parents and moving boxes. Some cried, others were ecstatic, and others were pushing their parents out. You had a take-out bag in one hand while the other held a drink carrier that you swiftly maneuvered away from people's bodies. Randall was meant to meet you a couple of minutes ago but said he got held up, showing a first-year student to his dorm and settling him in. You offered to meet him at the dorms, and that's how you ended in the freshmen building.

You were nearing the room number Randall had told you, and you could hear a male voice talking inside. 

"There's so much to experience, so much to taste. Don't let someone else define you. Don't waste this opportunity. Don't... touch my shit. Also, nice to meet you".

"You too."

As you were about to knock on the door, a tall guy in a white shirt walked out and looked around like it was his first time there. He basically ignored you as he continued walking down the hall. You poked your head in through the open door and saw Randall, who waved you to come in.

"I'm almost done. Sorry, Jack, that's my friend, (Y/N)" Randall said, introducing you as the mysterious guy in the middle of the room remained with his back to you. So, you looked down to let Randall finish his little speech.

"Any questions about changing roommates? No? Great. You lose your key. It's 75 bucks to replace it," Randall continued, standing up from his position.

"(Y/N)?" the mysterious unknown freshmen said. You looked up as his voice sounded familiar and saw the one and only Jack Morton.

"Jack? I didn't know you were coming to Belgrave!" You said, approaching him and pulling him in for a hug. He returned the hug and pulled away to look at your face.

"Wow, I haven't seen you since..." Jack replied, trying to think of the last time he saw you.

"Since my Grandma moved us away. Yeah, wow! It's so good to see you! How's Grandpa Pete?" You asked, completely forgetting about the other male in the room.

"He's good—stubborn, pushy, kind of a dick, like always. Do you remember? How's your Grandma?" Jack was then interrupted by the dark-haired male in the room.

"Wait, you guys know each other?" Randall asked, turning to look at you first, then Jack, then back at you. Randall could see the wide smile on your face that told him there was some history between you. 

"Yeah, we grew up in the same street. Went to school together until my Grandma forced us to move, and we just lost contact," You answered as you set the bag of food and drinks on the table nearby. 

"Wow, small world," Randall made a comment that you could tell was sarcastic, "Anyways, Jack. Here is your welcome package. It's got your map of campus," Randall pulled out his clipboard and handed Jack a stack of papers. "Complete with all-male, female, and non-binary bathroom locations. There's a bunch of coupons--"

"--for stuff, you'll never buy," You said to Jack, causing him to chuckle. Randall sent you a weird glance, which you returned.

 "There is a rape whistle and a 'How Not to Rape' pamphlet. Any questions?" Randall asked as he grabbed the take-out bag and handed you the drinks. He started moving towards the door as you stayed in the same location.

"Nope. But if you need a hand with anything, don't hesitate to ask," Jack replied with a smile on his face, causing you to laugh.

"I think I'm supposed to say that," Randall laughed as he grabbed your hand to pull you out of the room, but you pulled away.

"But seriously, Jack. If you need anything, you can ask Randall and if not, here's my number," You said, grabbing Randall’s pen, writing your number down on one of Jack’s paper and handing it back to him," It's really great to see you. I hope we can catch up soon," You stated, and Jack nodded.

"Yeah, for sure. I just have my orientation later, and maybe I'll send you a text after," Jack replied. You nodded and said goodbye as Randall managed to pull you out of the room. 

As soon as you reached the outside of the dorm building, you punched Randall on the shoulder. 

"Hey! What was that for!" He yelped, rubbing his upper arm with his free hand. You rolled your eyes at his obliviousness. Randall could tell that you noticed his change in attitude towards Jack once he saw you.

"You didn't have to be rude! We could've left like normal people," You stated. You kept walking alongside him. He looked perfect sporting khaki jeans, a black graphic tee, and a black sweater. He rarely wore anything other than sweats and a shirt. But since freshmen were moving in, he had to look 'professional.'

"What are you talking about? I like Jack; I wasn't rude," Randall quickly said, taking his hand and grabbing yours. You and Randall weren't dating. He was your best friend, and you were his. But he didn't act the same way with you than he did with Lilith. He always reached for your hand, always touching you, whether it was an arm around your shoulder, his hand on your legs when you would watch TV together, and you two cuddled regularly. You had feelings for Randall, of course, you did, but he didn't feel the same. He flirted with girls whenever you guys were at the Blade and Chalice, a restaurant/bar on campus. However, you liked it when he was affectionate; that's why you never said anything. Whenever he reached for your hand, your heart always accelerated; you could feel the blood rush to your cheeks, and the hairs on your arm stand up. 

"So, where do you want to go to eat this? Your place? The den? Or our place!" Randall asked, drifting the conversation from Jack to you two.

Randall wasn't jealous of Jack Morton. He had barely met the guy. What was bugging him, however, was the fact that you had never mentioned him before. He knew Jack was a friend, but there was something more; he just couldn't pinpoint it. Also, Randall Carpio wasn't a jealous type. He was confident, charming, and he knew how to tell a girl he was into her, but with you, it was different.

"Let's go to our place. We haven't been there in a while," you mentioned. He agreed, and the two of you began your walk to your destination.

'Your place' wasn't really yours, to begin with. It was no one’s. It was a big oak tree somewhere in the woods where you had run into Randall the first time you met him. You had been on a run and got distracted, which ended up with you getting lost in the woods and Randall finding you. You were confused about what he was doing in the woods, but you got to learn that information a few weeks later. Randall had offered to walk you back to campus, and you thanked him. The walk back wasn't uncomfortable or awkward; the two of you got to know each other and hit it off right away. The rest was pretty much history.

"So I was thinking about Jack and the Knights," Randall stated once the two of you sat down on the ground. You took out your food and handed Randall his.

"Yeah, I don't think so," you mumbled, taking a bite of your food.

"And why not?" Randall asked. You sent him a look, and he looked puzzled.

"First off, Lilith hates almost everyone, and I have a feeling she'll hate Jack. Two, Hamish is still pretty much getting used to me joining the Knights, and I've been here a while. Three, remember how hard it was to convince Hamish about me?" You pointed out. Randall agreed with your first point but then disagreed with the rest.

"No, that's not true. Hamish loves you! He prefers you over me," Randall fought back. The charming asshole knew what he was doing. He was kissing your ass so you could back him up if he ever decided to bring up Jack to the Knights.

"Look, let Jack settle in first, and then you can scout him for your little fantasy wolf pack," you replied. Randall smiled at your comment and bumped shoulders with you.

"You can't date him, though. Because then that'll be awkward," Randall got a boost of confidence in him as he said this. He wanted to ask about your history with Jack but didn't want to seem nosy or jealous.

"Yeah, not gonna happen. We were best friends growing up, but strictly platonic".

Randall couldn't help but smile at this revelation. He had been trying to tell you how he felt about you all year. However, he managed to convince himself to ask you out once school started. Still, he just hadn't had the chance even though you hung out almost every day.

"Hey, by the way, remember how I was wait-listed for Hamish's class? Well, I finally got a seat!" You told Randall who put his hand up for a high five. He clashed your hands together and smiled.

"That's right!" He exclaimed, holding onto your hand for a while. You smiled at his enthusiasm and chuckled. You loved that about Randall. He was always so supportive of anything you did. He was your personal cheerleader and confidant. He was your drinking buddy, study buddy, comforter, and anything you needed. He was the whole package. You just wished you had the guts to tell him so.

While you had been in your own thoughts. You hadn't noticed how close the two of you had gotten. You could feel his breath on your lips, and with each glance from his lips to his eyes, he seemed to be getting closer. This was it. This was the moment you had been waiting for since realizing your feelings for him. You parted your lips and tilted your head to align with his lips.

"Do you want me to walk you back to the den?" Randall asked, quickly jumping back and creating distance between the two of you. Your cheeks flushed in embarrassment, and you turned to pick up your trash.

"I totally forgot I have another freshman coming in. I also just want to do another round before I call it a day," Randall continued as you stood up.

"Uh... no, it's fine. I can walk myself," you replied, wiping your hands on your jeans. "Are you coming to the den later, or no?"

"I'm not sure. I'll let you know. If not, I'll see you tomorrow?" He asked. You nodded and said bye to him as you began walking in separate directions.

That had been weird. You were sure he was going to kiss you. But maybe he just got caught up in the moment and didn't actually feel anything romantic towards you. That broke your heart, but that's how it was sometimes.

Making his journey back to campus, Randall mentally kicked himself for being so close to finally doing what he's been wanting to do for a long time. Truthfully, he got scared. He was scared that you didn't reciprocate feelings for him and that it would ruin your friendship. But maybe, he got the courage to really tell you next time.

A/N: Will be writing the other parts soon and will updating them:)

#imagines #randall carpio x reader #randall carpio imagine #hamish duke x reader #hamish duke imagine #jack morton x reader #jack morton imagine #the order #netflix #randall carpio #jack morton #hamish duke #lilith bathory #lilith bathory imagine #It’ll Always Be You Series

[ooops-i-arted]

More Miscellaneous 101 Yoditos AU Things

Given he is responsible for soothing up to 101 children to sleep, Din has absolutely cheated by filling his glove with sand and setting it on them, laying them by his helmet when he’s not wearing it, or taking off his breastplate and setting them on it.  It worked a grand total of once for most of the kids.  (OG did not put up with that shit at all and definitely stalked over to Dad with a little pouty face and held up his arms to clearly indicate that he expected to be rocked to sleep IN PERSON, thank you.)  Now it only works on the 10 youngest babies, but only if they’re really sleepy, so that they fall asleep before they bother reaching out with the Force to sense HEY, THAT’S NOT DAD.

The kids can track him using the Force.  Din is their favorite, so of course they are very attuned to his presence in the Force.  Din figured this out after several times where he was 100% certain everyone was occupied before he slipped away to take a shower and had barely turned the water on before the kids were trying to beat the door down.

It does end up being a benefit eventually though.  Once the kids start self-managing their initial (and understandably significant) separation issues from the first person to actually care about them, the fact that they always know where Dad is, even if they can’t see him, is very reassuring and gives them more confidence that Dad leaving doesn’t mean he’s leaving forever.

Din swears they are using the Force to know exactly how far to push limits before he is about to lose his cool, because somehow they always know when to stop being little shits and instead hug his boot while looking up adorably and saying “Buir, I love you.”

Din and Cara like to spar with each other both to stay sharp and relieve stress, but have to be careful about when they do it.  The first time the kids from the lab found them they were very upset to see their aunt and dad beating the crap out of each other, and Din had to calm them all down and explain play-fighting.  (Cara was just glad she didn’t get choked.  She could handle angry glares, and tell anyone raising their hands and squeezing they better not, and stop anyone who decided to copy her and start beating on their brother, or worse try and join in with her and Din, but one of them sobbing and running up to her and begging her not to hurt his papa was hard.)

One of those days where everything just went wrong and Din was running really late and the kids were hungry and he broke down and just stopped at a space McDonalds.   Din had to admit just getting approximately 1,000 chicken nuggets was a very easy solution to feeding 101 children (once he convinced the server this wasn’t a prank and he really needed that many).  Dragging them all out of the playplace was absolute hell.

Otherwise Din absolutely will not shut up about is the food healthy, what if there are space pesticides in it, this ration bar composition doesn’t have enough protein, etc.  IG-11 is the only one who puts up with this.  Even Kuiil is eventually like, I think they’re fine and you’re feeding them well and you can stop.  I have spoken.

Kuiil is the one Din seeks out when he’s feeling really unsure about any Parenting Things.  Kuiil will listen to him natter as long as he needs to, then say one simple wise sentence that either validates or corrects Din followed by “I have spoken.”

Din doesn’t want to get along with IG-11 but IG is the only one who will put up with anything with endless, eternal patience, whether it’s Din going on and on about healthy food or the kids telling a meandering story.  Din also greatly appreciates how good IG-11 is at tracking all the kids down when they don’t want to do bedtime/bathtime/etc.  (Also, there has yet to be a diaper blowout that IG-11 can’t handle, because he can turn off his scent receptors at will.)

Din knows about traditional Mandalorian recipes, although he’s only actually cooked them a handful of times.  He figures out a tiingilar recipe the kids can eat, as well as a meat-based version of uj’alayi.  The kids love it.

The knowledge that he can cook gets around and Din is roped into the Sorgan PTA’s bake sale, because he has a ship and can drive them around.  There is much sighing, but he does agree.

The second most awkward ship ride of Din’s life is carting around a bunch of PTA moms to the bake sale.  (They try to make small talk.  Din does not.)  The first most awkward ship ride of his life is taking them back to the village, with the local Karen fuming behind him because everyone liked his uj’alayi cake better than her shitty-ass brownies.

After this there is a string of Sorgan PTA moms who come over and are very interested in whether Din is alone right now and whether he would like to come over to their conveniently empty houses sometime.  Din, being Too Ace For This Shit, lets the kids drive them off.  (Cara finally gets him to admit that her buying them Space Nerf Guns was a good idea.)

(I just fucking lose it every time I think of the big bad stoic introverted bounty hunter having to deal with Stereotypical Suburban Situations.)

OG Yodito develops a dramatic streak due to his insecurity over keeping a hold of his dad’s attention.  He stubs his toe and he’s wailing and limping over like he’s broken his leg.  Fortunately a few minutes of Dad Time usually solve the issue.  Din absolutely knows he’s faking, but lets it slide because he knows how important special attention is to his eldest bean.

Anytime Din actually has to put his foot down and discipline OG Yodito, OG tends to dramatically sob and wail and run to the nearest flat surface and throw himself down and cry.  Din feels so torn - he knows discipline is important and necessary, but it breaks his heart to see his little one so wounded by it, but also the tantrum is so overdramatic it’s straight-up hilarious.  (It never lasts long anyway.  The first few times it worked and made Din apologize and hold OG, but once Din stopped falling for it, it just became a token protest against the absolute horror of having his behavior corrected.)

Cara complains endlessly about having to spend sooooo much time on the kids, she doesn’t do the baby thing, etc.  Almost as much time as she spends starting water gun fights, teaching them songs and chants her shocktrooper group used to use (because watching Din try to cover 101 kids’ ears at the same time while yelling at her is really funny), and all sorts of other cool stuff that Din would not let them do but if she does it just sighs.

They’re kids, so they don’t have a lot of discretion, but there is one thing the 101 have a silent pact on.  Once Din took off his helmet and revealed his ridiculously small and out-of-proportion ears, oversized nose, the weird fuzzy hairs all over his face, his strange tiny eyes, and the fact that he wasn’t even green, the 101 all collectively decided that he is their dad and they love him anyway and will never, ever tell him that he is ugly as sin and just as weird-looking as all the other humans.  He’s still the best dad ever....but now they know why he wears a helmet.

Ika’ika, the tiniest and last clone, was underdeveloped and weak while stuck in a plain box cradle at the lab, but completely blooms under Din’s care.  Before you know it he’s crawling....and what do you know, the tiniest Yodito is also the best escape artist and the best hider.  (Din frequently has to employ the older ones to track him down.)  He also likes napping in any random thing he can find - Din’s helmet, a caf mug, any nook and cranny on the ship.  Din found him sleeping in a speeder engine once and kept Ika’ika in a carrier on him for the next week.... until Ika’ika finally managed to escape that too.

The carrier is supposed to be mainly for the little ones who can’t walk well enough to really keep up with their older siblings or at all, but in practice everyone demands Carrier Rides while rubbing in their siblings’ faces that it’s THEIR turn to be carried by Dad.

Din:  I need more arms Cara:  Don’t you have a full blaster cabinet? Din:  No not those arms the kids all want to be held and I only have two arms and 101 kids

#this au is 1% plot and 89% you know what would be funny/cute/interesting #and 10% The Reality of Childcare for 101 Children in Space #101 yoditos au #the mandalorian

[forkanna]

[AO3] [WATTPAD]

The rest of the morning was spent getting dressed and ready for their day to begin. Rise only had a few of the more cliched touristy things in mind, since she had been planning it out with the whole of the Investigation Team — such as whale watching, or hitting up Okinawa World. Even though none of them were old enough to drink their fabled "snake liquor", they were all for exploring the caves that ran beneath the theme park.

When Ai had asked if she wanted her to return the favour, Rise declined. The truth was that while she desperately wanted to sate her urges, she knew they were both feeling a little out of sorts from all their exploration so far — which was why she thought the downtime would be good. Now they could sort through their feelings while sightseeing, and come back to it several hours later, hopefully having gained some kind of wisdom along the way.

Though there was one small problem…

"Will you stop that?" Ai hissed as she and Rise lingered toward the back of the group climbing the steps to the historical Shuri Castle. Yukiko was definitely the one most interested, but the others didn't mind seeing the notable sites.

"Stop whaaat?"

"Stop trying to grab me by the balls. I tried to tell you, it's not a toy!"

Pursing her lips, she pulled her closer to whisper in her ear, "It's my toy. I'm having a lot of fun with it." But then she dropped back with a giggle. "And we both know that if you didn't want me to, you'd try harder to stop me. But all you have to say is 'You need to stop' again and I'll know you're serious."

Ai pursed her lips… but said nothing. Perfect. She had a feeling she was enjoying the attention, even if not the specific form it took. "Dumb bitch," she said yet again.

"You love meeeeee," she cooed with a grin and a little bounce as they reached the top, leaning over to rest her head against her shoulder. Even though she decided not to grab for her unmentionables anymore, she wasn't going to leave her alone.

"Okay, you two," Yosuke sighed irritably as he laced his fingers behind his head. "I know you two have this whole weird 'bet' going, or whatever it is, but do you have to rub it in for the rest of us who don't have anybody? Like, look at Yukiko and Chie and Naoto; they don't have boyfriends! You're gonna make 'em feel bad, too!"

Apparently, he had thought appealing to their solidarity with other women would be more effective than pleading his own case. But Rise just giggled, because she saw the look Yukiko and Chie shared. Naoto was as stoic as ever… but she thought she noticed Kanji blushing. That would make perfect sense, those two — she just had no evidence they were also a thing.

Poor Yosuke. No chance at love unless Narukami came back, or he decided to give in to-

"WHAT A PRETTY CASTLE!" Teddie burst out in a gushy tone of voice, lacing his fingers together next to his own face as he stared up at the doorways. "Ohhh, can we live here? Pleeeeaaaase?!"

"No," Yosuke sighed very tiredly with no hesitation whatsoever. "And I thought I reminded you a whole damn five minutes ago to keep it down!"

Rise was laughing at that reprimand when her cell phone went off, making much more noise than Teddie ever had been. Holding up a finger, she stepped a little further away from the group to take it.

"Yes?"

"Miss Kujikawa."

After a brief second of surprise, she managed to breathe, "Minoru-chan! What's… I mean, hey!"

Minoru Inoue's stoic voice returned over the earpiece of her phone as she turned away from the group. "I have been trying to call you all morning. Is there an issue with your cell phone carrier? Would you like me to look into the cause of-"

"No, no, it's… it's fine." This was inconvenient, but she wanted to get it out of the way as quickly as possible. "So what's up? I'm out with friends, we're on vacation."

"Yes, about that… I'm going to send you a couple of images. Tell me if you notice anything."

So she pulled the phone back in order to check the screen. Sure enough, within seconds the images were coming in via text, and when they finally loaded…

"O-oh, you saw those!" she laughed as lightly as she could manage despite the way her heart began pounding in her throat. So many pictures! Each one featured her and it behara laughing together, walking hand in hand, arguing… only one or two showed anything that could be construed as romantic, but all of them could have been explained away as friendship if one tried hard enough. "Yep, all according to plan. It's fine! They're fine, don't… don't worry about 'em!"

"Which 'plan' was this? Certainly nothing approved by the label."

"Something I thought of on the spur of the moment. It's so easy for an idol to fade into the background, isn't it? Well… here's me, finding a way to stand out! It'll be great — you'll see!"

"There are already a lot of polarising comments on the message boards," Inoue went on, and Rise found herself glancing around to make sure nobody else could hear her. A couple of her friends — including Ai — were glancing over at her to make sure everything was alright, but they were far enough away they probably didn't catch a word. "Everyone is very invested — for both positive and negative reasons."

"See? It's working!"

"No, you misunderstand, Miss Kujikawa. The label is uncomfortable with your career taking this direction. They're considering severing their association with you."

Rise felt her blood chill in her veins. "They're gonna fire me? Because… I'm dating a girl?" She had considered adding a 'maybe' in there, but decided against it. That wasn't how she wanted to move forward with her life.

"They're considering it. There's no real official position on these matters, but businessmen tend to be more conservative. Even if they like the idea of flash and attention-seeking behaviour because it typically only helps a celebrity's visibility, if it's the wrong kind of visibility, it could eventually reflect poorly on the label itself."

"That's not fair," she immediately shot back. And then her higher reasoning skills kicked back in. "And they already know what a moneymaker my voice and my looks are, that I know how to work it. I'm cute, and I know how to be cute."

"The label wants you to be cute and available," he stressed. "They understand that most of our idols will marry eventually, but they hope to get as many men lusting after the idea of being your boyfriend for as long as possible."

"They're delusional."

"Yes, they are. But that's where the money is."

Sighing, she found a nearby pillar and leaned back against it as she thought about the entirety of the situation. Tried to weigh her options. "Well… okay, so I can ride the scandal for a while, can't I? Like, there hasn't been a lesbian idol. Not that I remember."

"Don't you think there's a reason why you can't remember? Because they aren't encouraged to be out publicly. And if they can't conduct that business in private, then the labels have no use for them."

Anger was starting to overtake her anxiety. "That 'business', huh? Maybe it's not any of their business."

"Of course it is. An idol in this country? Literally every aspect of your personal life reflects on your profession, colours public opinion. You know this as well as I do."

"Well… I don't care. Like, if they really want to cut me loose, they can go ahead, but I think they would really be shooting themselves in the foot if they don't see how this plays out first."

"They're already on point of doing that, Miss. You're already essentially 'retired' and trying to make a comeback. If there were going to be a homosexuality scandal, it would be ideally placed for when you're already riding high on the charts, or are on a slight decline — and even then, it's still very risky. So you should really start thinking about whether or not you want this comeback at all."

"Now you're starting to piss me off," she snapped. "This isn't a 'scandal' or a 'business' or any of that stuff! This is my life! Isn't the whole point for me to be entertaining? I can do that and be with a woman at the same time!" She heard him start to interrupt, but she pushed ahead, "Maybe it's about time Japan had an openly queer pop star, because there sure as hell aren't enough of us! So you can shut the fuck up until you have something a little less caveman to say!"

And she hung up on him. Deep down, she knew she was being unfair to Minoru; he was just trying to do his job, and seeing everything through that public relations lense. But she hated the fact that they were trying to tell her she couldn't even date the woman she wanted to date. Nevermind that she was serious about it, and they all thought this was either a publicity stunt, or just some random person she wanted to hold hands with for five seconds before throwing her away. Everything in the world of light music was so immaterial. She wasn't even sure she really was gay or bisexual or whichever label fit her; why did it have to be so important to everyone when it didn't even affect them?

Looking over at Ai was enough to reassure her that she had done the right thing. Even though she wasn't even paying attention to her at the moment, just looking around the brightly-coloured interior of the castle, she was still just as gorgeous as ever — and she was a woman. The only woman Rise had ever found herself thinking about as not just attractive, but as someone she was attracted to. Every time she tried to examine that and figure out if it was a fluke, she just found herself falling yet harder for the stunning upperclassman. Who wouldn't be? Plenty of boys wanted to be with her, so it was understandable.

Because at least some small part of her was lesbian. Maybe more than a small one.

As she stowed her phone, she took a look at Chie and Yukiko. Chie was cute in a playful, carefree way, and Yukiko was so elegant. Could she be into them? No, not really; she had never thought about them that way in the past and wasn't too inclined to start now. Though if she were to choose…

That was interesting. Her brain instantly whispered, "It would be Yukiko," and she didn't even understand the reason. Was she into girlier girls?! Turning her attention to Chie, she knew she was also appealing in a different way, but something about that extra-feminine… maybe it was because she associated that with Ai now. She and Yukiko were both very put together, even if Yukiko took a simpler approach to her dress and makeup and hair; more traditional.

Weird thoughts. Shaking her head out, she jogged to catch up with the group, putting on a happy face.

"What was that shit all about?" Kanji asked idly.

"Nothing," she said with a big smile, trying to put her best foot forward. "What about you guys? What's this all about?"

After a brief pause, Chie said, "It's… a castle…?"

"Well, um, yes, but are we all having fun? Come on, get excited — we're in Okinawa! Away from our parents and school and all that dumb stuff! Let's have FUN!"

Nobody could argue with that.

                                                ~ o ~

Only once they were at lunch did Ai catch up to her and confront her on trying to hide her true feelings about that phone call. After she had related the entirety of the conversation, Ai looked like she would throw her soba and chanpuru at the wall; she even threatened to pick it up and do that very thing.

"Shhh, stop that," Rise half-snickered. "It's not that big a deal."

"It is to me! That fucking asshole thinks he can push you around and tell you who to be?!"

"I know! It's so gross, and invasive, and… I just don't think it's very nice for the label to be breathing down my neck so much!"

Ai sighed as she stirred her noodles distractedly, posture slumping. "But you'd probably better think about doing as they say."

"Huh?"

"Well, you have your entire future to think about, right? I don't want to be the one holding you back. They're gross, but they're probably also just reading the room. They know what it takes to get you where you want to be, and… I ain't it."

A flash of anger welled up within Rise as she picked at her rafute. "No. You're what I need because you're my friend and you make me happy."

"Friend, huh? You do that with all your friends?" When Rise opened her mouth, she held up her hand, chopsticks still between her fingers. "Just messing with you."

"Shut UP, oh my GOD." Then they both laughed very briefly before Rise felt another sigh coming on. "Honestly, I think they're wrong about this. I've checked the online spaces myself, too — don't they think I have? Don't they think I'm better at it than those old crusty guys are?!"

"Tell them, girl!"

"Are you two okay over there?" Chie asked with a little laugh.

"NO!" they both answered, only making both tables laugh. There hadn't been enough space at any one table at the restaurant they found, so most of them ended up at the big one. Ai had volunteered the two of them to take another small one nearby — and Rise now realised the reason was this interrogation.

"Anyway, if they don't want me on the label anymore, that's that. I can find a way to pursue music without them."

Mouth full, Ai just nodded and pointed her chopsticks at her for a second until she swallowed. "YES. The internet is here and it's queer, and they're old guard who are going to die out. Viral videos are really starting to become a big part of how artists get noticed. YouTube and Niconico and stuff. Who even cares about TV anymore?"

"A lot of people," Rise sighed resignedly. "Especially in rural areas — which will also be the same people who don't want to see me dating a woman. Just not kids our age as much as we used to."

"Well… okay, yeah, that's true."

"It's okay, though. The future isn't for old people, it's for us. Me being who I am, dating who I want to date, is part of pushing forward, y'know? Not that I want to be some big activist… I don't know enough about that stuff. Not as much as you probably do. But I'm not going to hide who I am just because some old people tell me I have to; I've done enough of that for a lifetime. Now I just want to figure out the real Rise and love her, and show the world who she is."

Though she had finished and gone back to eating a moment later, waiting for Ai to respond, she never did. So eventually she glanced up to see her simply smiling across the table at her, elbows leaning on its surface as her mascara-laden eyelashes fluttered a little.

"What?"

"Nothing. Just proud of what a bitch you can be when you need to."

"Huh?! I'm not a bitch!"

"It's a compliment, dumbass. Bitches get shit done."

"Oh. Well, um… thank you?"

Ai chuckled at her for a moment, prompting Rise to kick her under the table. Then they both started flicking tiny bits of food at each other from across the tabletop until Yosuke asked what the hell they were doing, prompting a loud peal of laughter from them both. Even though at the time, Rise was mostly worried about her career and whether or not she was making the right steps, she would forever look back on that as a glorious moment she had shared with Ai Ebihara. With her girlfriend.

                                                To Be Continued…

#we'll face ourselves #saphir de lune #forkanna writes #persona 4 fanfiction #p4 fanfic #rise x ai #jess the writer

[filmista]

Gilda (1946): An uncoventional femme fatale

-Isn't it wonderful? Nobody has to apologize, because we were both stinkers, weren't we? Isn't it wonderful? -Wonderful.

Gilda could be the ultimate example of a film in which a single scene transcends the entire film, making the viewer forget about everything. Some may not have even seen it yet, but they do know of that iconic striptease.

What is film noir without the relationship between the protagonists? What is left in a film noir when we strip it of this element, of those murky and sickly as well as fascinating relationships?

Make no mistake: the sophistication that characterizes film noir would be meaningless without the protagonists. And in this sense, Gilda has its own characteristics, something of a film noir, but with a development in its characters very different from the genre.

Here, the femme fatale doesn’t need a man to lead "to perdition." Her reason for being isn’t that, far from it. Therefore, Gilda breaks with that film noir rule; here the protagonists drag each other in that whirlpool that only brings misfortunes, which is resolved in a totally different way in this film. 

One of the characteristics of film noir is that of the love triangle although, in this case, we could speak of two love triangles, one of them very particular. At the beginning of the film, we see Ballin rescue Farrell from the street, from the underworld of Buenos Aires.

He has saved his life; one feels indebted and the other responsible for the act. Next we see the third component of this triangle, the cane. A cane that hides a  a deadly weapon.

Ballin: It is a most faithful and obedient friend: it is silent when I want it to be silent, but talks when I want it to talk.

Farrell: Is that your idea of a friend?

Ballin: That is my idea of a friend.

It’s not trivial to consider that cane as another member of the relationship between the two men; in fact, when Ballin introduces Gilda, Farrell says: "I thought we were three already”, referring to the cane. 

That strange triangle is agreed upon and closed with the following words by Ballin: “This I must be sure of, that there is no woman anywhere. Gambling and women do not mix.” Farrell becomes Ballin's right-hand, his best friend and confidant. 

And there it is, the second triangle, and this time, the real one. Ballin appears with his new wife, Gilda, Farrell's old love. As they walk up the stairs, guided by Gilda's siren song, Farrell mumbles an "I hope everything is as before", which sounds more like a wish that he knows won’t be fullfiled; his relationship with Ballin isn’t going to be the same as before. He stands at the bedroom door while we see on his face that he recognises the voice, that voice that he has heard sing so many times in the past.

Ballin tells him that "he seems stunned" listening from the doorway. When Farrell reminds him of the "no women" pact, Ballin replies "my wife is not a woman.” And it is then when Ballin asks Gilda the question:

-Ballin: Are you decent? -Gilda: Sure I’m decent.

The tension between Gilda and Farrell is evident. We don't know what happened between them (that could be another movie), but the wound there is palpable; Ballin is no stranger to that, he realises it perfectly. The Casino workers notice too, in fact they joke about it. When Ballin asks Gilda not to call him "Mr. Farrell", but Johnny, she says "Johnny is a very difficult name to remember and very easy to forget."

And here that obsessive triangle unfolds, so obsessive that, despite Ballin's suspicions that Johnny and his wife knew each other from before, he asks him to stay near her, to take care of her. It seems to be a game that Ballin enjoy. That macabre game reaches its height during a dinner in which the three share a table, in which they toast the misfortune of the woman who made Johnny suffer:

Ballin Mundson : Now then, before we were interrupted, I believe we were about to drink a toast. So: disaster to the wench who did wrong by our Johnny. No, Gilda? You won't drink to that?

Gilda : Why not? Disaster to the wench!

When Farrell admits to Ballin that they knew each other from before, he says, "I taught her what she knows." Up to that point we can imagine what Johnny has meant in Gilda's life. Thinking that Ballin is dead, Gilda and Johnny get married in a wedding that could predict what comes next: we only see her through a window, through the rain that falls outside.

Johnny begins to punish her by leaving her alone, humiliating her, to such an extent that she has to go see him at the office: “Hello. Do you remember me? I am Gilda, your wife ”. Farrell enjoys humiliating her; He lights her cigarette by placing the lighter at waist height, so she has to "bow" to light the cigarette.

She married Ballin out of revenge on Johnny, and he marries her to humiliate her. So much so, that their new home is dominated by a huge portrait of Ballin. She is a prey to her past. She tries to run away from Johnny, but wherever she tries to go, he torments her.

When everything is over, Gilda surrenders and decides to leave the country; He returns to ask her to leave together, while apologizing for his behavior: “We were both scoundrels. Isn’t it wounderful". That obsessive triangle becomes a couple of neurotics, in which with their strange relationship of emotional dependence., they feed each other until they reach the point of recognising that it’s wonderful that they don’t have to ask for forgiveness or that anyone is guilty of anything, the two have been just as awful.

But Ballin returns from the shadows to claim what is his: his wife.

But prophetically it’s a member of the previous triangle, the knife hidden in the cane, that is going to solve this triangle, and this time forever. Ballin dies at the hand of his best friend, 

The tagline for the film announced that "there is no woman like Gilda". There may not be a more iconic female character in film history. She has such strength on  screen that perhaps because of that the viewer may not have been able to judge her in depth. She has nothing to do with the rebellious woman we all thought her to, nor is she a man-eater; Gilda is simply different. She is a woman with an apparent happiness, that hides an immense sadness and melancholia. 

A woman who complains about "so many people and so much loneliness.” Her need for attention and love is palpable. From the moment she meets Johnny Farrell, The expression on her face changes: the past has returned. When Johnny first goes to the ballroom run by Ballin, he meets a beautiful woman and, when he asks about her they tell him: she is a harpy.

Harpies, fantastic beings with the face of a woman and the body of a bird of prey. In Greek mythology, they were the beings in charge to enforce the punishment of Zeus to Fineo, stealing his food. Later on, various traditions gave them malevolent connotations, carriers of catastrophes. 

When Ballin appears to be dead, Farrell finds himself between two harpies reading Ballin's will and instructions.

Gilda can’t be considered the classic film noir femme fatale. She seeks to torment Johnny, but in order to make him  jealous, her end goal is not money, as is often the case with the film noir woman; She is in love with him, she marries Ballin for money, yes, but it’s a question that Ballin was not oblivious to when he married her; for him she is a beautiful and hungry little girl. 

He feels like a man, he realises himself as such by feeding her. But Gilda's wound is very deep; referring to Farrell, she says: "I was once loyal to a man, and look what happened." Ballin justifies her marriage to him: “She said she was born the day she met me. The three of us have no past, only future. Interesting, right?". Those same words are the ones Johnny used when he met Ballin, who had been born the day he met him.

There are two very important themes in Gilda: hatred, hatred that’s been shaped by Gilda’s pain. She reiterates many times how much she hates Johnny, but it’s a simple excuse; She loves him so much that she has had to turn the feeling into hate as a barrier against pain: “Hate can be a very intense emotion (…). Hate is the only thing that warms me. ”

And Farrell in turn thinks about her: “I hated her so much that I couldn't forget her. I was in the air I breathed.” The reunion with Johnny makes her want to plunge into a self-destructive spiral that, that would destroy everything she knows.  Her words to Johnny are very significant: "I hate you so much that I would destroy myself to drag you down with me."

But the love game she plays with Johnny reveals something else: She doesn’t hesitate to be seen with other men to arouse his jealousy, a game into which she falls very easily. At the Carnival, with another identity, with a mask, they dance as it seems they did before. She’s mischievous: “I can help you regain practice. I mean dancing. "

He asks her to throw her hat back. He shoves her away violently while she laughs amused. The love-hate game between them is very powerful. We can’t forget the famous slap that he gives her ... although he doesn’t escape a few himself. The game of erotic power play and violence often present in film noir is very noticeable here. 

When he takes Gilda home, she does’t hesitate to stress again and again that they are alone. He can’t avoid the temptation and goes up to the bedroom. She has removed her disguise, she is Gilda again, a Gilda in the shadows. They hesitate whether to approach each other or not: "I hate you so much that I think I'm going to die from it ... darling." Their neurotic behaviour could be summed up in this phrase, in that kiss during which the two explode when they say that they hate each other to death.

Gilda’s death drive leads her to an obsessive superstition, another important theme in this film, in which she leaves her life and actions in the hands of that belief, she sees signs everywhere and subjects her life to that destiny. The night the three of them toast to the misfortune that Johnny suffered (herself), she is afraid to drink the glass, as if consuming the champagne closes a pact with the devil.

But after a moment of doubt, she drinks without hesitation, as if that liquid were a poison and she wanted to die right there. She doesn’t care that she’s toasting to her own misfortunes. She’s so superstitious that when she tells the maid, she asks her not to repeat it. Whilst being in luck at roulette someone says "lucky in the game, unlucky in love", and she stops playing to avoid tempting luck. On her wedding day with Johnny, a lonely, sad and glamorousness wedding, a wedding that we as spectators only see through a window, she says: “The rain has stopped. Maybe it means something. ”

Of course Gilda is not the typical film noir woman. She is a tremendously sad woman, sadness caused by love, and who seeks to flee from herself, from everything inside herself.

A woman afraid of her husband and destiny, fearful of life, in a word. In the end, feeling cornered by everyone, the only thing left for her to do is a farewell worthy of her, an iconic dance: She knows she’s being observed by everyone, especially by Johnny. A song in which she asks to blame someone else, "Put the blame on me."

Don't blame Gilda; she’s already fleeing Buenos Aires. But Johnny asks her to go with her. What was Gilda looking for? To be loved. Nothing more, nothing less. Gilda represents the “whore” who wants to emancipate herself to become a mother. Almost no woman in film noir is a mother, a femme fatale is not a mother, she’s a temporary distraction and obstacle to the hero. 

But Gilda wants to escape such a condition, and we could really see her as a loving mother and living together with Johnny. In Gilda the woman could be seen as a symptom of the man, Gilda comes to substitute those other symptoms that these men have (sadistic in the case of Ballin, vengeful in the case of Farrell), and take them out on her. 

Film noir always plays with appearances: nothing is what it seems to be. But in Gilda, this premise turns to "but in the end everything was what it seemed to be." That game of appearances, like at the Carnival, ends when the participants remove their mask, this time, in a violent way. Neither is Ballin the good Samaritan who saves lives altruistically, nor is his Casino his main activity, not even his death is true. We are shown his shadow on different occasions, in profile; we never see him fully.

Gilda and Johnny’s life is also a lie, to bear their pain. The Casino is itself a lie, a place that Ballin uses to hide his work, and that he has arranged to be able to  see without being seen. His office is upstairs, from where, thanks to a set of lights, blinds and windows, he can see everything, like an omniscient God.

It’s the only way out of the suffocating atmosphere of the game room. Gilda is no stranger to what that game of points of view can provide to her, on two occasions she knows she’s being observed by Johnny, she seeks to be observed by him, but she doesn’t see him watching her, as if he doesn't want to see her face and guess what she’s thinking at the moment. The final moment, Gilda’s iconic dance, seems meticulously prepared for him to observe her, but also for him to see how others look at her. What does Farrell do? He stops her.  He can’t stand what’s happening.

Doesn't that moment remind us of this one from Paris, Texas?

Or this one?

Two absolutely different women, but in a sense mirrors of each Gilda is the whore who wants to emancipate herself to become a mother; Jane is the mother who emancipates herself and becomes a whore, once Travis appears, she takes the path back to that role of mother. Could that moment that game of points of view, be the beginning of that emancipation, of that path?

That claustrophobic environment and that game of viewpoints is exemplified in Gilda and Johnny's wedding: We only see her through a window, through a rain curtain, we don't even hear what is being said inside the room. We are spectators. But aren’t we during the entire film?

Gilda’s iconic phrase: If I'd been a ranch, they would have named me "The Bar Nothing.", is now more ironic than ever. No, she is not the free woman we were made to believe; she has an owner, Johnny. The mare is back with the stallion.

@purecinema​ @idasessions​ @missdubois​ @mad-prophet-of-the-airwaves​ 

#fave #took me ages to write #gilda #gilda 1946 #charles vidor #rita hayworth #glenn ford #film noir #40’s cinema #cinema #movies #films #film review #movie review #movie analysis #film analysis #filmista

[simpmeon]

Lilith Head Cannons

Just some random headcannons I have about Lilith and her personality and interactions with the other characters. Might do a part two if I can come up with more. Sorry if they're all scrambled I literally was like "thought. Thumbs. Post." Djdjjdjd enjoy. Also!!! If you want to add more to the post feel free and remember that this is not cannon, just my opinion on her character, or really her absence of one.

General Head Cannons

I like to think she also was an artist, especially sculpting and painting. She loved the statues of the ancient Greek Gods and would often try to mimic them to look like her father or her brothers. She was also there for the renaissance and fell in love with the style of the time and would paint beautiful portraits of her family that would hang on the walls. In her room dedicated to her in Devildom, there are paintings of flowers that I would like to believe that she painted.

A master storyteller. She would tell all the brothers stories that she would make up on spot before bed. It started as a cute toddler thing, her babbling nonsense for hours before they all went to sleep, but it soon became a thing that neither of the brothers could fall asleep properly without having a story told to them. Soon the useless babbling told into brave and riveting tales that would take hours to tell, and by then Belphie was guaranteed to be the first to fall asleep.

After the fall, all of the brothers could not go to sleep, not because of persisting nightmares, but because their little sister was not there to tell them a story

She's a great fighter. At first she learned basics in case her overprotective big brothers werent there to protect her, but soon she was on par with some of the top fighters in all of the Celestial Realm. She even managed to knock Lucifer down in mid air combat, despite being the strongest physically. This came in handy when her brothers would get into fights and she would often play middle man and have to physically pull them apart and toss them across the room.

She was the fastest out of all of them. Mammon is canonically the fastest out of the current demon bros, but when him and Lilith played tag, you could barely see anything besides the blur of wings. She has outran him several times and often managed to duck out of lectures from her oldest brother simply by just taking off.

She loved to bake and cook for her brothers a lot and often taught some of the newer apprentices the archangels favorite recipies so that they can prepare it for them. She loved teaching them because she would often fill the waiting time with embarrassing stories about her brothers and the archangels. ("No Luci I dont know where they learned that your drool in your sleep...")

Fiery personality, which was often her savior and her doom. She took no nonsense from anyone, rather they be a random demon, an archangel, her own brothers, or even her father. If she didn't like something that was said or a decision that was being made she would not hesitate to speak her mind no matter what the consequences were.

Insanely smart because of all the times she would spend in the Celestial Realms many libraries. No one would peg her to be the studious one out of the bunch, but she just found all the information fascinating. However, just because she is book smart she lacks common sense and street smarts which proves itself when she placed her hand in fire because "she wanted to see what it felt like". Many people think the scars on her body are from battles, but in reality its because she decided she wanted to be her own personal test subject, no matter how dangerous they would be. ("Hey Luci do you think I could bite through selenite?" "Lilith nO-" )

Asks "Can this kill a human?" a lot and to newer angel's it sounds like shes plotting to take a humans life, but to those used to her antics they would just sigh and respond with a "Yes Lilith" or "No Lilith that can not kill a human."

Snorts when she laughs. Theres no other explanation I just feel that she does. Full belly laughs in private, sweet delicate laugh in public to play up her delicate fragile flower persona that she hated so much.

Just like how I feel like she scrunches her nose up when she gets angry and how she will literally get right up in Lucifers face whenever he pisses her off, no matter what protests she hears from her brothers.

Lucifer 

I like to believe that, like Lucifer, she was attracted to the piano. Lucifer would often be playing melodies in the sun room in the Celestial Realm and Lilith would always be the one to find him first. He taught her how to play and even if she just banged on the keys, Lucifer still found her endearing. As she grew older though, the two of them became the best piano players in all of the realm. Didn’t help that she was also regarded as one of the best singers in the entire realm too.

Loved helping Lucifer and Belphie in organizing and categorizing notes from their father that day. She would often make it a game where they would pick their favorite event from that day both as a way to see if they were actually reading the documents being given to them, and as a way to discuss her and Belphies favorite subject with their big brother.

Her and Lucifer were often regarded as the Jewel and Flower of the Celestial Realm. They were both undeniably gorgeous, not that her brothers werent all gorgeous, but her and Lucifer were often pegged as the most beautiful out of all the siblings.

Both put under undeniable amounts of stress and would often seek to reconcile each other because of it. Lucifer was an archangel and their fathers right hand man, and with Lilith being the only daughter fromt heir father and because of that also having a reputation to uphold as being a mediator, the two of them would often find one another in the arms of each other after a particularly bad day, whether that be Lilith just hugging Lucifer and stroking his hair or Lucifer just having Lilith lay on him as she took a nap.

However their titles came with double edged swords. He often was found reprimanding her for possibly tarnishing her reputation because she would often get caught up in her brothers tricks and pranks. They would often butt heads, but as much as he hated to admit it sometimes, most of the time she was right. She was the only one who could wrangle apologies out of him.

Lucifer often treated Lucifer like she was fragile and that really pissed her off. Whenever she would come back with new scratches and bruises he would often reprimand her for tarnishing her beauty and would have to convince their father to not punish her because of it. She hates being treated like that but knows better than to tell Lucifer that he was being overbearing.

Mammon

Mammon was 100% the brother who didnt want a little sister until he got one.

Super cuddly with Mammon. In her early years Mammon was often the one who who she would just snuggle up into and fall asleep on, besides when she went to bed at night with Beel and Belphie. He would just be chilling on a couch after a days worth of work and suddenly would have a tiny baby foot stepping on his cheeks trying to get comfortable on his chest. Soon that's just how they would fall asleep together. Although Mammon would always deny that she wasnt cute whenever his brothers would catch them napping together and how he protectively held her.

Mammon was also the brother to try to use Lilith’s cuteness to woo people and definitely had her in those chest baby carriers whenever he went out of the house.

Lilith was really the only one would dote on him and treat him like a role model and he lived for every second of it. "The Great Mammon" nickname actually came from Lilith whenever she and Mammon would be playing with some dolls whenever she was younger and she called him that after her other brothers refused to play with her.

Mammon and her were the mischief causing duo. Lucifer quickly learned not to leave those two alone after her came home one day and found the two of them covered in flour and melted chocolate after they attempted to make cookies together. The mess was not what concerned Lucifer the most, but rather the fact that the oven looked like it caught on fire in the process. 

Her favorite person to play with because he was rough with her and almost as quick as she was, so games like tag and duck duck goose always melted into a high speed chase between the both of them. They were also highly competitive with each other and would often try to one up each other.

Can’t beat the one time Mammon managed to swipe the spell to make animals and decided to make one of toddler Lilith’s funny looking animal drawings an actual animal for her. Both Lucifer and God did not appreciate the sudden swarms of what Lilith dubbed “Platypus” running around the Earth, but God is a weak man and when he tried to chastise Mammon, she started crying about how he was a good older brother for making her drawing come to life and God let them stay.

He was probably the one she was closest to besides Beel and Belphie. Even though she would go to Lucifer for more deeper philosophical conversations, it was rare to see her not in Mammons room after a stressful day. He and Asmo were the dedicated ranting brothers because both of them would hype her up. Mammon was still her favorite person to snuggle up to and nap on. She would never admit that to Belphie but it was true. Mammon was just always so warm and comforting that she would go out of her way to snuggle up and watch movies with him.

Of course she was also the kind of sister who would throw popcorn at him from across the room, steal his clothes while he was showering, and blame petty things like stealing cookies on him. Their fights were never more than senseless bickering that would often lead to them calling each other names, but god forbid if any other angel agreed with the insults. The chances of having a fist connect with their face just increased, especially if it's one of their other brothers.

Levi

Levi probably was the one with the weakest bond with her out of all his brothers. He felt jealous how she would usually seek out the others before she came to him, but on the days where she would seek him out they would waste the entire day together. Levi’s tendency to love games started when he and Lilith would pass time playing chess and checkers. They would constantly challenge each other and every game had new tricks. 

Levi always had an obsessive personality and Lilith was always the one to stand up for him and even got him things to help with it, for example he was really into sea creatures at the time and so Lilith made him a clay sculpture of a whale and the boy nearly lost his mind. She never made fun of him. 

Most people who knew him as the crazy otaku would never peg him to be the chess mastermind but he could beat Lucifer ten times over from across the House of Lamentation with his eyes closed because of her. 

Her and Levi also were master strategists. She and Levi's pranks were so elaborate and so well thought out that Lucifer himself would be caught off guard. Sometimes it would be something as simply as moving everything in Lucifers room an inch to the right so he could stub his toe on his furniture and other times it would be slowly replacing people in the intricate paintings on the ceilings in the Celestial Realms cathedrals with poorly paintings of rubber ducks. Simeon when he came to Devildom still talks about how hes still finding some to this day.

Loves making Levi laugh. She would play whatever games with him to make him laugh. He would actually be the one to bathe baby Lilith because he would constantly make shapes and creatures in the water to entertain her. He treasures those moments in the giant bathtub just making horses and other animals out of water.

As she got older, it went from the bathtub to fountains. Lilith could be found tending the garden and suddenly would feel something wet by her hand and realize that an animal made of water just brushed against her and it always made her smile because it meant that Levi was near.

Because he was in charge of the Earths oceans, he was rarely home. When his father said that they have to keep an eye out on all creatures he didn't realize he meant ALL creatures. On particularly bad days where he was missing his family, he would always contact Lilith. Lilith always had time for Levi and even if she didnt she would make the time. He would tell her all about the marine life and how the water felt and Lilith always made sure to keep track of his discoveries in her various notebooks. Because their time together was often limited, Levi couldnt help but feel a tinge of bitterness towards his brothers.

Satan

Even though Satan never physically met Lilith, she was quite troublesome for him. Whenever Lucifer was about to go on a rampage, Lilith was always the one to calm Lucifer down. Even if the rage was directed at her, she always managed to calm Lucifer down and have him think rationally.

Satan knows the most about humans only because of the distant memories of Lilith talking Lucifers ear off about humans.

Even though he never physically learned to play the piano, he knows how to play both Lucifers and Liliths melodies by heart from hearing them both so much. Whenever Satan is restless he'll often play Liliths melodies on the piano to calm him down.

The only thoughtful gift he ever gave his brothers was a book of all the stories he could remember Lilith telling them. He claims it's because he wanted Lucifer to feel irreconcilable sadness when reading them, but its truly because whenever he was having a flare up of wrath he would go out of his way to find the book and read the stories to calm down.

Even after her death and after he sprang to creation, Lilith was still one of the only people to calm him down.

Asmo

She loved to play princess with Asmo. She would be a little bossy towards him, but he just adored the fact that he was the one who would braid her hair and blush her cheeks.

He always made sure to be front row for her “fashion” shows and as she got older and more interested in art, he was always the first to volunteer for her to practice anatomy.

He would always take the time out of his day to paint her nails all sorts of pretty colors, her favorite shade being lavender. He was in charge of keeping the Celestial Realm beautiful, and he couldnt let one of his fathers treasures be nothing short of beautiful at all times. Lilith didnt mind because it just meant that her and Asmo could vent together.

Asmo and Lilith have a garden in the Celestial Realm. Technically, they're in charge of all the gardens, but the two of them have a very specific garden dedicated just to the two of them. Their father has very strict rules about what flowers grew where in the realm, but Lilith and Asmo's garden had pink and yellow roses, amaryllis's, tulips, blue bonnets, fox gloves, hibiscus's you named them they had them all in their garden. There were several statues made by Lilith and Asmo even risked getting his fingernails dirty in order to install a beautiful stone archway with a bench. It was like their own oasis just for them. They would have afternoon tea in their garden, gossip about the archangels, even talk about how cute some of the angels are turning out as they grew up.

Like Levi, he also rarely got chances to spend time with Lilith, and if they did have time together it was only for about an hour before one of the angels would just whisk her away to finish a task, but sometimes late at night he would find her in the garden reading a book or tending to the plants.

Would design most of her Celestial Realm outfits or put together her outfits for the day. Paint her nails and do her makeup the whole nine yards, seeing as she and her brother were the face of the Celestial Realm.

Beel & Belphie

They were probably the ones who saw Lilith the most. Not "The Delicate Flower of The Celestial Realm" Lilith, but Lilith herself, with her arms freshly covered in open wounds from combat training, dried paint streaked across her forehead, hair sticking to her forehead with sweat, and hands shaking and covered in blisters and bandages from her gripping her sword too tight.

They'd be the first of the brothers to know about her training, mainly because they caught her trying to tend to a wound on her shoulder blade and they would help her tend to the wound, mentally cursing Simeon for getting too close to her wings.

She was the most comfortable around those two. She would dress casually around them and would often indulge in her more unladylike tendencies because she knew they wouldnt judge her. In fact, Beel was often the one to lug her completed sculptures around the Celestial Realm and Belphie was always in her studio to watch her paint and sculpt.

Her and Belphie would often spend countless hours under the stars of the Celestial Realm just watching and observing the humans below. Her and Belphie would even disguise themselves to get more up close and personal with them.

Loved lazy afternoons where they would all fall asleep on top of each other with the warmth of the sun on their faces. Especially loved the post nap snacks and baked goods afterwards.

Favorite sparring partner was Beel because he knew he could give her his all and shed be able to strike him down. In fact how the rest of her brothers found out about Lilith being a skilled fighter is when they all rushed into the battle chambers and saw Lilith soar over Beel and then full force swing her leg around onto Beels stomach, sending him plummeting to the ground with a loud crash, followed by Lilith hovering in midair, blood trickling from her lips and her arms covered in fresh bruises. That was the first time she ever landed a hit on Beel and her brothers were there to realize that the Flower of The Celestial Realm was a double edged sword. Soon she was having routine sparring matches with her brothers, Simeon being her coach on how to take them down.

Her, Belphie, and Beel all shared a bedroom. Lilith had her own bedroom with her own bathroom, but spent more of her time with Beel and Belphie because that's where she felt the most comfortable. Belphie especially specialized in making sure she didnt have nightmares that night.

#my works #writing #obey me #obey me shall we date #obeyme #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmo #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me beel #obey me belphegor #obey me belpbie #lucifer #mammon #levi #satan #asmo #beel #belphie #obey me lilith

[sambergscott]

you’re a light in the dark

post-7x06 // Jake and Amy (and me) dealing. 

Her parents had eight kids. She has a million nieces and nephews and a million more cousins. Jake’s dad seemingly made babies in every major airline hub in North America. And yet, for some reason, this isn’t happening for them.

The first couple of months, they don’t think anything of it. Trying to make a baby is fun and magical and neither of them are gonna complain about having more sex.

She consults the baby binder a little more as time goes on and her period arrives on the twenty fifth of each month like clockwork. They throw out their favourite take out menus, start eating healthier and run together every morning before work.

They also buy a new couch and a family friendly mid-size sedan and the cutest baby Adidas Superstars she’s ever seen, because they’re convinced that they’ll be pregnant before they know it and Amy Santiago is nothing if not prepared.

They schedule sexy times and foreplay and fantasise about what their baby will be like in their post-sex haze.

When that doesn’t work, they try The Jake Way: a super sexy mission to rescue her husband from kidnappers ending in a super sexy Airbnb tryst.

Still, the pregnancy test comes back negative.

As the leaves turn from green to amber and the air cools, forcing Amy to get out their winter coats and turn their apartment heating up to high, she starts to worry. They’re doing everything right, they’re taking the vitamins, eating healthy, having sex all the time. There must be a reason why it isn’t working.

After watching an episode of Friends on their new couch -- The One With The Fertility Test -- she decides to book them a doctor’s appointment.

“As a precaution,” she tells her husband when he furrows his brow in concern.

“Uh, OK, yeah, sure,” he agrees, pausing the episode.

She phones the doctor, books the first available appointment (Monday at 2.15 pm) and adds it to their joint calendar. “Snuggle with me?” She asks once he has accepted her invite.

“C’mere.” He pulls her into his arms and holds her tight as she cries into his shirt.

They don’t watch any more Friends. It hurts too much, seeing her favourite fictional couple going through the same heartbreak as them. They don’t watch much TV at all, not even Die Hard. The trailer for the new Babies documentary starts playing as she flicks through Netflix one night while Jake is working late and she almost breaks the TV with the way she throws the remote across the room.

The doctor’s appointment rolls round and they’re both nervous as hell.

They booked the entire day off work as advised by the kind receptionist on the phone, who warned them that they would be extremely emotional both before and after. Booking the day off was an ordeal in itself when Terry wrongfully assumed they were getting a sonogram. There was a crushing feeling in Amy’s chest listening to her husband explain that no, they’re not pregnant, not yet.

Not yet.

They hold hands tightly as they wait for the doctor to call them in. Jake bounces his leg, Amy chews her lower lip, they both try not to cry when another couple walks in with a baby in one of those carriers that all the cool dads seem to wear. Jake’s been eyeing them up online for months. If John Legend can rock the baby carrier look, so can he.

“Why are they at the fertility clinic when they’ve already made one?” Amy mutters darkly.

The doctor says their names before Jake can respond.

He squeezes Amy’s hand as they follow the doctor to her room, a silent reminder that they’re in this together.

They have to explain the issue -- how long they’ve been trying, whether Amy has suffered any previous miscarriages, what their lifestyles are like. It’s a little embarrassing, going into the specifics of their sex life, but it’s all for a good cause. The best cause. Creating a new little life, a baby just like the dozens of pictures of success stories on the walls, Santiago-Peralta stylez.

“You’re doing everything I would usually recommend to my patients,” she says and despite herself, Amy’s lips twitch into a tiny smile. She knew her research was thorough. “Sometimes your body takes time to adjust to coming off birth control or reacts badly to stress. Sometimes it just takes a while and there’s no real reason why. We’ll take some samples from you both, but my advice is to just keep doing what you are.”

The tests come back negative, which should be good news, but it just sucks even more.

If there’s nothing wrong with them then why can’t they get pregnant?!

As they grapple with their situation, it seems like everyone around them is getting pregnant. Celebrities on Instagram. A couple of Amy’s uniformed officers. Santiago cousin after Santiago cousin. Hitchcock and that Russian chick with the missing tooth.

She tries to be happy for them, she really does, the façade crumbling as soon as she’s alone with Jake and sobbing into his shirt again.

They get hammered at Hitchcock’s wedding and attempt to have sex in the bathroom, alley and supply closet at work before giving up and just having sex in their own apartment, in their own bed. It’s not as crazy as Hitchcock’s story, but it’s still pretty hot and the sex is as stupid good as it’s always been.

She really thinks it’s worked this time. She’s got the sickness, the sore boobs, her period is late...

Jake runs to the store to get a new pregnancy test and a cute onesie he saw and just had to buy. They’re both positively vibrating as she chugs a litre of water, pees on the stick and sets the timer on her phone.

It’s second nature to them now, waiting for the test to say Pregnant.

Amy paces the width of the bathroom.

Jake twists his wedding ring on his finger.

They share apprehensive smiles.

When the timer finally goes off, Amy picks up the test, feeling hopeful for the first time in months.

Her face falls. “Negative.”

“We’ll try again next month,” he promises as she throws it into the trash. She is so sick of hearing next month, next month, next month. She wants a baby now.

Which is why the decision to stop trying is so painful.

She doesn’t want to stop. All she wants is to see Jake holding a baby -- their baby. But nothing is working and the last six months have been so difficult, a literal rollercoaster of excitement, disappointment, excitement, disappointment. And Amy has never liked rollercoasters.

She feels guilty, like it’s her fault they haven’t got pregnant yet, like she’s just bad at making babies. She confides in Rosa about it and she knows Jake talks to Charles, their friends both coming to the conclusion that as much as they want this for them too (and Charles really, really does), they’re clearly exhausted and sad and stressed and maybe taking a break would be a good thing.

So she tells Jake she’s done trying.

It’s hard enough to walk away from him, from their dream of having a family, and even harder to go to Hitchcock’s party and pretend like everything’s fine when it’s not fine. Everything is garbage, just like Holt said at Captain Dozerman’s funeral.

But then Jake joins her at the bar with a slice of cake with a heart on top and is all sweet and understanding and the best husband she could have possibly asked for. He tells her that they’re already a family and whether the universe wants them to be just a two or a whole squad of Peraltas, he’ll be happy either way.

“I love you,” she says after he finishes his speech.

“I love you,” he responds.

They lean in for a kiss. It starts off sweet, gentle, heating up when she realises just how much she’s missed this, kissing him without the constant pressure of needing to conceive. It feels nice.

“Should we go?”

“Yes,” he answers immediately, without question.

They use their final pregnancy test a couple of weeks later. It’s still negative, but it doesn’t feel like the end of the world anymore. They’ve taken down the command center, getting their living room back, their morning and evening routines are so much shorter now they’re not taking all the vitamins and sex is considerably more enjoyable. Sure, they still want kids one day -- they both smile wistfully every time they pass a stroller in the street and volunteer for regular babysitting duties -- and when the universe finally grants them a beautiful baby of their own, they will no doubt be the happiest parents this side of the East River, but for right now they’re OK, just the two of them, their little family, their own slice of perfection.

#b99 fics #my writing #jake x amy #this episode hurt like hell but..... this helped #I can't wait to see how happy they are when it finally happens

[libermachinae]

A Little Scrap

Also available on AO3!

Summary:  Ratchet is such a dad that even getting sparked up can’t stop his systems from activating sire protocols.

Notes:  Might do more with this, haven't decided!

✨ ✨🚑✨✨🚚✨ ✨

Some creators would say they’d known from the moment of conception. Poems and songs had been spun around the moment two beings coalesced into one and the bond between them solidified into a new consciousness, a binding of all the features that had drawn them to each other in the first place. They said that their first words to their newspark had not been in any language that could be reproduced in a vocoder, but had been something deeper, something generated from those same basic codes that had gifted Cybertronians with the capacity to love.

Ratchet knew it was scrap.

Back before bonding was seen as a dangerous weakness and sparking was less rare (though never common; had it not been for the Well, their war would have amounted to little more than a spat between neighbors), he’s been more than happy to expound on all the biological realities that made those romantic fantasies impossible. Going to battle against misinformation, he brandished lecture notes as a spear, textbook chapters his shield, and years of peer-reviewed studies the cavalry to back him up. Source after source confirmed what any adult with a functioning logic center should have known: one would have no way of knowing whether they were a carrier or a sire until medical tools had confirmed it.

Though it came too late to be of much use in his campaign to get himself barred from any social circles containing creators, the most damning evidence he’d encountered, the unit that would have bolstered his forces enough to guarantee victory, turned out to be his own firsthand experience.

[[Decrypting personality component crtr_01.]]

The readout appeared while Ratchet was on monitor duty, watching the little blips of his teammates rove over the map while he waited for the signal to reel them in. The self-diagnostics feed was a software he’d had programmed during an outbreak of engine cough, back when the war was being fought in the trenches of Cybertron and you couldn’t walk two steps without a cloud of exhaust blowing in your face. He’d needed a tool to catch early warning signs of the disease in his code, and afterward had never had a reason to uninstall it. Most of the time, it scrolled unnoticed on the bottom corner of his HUD, alerting him that fuel processing was normal, gyro stabilizers were normal, t-cog alignment was normal, etc., and in recent years had shifted to such low priority he rarely processed the data, letting it naturally cycle into his deletion queue. Had he been doing anything more engaging than waiting for the signal to pull a lever, he would have missed it.

[[Integrating crtr_01.]]

He frowned. Though he’d expanded his knowledge of coding once the deficit of medical expertise among the Autobots reached critical levels, it had never been his specialty, and he didn’t recognize the file. Curious, he isolated the first half as a keyword and used it to search his medical archives, hoping its relation to other fragments would be a clue to its function.

Self-diagnostics continued to update him on the code’s development.

[[Personality component integrated.]]

[[Checking for motivation conflicts.]]

[[No conflicts found.]]

[[Sire protocols engaged.]]

Ratchet straightened up.

His optics flashed.

“Scrap,” he said aloud, a fact he would be teased for relentlessly years down the line.

They’d—but that wasn’t supposed to—the Matrix didn’t allow—but, if anyone could have done it, Optimus—

Optimus was out in the field.

Ratchet’s processor flew into action, all hesitation gone because Optimus was compromised and their fragile newspark—their newspark, what the frag—was in a potentially hostile environment.

He tuned into comms while his fingers almost independently punched in the coordinates for the little blip on the screen that might as well have represented the total of Ratchet’s universe.

“Optimus!” He barked it in the same tone he’d once used to send residents scrambling.

: :Ratchet?: :

His new coding sang at the sound—that voice! isn’t it beautiful? so kind, so wise, so regal, a perfect bot and a perfect carrier!—and he had to remind him himself via memory playback of the last minute and a half why he’d called in the first place.

“As Chief Medical Officer, I am requesting your immediate return to base.” Now that he knew Optimus was safe, coding softened his tone, trying to tempt the wayward carrier back to safety.

: :Is this an urgent matter?: : Optimus asked.

“Yes.” He finished typing the coordinates and threw the lever, the ground bridge blooming open at his back, and for once couldn’t even think about the energon consumption as he waited for a response.

He felt like his spark was thrumming with the excess charge of his panic, and all he received in return was a curious tug on their bond, wisp-like from this distance. Ratchet pushed back with his apology (He’d yelled at Optimus!) and concern (What if Decepticons arrived? What if the energon was unstable? What if the vibrations from Bulkhead’s mace traveled through the floor, up through Optimus’ pedes, and into his spark chamber, disrupting the tiny bundle of photons within? Was that even possible? Why had he been so blithe as to assume a wartime medic could skimp on reproductive health?), hoping it would be enough to convince Optimus without Ratchet showing up in the field to drag their Prime back to base.

It was already taking all his self-control not to go ahead and do it.

: :Something wrong at base?: : Bulkhead asked, startling Ratchet. Though he’d intended to access the team-wide channel, he’d forgotten about every other Autobot in existence the moment Optimus’ voice had come through.

“Negative,” he managed to say.

: :BbbRREppTt vrrrmphVREE bp bp?: :

“Patient confidentiality,” he said in answer to Bumblebee’s question. “Just know that it is urgent Optimus remove himself from the field.”

: :Got it, Ratchet.: : Arcee’s confident tone somewhat settled Ratchet’s tense spark, though nervous static still crackled along his lines. : :We’ll get him out of here.: :

Ratchet smiled, sure that Arcee would know his gratitude even if she couldn’t see it.

“The ground bridge is open at your coordinates, Optimus,” he said, unable to look away from the bright center, each stray shadow making his systems hitch in reckless excitement.

There was a pause. Ratchet imagined the others gently corralling their Prime to the waiting ground bridge, reminding him of his duty to the CMO.

A burst of static as comms came back online.

: :I’m on my way,: : Optimus said, resigned. His curiosity prodded at their bond again, and Ratchet sent over calm assurance, his new sire protocols settling now that he knew his bonded was headed toward safety. Toward him.

It was difficult to put to words the feeling of stressed coding, the same way he hadn’t exactly been able to explain to the children what it meant to be bonded to another mech. They’d been able to understand the emotional bond as a form of heightened empathy, but there were no appropriate words in English to describe the deeper connection, the physical feeling of having one’s innermost self tied to that of another. In the same way, he doubted he would be able to explain to them what it was that had him staring over his shoulder after Optimus’ message came in, the flutter of excitement in his chassis that all the miserliness in the world would not be able to tamp down.

He thought he’d be able to control himself, but he was already moving the moment Optimus’ silhouette appeared. In the sole defense of his pride, he didn’t quite sprint.

And anyway, no amount of pride could have stopped him from pulling Optimus into a tight hug.

“Ratchet?” Optimus asked, concern evident among his confusion now that they were separated by the mere plating of their frames. “What’s wrong?”

How did he answer that question? Though he had no intention of keeping this a secret from Optimus, he wasn’t sure the right words existed to explain their new situation. Ratchet squeezed tighter, focusing on the one thing he was capable of in that moment: holding Optimus close, knowing he was safe, knowing he would be kept safe. At least for as long as their duties would allow. The sire programming was turning out to be more intense than had been implied in Ratchet’s med school readings, prioritizing itself over what were usually Ratchet’s primary impulses, like maintaining a gruff exterior and dismissing anyone younger than a millennium. Now it was just Optimus, and keeping Optimus safe, and making sure Optimus knew he was loved, and—

“Should you not close the ground bridge?” the Prime advised, in that infuriating tone he used when he was channeling the wisdom of the Matrix.

Ratchet grumbled in answer, withdrawing from the embrace but reaching down to entwine their fingers.

“The others?” he asked, guiding Optimus back into the base like they were a pair of newbonds entering their apartment for the first time.

“They remained to finish sweeping the mine.”

Obviously. Ratchet wasn’t sure why he’d asked, except that his processor was lost in a fog of anticipation for the coming conversation. He needed to say it. Optimus didn’t have the diagnostics program, so unless the Matrix had prematurely shared the news, he had no idea that he—that they—

“Ratchet, the ground bridge?”

“Right, of course, my apologies.” Ratchet forced himself to release Optimus’ hand and turned to the control panel, pushing the lever back to standby. Though the team was still one comm away, isolation came to settle over them, the way the light in the base dimmed once the swirling vortex had been shut down. He relaxed against the control panel, trying to get a handle on the blooming process trees that kept growing out of control every time he tried to figure out what to say.

He felt a hand over his shoulder, offering gentle, loving caresses. Did carrier protocols make a mech more affectionate? It would make sense, reinforce support networks that would be necessary in the later carrying stages to—

Focus, slagit!

He turned back to Optimus, took the free hand so that together they formed a perfect circuit. Optimus’ hands were larger than his own, but they fit together in such a way that Ratchet’s processor was finally able to settle with the familiarity.

“A few minutes ago, I received an alert from my self-diagnostics,” he started.

“Are you alright?” Optimus asked.

“I… I am,” Ratchet decided.

Though insufficient, the answer settled Optimus, the texture of their bond changing from corrugated anxiety to a wavy curiosity. Blue eyes looked on, giving space to continue. Ratchet squeezed those familiar hands and felt them return a pulse of affection.

“I’ve activated sire protocols,” he said. “We sparked, Optimus.”

Optimus’ optics flashed within a frozen expression.

“Oh?” he tried.

(Ratchet would later try to deflect the teasing by bringing this moment back up; never landed as well.)

Ratchet nodded and now could not keep the excitement from his movements.

“We did. We have a newspark, Optimus!”

The Prime’s optics were still bright, mouth stretched into a line that didn’t seem to indicate any particular emotion.

“The Matrix, though, isn’t it supposed to…” He turned pointed eyes down to his broad chest compartment, the container for the two most important things in the universe (plus the symbolic artifact of Autobot leadership). Optimus was well established in the field of mystical speeches about the mysterious, infinite powers of the Matrix, but remained apologetically lacking in his understanding of the physiological effects it had on his frame; apologetic specifically to Ratchet, who had made the subject his own area of obsessive research for the first few decades of the primacy.

“The exact limitations are different for everyone.” The line that was practically a requirement for closing out any study of the Matrix. “The evidence is there, though. Creator protocols are directly linked to spark health and status. Unless Earth has…” He was going to say a native spark parasite population, but the thought alone caused his battle systems to request activation, so he shelved it and instead released one of Optimus’ hands to begin leading him to the repair bay. “Anyway, I’ll show you on the scanner. If creator protocols just came online, it’s unlikely you’ll have noticed anything, but the equipment should be able to pick it up.”

They entered the repair bay and Optimus sat on the medical berth while Ratchet booted up the nearest medical terminal. When a loading bar appeared on the screen, his processor took that as permission to imagine the bit: silvery plating, red accents (a chevron? audial antennae?), little round helm, large cyan optics, nubs to grow into tires once the t-cog matured, clean plating free of insignia, practically limitless storage space to fill with the wonders of the world…

The program finished loading and filled the screen; Ratchet stole the distraction to reassert himself as the ornery old medic, though he could not stop his spark from thrumming when he thought of tiny hands wrapping around a soldering iron. He retrieved the scanner and turned to Optimus again, laying a hand against the familiar windshield to confirm the placement of his spark. After so many years as friend, physician, and lover, he could have found it with his sensory suite shut down, but the pulse of warm life under his touch blossomed through his frame in a way he could not deny himself.

He passed the scanner over the point in a narrow angle, approximating a three-dimensional reading. It beeped to let him know it was satisfied, and then the data began compiling on the terminal, delicate measurements translated to essential diagnostic tools.

“Would you like to consider a name?” Optimus asked.

It was not the promise Ratchet’s coding longed so desperately to hear, but it was a kindness, nonetheless. In the quiet of the moment, as they waited for a machine to reveal the truth of their future, Ratchet’s thoughts cleared a bit and he was able to admit the actual prospect of their Prime carrying a newspark in wartime. It was a pain that again he could not put to words, almost like a burn but borne out of a deep pressure in his fuel lines, but it was dulled by the Optimus’ offered compassion: this new life was not theirs to keep, but for however many minutes the little scrap of photons had left, they could claim it as their own.

He was about to answer when the computer dinged, a congratulations to itself on a job well done, and he embraced the opportunity to avoid the question.

“Here we are,” he said, filling in the silence for good measure. “As always, the Matrix at least has the decency to keep you in good health. RPM’s a little higher than normal, and energy concentration, but… hm.”

But beyond that, there was no excessive energy drain, no internal pressure, standard shape and density. Ratchet stared at readouts a few hours ago he would have called completely normal and could not understand them.

“Oh.”

Optimus’ spark was alone.

The pressure in Ratchet’s lines tightened.

“Ratchet?”

He shook his head, trying and failing to put on a smile that didn’t fit.

“Sorry, Optimus, looks like my old spark’s glitching.” His vocoder didn’t want to put the words together, hitching between syllables like failing to say it would stop the reality from manifesting. He reset it and tried again. “Nothing there, after all.”

Optimus’ optics flashed with surprise. Ratchet couldn’t blame him. He didn’t make diagnoses without being certain of his conclusions, and under different circumstances would have hesitated longer to admit such a mistake, ran several more tests and consulted his archives. His spark was aching with an emotion he had no interest in putting to words, though, and he had to dedicate his focus to getting out of the repair bay. Don’t think about the conversation Optimus would want to have later. Don’t think about—about that. Don’t think about anything. Just move.

Optimus stood from the berth but did not approach Ratchet, though every protective in that huge frame of his was probably aching to console his bonded. Instead, he stood back while Ratchet went through the motions of saving and filing the spark readouts, tagging it as a standard inspection.

“Do you know the source?” Optimus asked, offering Ratchet a problem to focus on that was not his own code going haywire. Or at least, a different way to look at it.

“I have a few theories,” he said, because coding still was not his strength and ‘a few theories’ really meant ‘chapters I need to review.’ It would take time to understand and debug, but from a physical standpoint, he already had the scanner primed for the task, so he turned it around and drew the same shape that he had over Optimus’ chassis.

“Let me know if I, or any of the others, can be of any use,” Optimus said. “I care very deeply for that spark, and if it is ailing would like to see it made well again.”

Normally such concern would have been a source of embarrassment for Ratchet, with a shard of fondness peeking out underneath. Now, his protective protocols just insisted that this was nope, wrong, need to protect Optimus. It struck him that he needed to get this glitch worked out as soon as possible, otherwise Arcee would accuse him of being a more extreme version of himself than usual: he hated losing arguments in front of the team.

The terminal dinged again, and this time Ratchet turned to watch the results spill onto the screen.

High RPM, understandably; below average density, which was a bit odd; the irregularity of shape he’d had all his life; elevated internal pressure, which…

Energy stores were down 15% from standard. Not a huge margin, but he’d been tracking these numbers for millennia, charting energon consumption the way Optimus followed Autobot ships in battle. A discrepancy of that magnitude was something to investigate on a normal day.

After a day like this…

Ratchet laid a hand over his chassis, above his warm spark.

“Scrap.”

“Ratchet?”

Optimus was closer now, drawn in by the terrific blankness that had filled their bond. Ratchet tried to draw up something to fill in the void but was having trouble processing. Familiar arms were raising toward him like a part of his processor was saying it was his job to defend now. Like a bit of coding had flicked on, a patch he wouldn’t be aware of because he’d never been fitted with the diagnostic feed.

“Well, Optimus,” Ratchet said, vocoder hitching for a brand new reason, “I might’ve found our bitlet.”

#maccadam #transformers #tfp #optiratch #ratchet #optimus prime #my writing #fanfiction #was getting self conscious about volume of angst #so i made this lmao #a little scrap #longfic

[bitchscavenger]

find me

I've been living with my parents for twenty years before I moved out. My parents were happy, until my dad got heart attack and dying. That's where everything changes. Mom not really pleased when dad is drug induced and sleep all the time. She starts find another person to satisfy her attention. That time she got herself a boyfriend, who she talks bad all the time. I’m not mad at her, I’m glad she's happy, so was my dad.

Later, he got worse and died. Mom cried so hard, but she got her boyfriend by her side. She collects herself pretty good. Dad left enough to make her live her life alone. He even left her with her boyfriend. What a thoughtful man he is. I don't know where I stand or what should I feel for him to let her have another man while they are together. That's their problem, not mine. Then again, I’m such an ungrateful bad kid who didn’t care about what my parent do.

Despite that story, my mom always made me listened to her. So did my dad. I got no voice in my life. Only got ear to listened and body to do what I’ve been told. Even when I am stressing about my grades. Even if I got bullied in school. Even if I have eating disorder. They don’t know because they didn’t tell me to talk. Always listened and decide in silent. That’s what I do best. Every argument I made is a stupid idea.  As a prestige’s well-mannered family, I was born into, you need to be lady when you're a girl. I’m far for it, never have been a lady for once. Yes, I listened to them, but they’re not around enough no caging me in their house. I go out a lot. I join lots of school project and extracellular. That’s how I spent my live, living outside the world. Even they never really knew what I’ve done or who I’m with.

Mom always said "Don’t be stupid, you can’t do that, we don’t do that, I raised you to be better than that, go find something else"

That “stupid” word been embedded in my head. That phrase where she said how not enough I am. You can only being told so much before you start believed in them.  That it did. I believe my voice isn’t good. My word doesn’t matter. My existence isn’t important. 

I left to go to college abroad. Building my carrier into Olympian. I'm happy and contented and busy with work. Do job that I love, it’s heaven. I don’t even think of anything that time. I’m in love with my job and myself, never disappointing.

I get close with my family. Go home every year and call every month. But that just not enough. No matter how much I call them, I only listened, that’s what I do best and what they expect me. Pleasing everyone is exhausting, changing you into someone you don’t want to looked in the mirror. 

Nonetheless, I always listened and try to help as much as I can, just not vice versa. Maybe that’s my fault. I never tell them anything, just tell them what everybody already knows. Never let them in, hoping is hurting, I never open for hope. Hoping people do what you try to do, making them happy, when they can’t do the same. 

I didn’t tell how sick I am with myself. How hard to build myself. How tiring to eat something. How hard to looked into the mirror. How hard to be accepted. How hard to find something worth in you to fight. How exhausting to fight every time darkness took me back to the old me. Not even when I’m confident to tell my argument. Not when I’m happy knowing my worth. Not when I’m satisfied after five course meal I finish. I’m so used with my new self, living it and don’t need anyone to judge and don’t care. I don’t share myself with them. I’ve been raised to listened and that's what I best do and what made them happy. Until my disease kick in.

It's an autoimmune disease where there's inflammation in spinal cord and optic nerve. Google it NMO. First time I thought it only a near-sighted, then it became colorless and more and more blurred vision. I’m scared I’ll be blind, so I go to hospital. Well, knowing how hard I work and how little I rest, thought it only lack of focus from being tired. Two year later my body gave up. I just finish my Olympic final game in Brazil when all my arm and legs start to burn and tight and painful until I feel nothing. Can’t feel my arm and leg anymore. I give up and lost my gold medal. Collapsing on locker room.

It was my first injury, or so I thought. There just no muscle that inflamed. I work so hard for this I never risk my body. When my doctor said I need to stop because I push my muscle too much, I stop. I took my time and rest. Working on debate club in school or lazily study so I can graduate. I'm not ambitions but I enjoy doing sport, i love it and that's what my live have been.

They took me to hospital. I forget how long I was there, but nothing works. They give lots and lots of drug and nothing work. My body keep boring and I start losing my vision. Until my MRI test said I have spinal cord inflammation. That's the treatment start. A whole year I do psychotherapy. Alone. There only five people who know at first, my doctor my coach, my coach assistant and two of my teammates. They support me so much I’m grateful having them. 

I start focusing on finish collage while climb debating carrier because I got no energy to work my body muscle. News said I bailed and what a coward, close, cocky bitch I am. Yap, they talk trash about me because I don’t mingle on my first Olympic party. That what my family know too, and I let them. 

Also, at that time I felt that I am. Or my body is. My body bailed on me. It's such a shame that your body can't keep up with your mind. Living in your head, knowing what to do but can't. 

But I didn’t regret it. I’m glad I colas, so I get rid of toxicity in my live. Saving the best part and keeping it close. I’m happily working in school and climbing my debate carrier. Having debate teammates that never took pity on me. Country paid half of my treatment and I get help from support system, charity, and foundation. I know I won't heal. After a year full of physical therapy, I got my strength back. The relapse is on and off. I had my roommate slash best friend and debate teammates looked after me. It's pretty easy to treat me, either you wait until get better by myself or call ambulance which is my first and only emergency contact. Mostly the former because it isn’t a bad relapse.

I’m so lucking having her-kind of friend. The one who call all my bullshit no matter how sick I am. The kind who nagging me for my stupidity while clean up my mess. She knows I can feel when the symptoms start, just like get warning form deep down. That, usually I ditch the warning and she'll get crazy mad cause I didn’t tell her. But sometimes the symptoms came so suddenly I can’t even get a warning, that's when the worse came. God only know what cause it and she's the only one who really care. I don’t even care. My coach only care if it's interfered my training or impact my skill. Usually it isn’t. My relapse isn’t that bad, thank god. Even when I need to hit hospital, the recovery only takes one- or two-days max. But my best girl has too big heart not to care about me. And for once I hold on to her cause she knows my struggle from start, and I know her struggle from broken heart. Can’t say I have experience on that, but so far, my advice is good. Even my debate club friend asked me relationship advice. Guess romance movie hit on me very well.

I got back to Olympic eventually. After two years finishing collage and there's nothing to do than living my life the way I can, I decide I’m capable go back to field. It helps releasing stress and prevent relapse. My doctor clears me out. He can't say much actually. This is the kind of disease that you carry as long as you live. Only you can choose whether living your life the fullest or drowning in your misery. I choose the former.

Until one day, when I visit my parents. They told me merry this man. And I still have no voice in it, no matter how much debate competition I won, I won't win this because it’s no competition, purely dictating. It's for the best and he's a good man. We get married a year later. In his house back yard with a thousand guest. Besides my best friend as my maid of honor, my Olympic team that consist of ten people, my coach, and two coach assistant, my specialize doctor who treated me, and my eight teammate debate club friend that I know well enough to invite, it's nothing compared to his, his family or my family acquaintance. What can I say, I’m a person of myself, in my twenty-seven years I live, no other close friend I want to invite in my unimportant wedding. Can't say I’m happy to get married, but I don’t hate it either. He's a good man and I can do the same. He needs to get married to get his grandparents company and his parent is close friend to mine. Besides, I’m in my prime age to marry. I’m well mannered, independent, and have as much money as he is so he doesn’t need to worry I took all his wealth.

Until two year later when I got my first relapse after three hurt-less happy life. Just when I thought the disease gave up on me, it came back. What a bitch. We were having a gala that night, celebrating second company he builds. My body just give up on me after a dance. The problem is, I just finish my dance with his buddy I’ve been friend with when I told him to give me one more dance with him after he asked me. Media caught it. They all thought I’m having an affair and make a scene when my husband caught me. It gets worse when no one know what to do and took me to wrong hospital. I stay paralyzed and untreated right until the gossip reach my best friend, she's in other country, she called my doctor. He practices in different hospital, luckily, I paid him well and we kind of close and he came to my wedding, so he came as fast as he can. Though I still feel like an eternity cause my body burn like hell and it hurt so much, and I can’t move. 

A week later I got home without my husband there. He's mad cause I didn’t tell him anything and everything. The those feeling change into something else. He relied that we're only partner in this relationship. He's sick of me listening and doing whatever he wants without knowing what I want. I never mad, never cry, never disagree on his decision. Even if it’s wrong and cost him a lot. 

Like when he tells me we were going to move closer to his grandparents’ company, so he won’t need to much time on the road. And I told him that his grandparent company isn’t health, but I didn’t push. What can I say? Graduated in sains not business.

Told you what, I’m right. His grandparents’ company is collapsing, and he work ninety hour a week, only resulted more collapse. He wore himself so I retiree and help him a little in his company. I’m good at finding loophole and opportunity, so that I did. What he doesn’t know is, I’ve been invested my money on this company while I help him. In the end he got back. His company run well, and I resign. I built a home-schooling program and get coaching certificate, can't go too far away from field.

That only the beginning of his bad decision. Lots of bad client picking or investment choosing. But he always come back. Come home and winning like a child getting low grade in class. Again, I pick him up. I help and help and help until he builds his second company. Me, I’m just a night talker and helper of decision making, a nice, good wave that coach high school student while making multi million from good investment.

That time when I wake up from relapse. He knows everything. He knows I put money on his company, lots of money, and on rival company. He sees me as the good face wave turn into viper. With all the gossips running around. With me helping my husband turn into me stabbing him. 

"I know we don’t love each other the way husband and wave should be. Doesn’t mean we weren’t respect each other. I respect you and I care for you and I thought that the feelings mutual. I was wrong. Big wrong. They're right, nobody's perfect. Everyone has skeleton in their closet they try to hide, and I’m okay with that. I’m no saint, I have my sins. But you what hurt most, I never thought you capable on stabbing me behind my back, cheating on me, taking my company, controlling all my life with your sweet talk. I’m honest and open with you. I just want this marriage to work and I was happy. Verry happy until I realize my wave only want to take everything, I’ve been fighting for my whole life then leaving me cold."

He said it calmly. He used to have emotion pouring his eyes. When has he said it, his eyes flat? Nothing left here. Not even when I told him the truth. Nothing change when I told him I did that to help him, I never want anything from him, and I didn’t cheat on him, I never had much friend and his buddy is good to me like he is. I like both and I respect them. But that's not enough. Apparently caring for each other not enough to hold relationship.

The divorce not going smoothly. Media talk, but we didn’t go to court. I told my lawyer to give him everything I can to give. I’m the bad guy. But I didn’t take any think from him. I let go off my connection with him the day he chooses to trust media than his own wave. I know I didn’t live him the way I should be, but his feeling mutual, I do care of him. He just couldn’t see it and I couldn’t be sweeter just like any other woman.

I lost lots money; I left the house. I left the program I build, left my jobs as a coach. The job id enjoys so much. I left with two little bums in my stomach. Didn’t know I can get pregnant. My disease usually prevents to get pregnant. I had lots of miscarriage in the past. That’s why I’m used to having my heart broken. But never know that my pregnancies could go into seventeen weeks without complication. 

I was debating with myself whether to tell him or not. We're only divorce for two months and I don’t want to him to think worse of me. Deciding to leave and live near the best friend and her husband. They live in small town with great art program in the community. 

For the past five months of pregnancies is hard. Not just hard, its nightmare. The babies strong but I’m not. Lots of relapse and drugs and when the baby finally born, I was hospitalized for two months. It’s been hard and even harder with twins. But I survived. We survived. We live.

While I was hospitalized, my ex-husband came looking for me. He never gets hold on me. In this small town, everyone knows everyone. They knew me from media and the used to hate me. But they love my best friend, so they love me eventually. Knowing my real story, they understand. Life is hard, they make it easier. The community is very open and helped a lot. So, when my ex looking for me, they took pity one us, me, and him. They see us as the victim of media.

A month later he came back again and found me with my baby. I tell him they're his. I know because I only had sex with him. I don’t even contact his buddy anymore. Turn out he just want to apologize for his behavior. He wants me back but we both know we won’t love each other. So, he goes back to the big city after asking me to live with him again because we had babies and he want to be together with them. I just don’t feel it. I’m done doing whatever people told me to do. I like live in small town and I’m happy. Working as an artist in new community. Knitting, crocheting, sewing, painting, sculpting, doing all new art I haven’t done before. With my baby and my disease that have been came on and off more after I gave birth. Finally, I found myself. After lots of struggle, lost and found, ups and down, I know I’d like to try my new life and again living my live fullest. After all, that’s all I can do

#story #My writing #my story #mystory #journey #journal #life #live #excerpts from story i write #excerpts from my life #excerpts from my writing #excerpts from book #excerpts of stories #excerpts from a story i'll never write #excerpts from a book i'll never write #excerpts from journal #excerpts from my diary #quotes #book quotes #Qoutes #love quote #friendship quotes #life quotes #love quotes #quote #book qoute #dailyquotes #writing #writer #writers

[violetsmoak]

Pieces of April [16/?]

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21099044/chapters/50202530

Summary: On the anniversary of his death, Jason’s second life takes an abrupt new turn and he’s faced with a challenge that neither Batman nor the All-Caste prepared him for.

Rating: PG-13 (rating may change later)

Author’s Note: Here’s your daily dose of JayTim and baby for your quarantine reading pleasure! Stay safe, wash your hands and support your local healthcare, waste management and retail workers!

First Chapter

________________________________________________________________

The rest of the afternoon is spent on the phone, fielding calls from various departments and sorting out production complications. Interspersed are texts and Facebook messages from friends and family—Dick, wondering if dinner is still happening on Friday, Bruce wanting updates on the mob case, the Titans wanting to know if he’s coming to San Francisco that weekend—

Tim is evasive with all except the last one, informing Bart that there’s some family drama going on that will keep him home for a while. Once the speedster knows, everyone else will know, so it’s about as effective as sending a group text.

He resists the urge to phone Jason and see how he’s doing; he’s rather sure he won’t pick up.

(“I ain’t a damn kid that needs checkin’ up on, Drake.”)

Not that Tim is checking up on him. He just knows that whenever someone in the family is going through a personal crisis, that’s usually the time when Gotham’s rogues decide to act out.

So really, ensuring Jason’s stress levels stay manageable is a public service.

“Because that sounds like logic,” he chides.

Damian shows up around 3 o’clock and spends the next two hours alternatively disparaging everything about Tim from his too-long hair to how he organizes his filing system, to discussing WE resource allocation for an animal shelter he wants to open. The conversational whiplash is enough to make Tim’s head spin, and he makes a note in his phone to talk to Bruce about whatever it is that’s going on between them that’s so bad Damian prefers Tim’s company to his father’s.

Either Bruce put his foot down about another of Damian’s strays, or he still won’t agree that Robin should have a private prison to lock up rogues. 

Whatever the reason, Tim is very much out of his depth at the youngest Bat’s newest tactics for taking his frustrations out on Tim.

Though I guess workplace inconveniences are a huge step up from swords to the gut. Could always be worse, I guess.

It turns out he’s not the only one learning new and interesting coping strategies. Upon arriving home at six, he finds Jason tweaking the tech in his gear on the kitchen table, baby carrier three feet away.

His entire body is tense, like a spring ready to snap.

“Was she up all day or something?” Tim asks on the way in, putting his bag on the floor and loosening his tie.

Jason shoots him a baleful look. “She’s been crying all day. And she’s still barely eating. I think she’s starting to look a little yellow—Tim, why is she yellow?”

And Jason sounds—dare he say it—almost frazzled.

Right. Time for more damage control.

“I’ve got her,” Tim says, easing into Jason’s personal space and taking the baby. “You go to sleep. Or shower. Or watch TV or something. You’re starting to go batty.”

That earns a disgusted look, and even Tim winces because that was just bad.

“Did you seriously just say that?” Jason asks.

“No, you’re sleep-deprived and hallucinated it,” he replies.

“I’ll allow it,” Jason says, yawning. “But only because it could be true.”

Jason shuffles off upstairs and Tim heaves himself onto the couch, pulling out his phone to check his usual online haunts for potential cases or clues for his current case. Social media and forums are pretty good sources once you learn how to weed out the sensationalist crap.

After thirty minutes of nothing, he gives it up and wanders over to the dwindling pile of baby items. Jason hasn’t returned yet, so he’s either passed out from exhaustion in the shower or actually made it to bed. Since Tim can’t hear the water running, he supposes it’s the latter.

It won’t kill me to go without the pre-patrol nap today, I guess.

Studying the pile, he notes that the boxes with the crib, changing table and whatever else needed assembly, have all gone missing. Presumably, Jason set those up this morning in a fit of boredom or paranoia.

The only things that haven’t been touched are the blankets, soft toys and garments, other than whatever Isa’s been changed into already.

There are only about twenty different pieces of clothing, and according to his not-so-new best friend the Internet, that’s not going to be nearly enough given infant propensity to upchuck. Especially since it’s not all the same size. Tam had to guess how big Isa was, so at least half the onesies here won’t fit her for another month or two, which isn’t supremely helpful for right now.

Back to fiddling with his phone, Tim goes online to order some more supplies and discovers, to his delight, that there’s an entire line of pop-culture related babywear. Star Wars, Star Trek, Doctor Who, Superhero logos…

He grins as he orders one of everything for next-day delivery, wondering whether Jason’s more likely to complain or find it funny.

Under normal circumstances, he’d probably find it funny. For someone else’s kid.

There’s still no sign of Jason after sunset, so Tim feeds and burps the baby, then sets up his laptop and tablet in the kitchen to check some of his surveillance feeds for the mob case. However, Isa protests every time he tries to put her down.

“What’s wrong with you now?” he asks. “You’re warm, you’re fed—” He takes a pause to check and change her diaper, during which time she continues to mewl at him, “—and you’re dry. Which means now’s the time you got to sleep, okay? New babies are supposed to do three things: eat, poop and sleep. So get on that.”

Once again he attempts to wrap her up and place her in her carrier, but the whimpering becomes flat-out crying, her tiny face becoming purple with rage and her eyes pinching shut.

“Okay, okay—putting you down is a no,” he sighs, tucking her back in his arms to rock her gently. He watches his computer monitor balefully, knowing if he’s holding the baby, there’s not going to be any hacking of Gotham’s CCTV tonight.

Could text Babs and ask her to do it. Except then she’ll want to know why.

Which is also a no.

One-handed, he searches out his phone again, looking up possible reasons for Isa’s current temper and potential solutions online. One thing jumps out at him and he brightens. A quick trip to the Nest and back, and he has what he was looking for.

Which is how Jason finds him when he finally comes back downstairs around eight o’clock, showered, rested and altogether more human-looking than what Tim came home to. He pauses at the foot of the stairs, squinting at Tim. “Is that your cape?”

“My cape is made out of state-of-the-art piezoelectric fabric substrates that can become a weapon with the right electrical frequency,” Tim retorts, trying not to feel entirely self-conscious from his seat at the kitchen table, wrapped in a makeshift mei-tai with Jason’s daughter drooling into his chest. “Also, that thing’s filthy.”

“And this is…?”

“My old cape,” Tim replies, going back to his computer. “Sometimes newborns just need to hear a heartbeat to calm them down. The best way is skin to skin, but I’m kind of in the middle of something, so this is the next best thing.”

Jason tilts his head to one side in consideration. “That’s a good idea.”

“Yeah, I looked it up online.”

“Of course you did,” Jason groans, rubbing his temple. “Because that’s what normal people do. I didn’t even think of it, I was too busy trying to get her to stop crying.” He huffs, almost rueful. “Why the hell am I surprised that you’re good at this? You’re good at friggen everything.”

Huh. A compliment. Those are almost as rare coming from Jason as they are from Damian. He must really be out of his comfort zone.

“Maybe it’s just because I have a certain measure of distance from it all,” Tim suggests, standing up to leave his temporary workstation. “If I suddenly found out I had a kid, I don’t know how I’d react.”

“Bull. You’re just like B. You’d just stick it in the back of your mind and forget about how to feel about it until you’re ready to deal.”

Tim feels a sudden flare of anger. “Is that actually how you think I am?”

“You going to tell me you’re not?” Jason challenges.

Tim opens his mouth to do exactly that, only to wrinkle his nose at the sudden stench arising from the lump of baby tucked against his chest.

“Ugh. Someone needs a change.”

Again. Guess I wasn’t so far off about the ‘eat, poop and sleep’ thing.

Jason snorts. “As far as conversation enders, that’s a pretty good one.”

Tim carefully unwinds the fabric from around his body and deposits the slowly waking baby into her father’s arms. “Tag.”

“You suck.”

“Serves you right for being a dick.”

He feels almost no guilt leaving Jason to deal with the soiled diaper and cranky baby this time, still smarting a bit about the resentful accusation that was lobbed at him.

Just because I can compartmentalize doesn’t mean I forget about things. Or that I don’t feel them.

He’s just not like Jason, or Dick, or Damian, who get angry and lash out as loudly and as viciously as they can. And he’s not like Bruce, either, since Bruce really can flip a switch and put something difficult out of his mind if it interferes with the all-important Mission.

Tim’s tried doing that, and as successful as he was in his quest to locate Batman when he was lost in the time stream, that period of Tim’s life was the most desperate and hopeless he’s ever felt. It was painful in a way that was different from losing his father, or Connor, or Bart—mostly because he was forced to bottle everything up to get the job done.

It was months after Bruce returned before Tim started processing things normally again.

Not that I should expect Jason to know that, he muses as he grapples through the rooftops of Gotham. He might know about me from my files and when we occasionally work together, but he’s never stuck around long enough to get to know anyone who came after him.

The night is at its darkest, cut through only by the Bat-signal in the distance. He won’t be running into Bruce tonight then unless the GCPD is bringing him in on the Gazzo case. It’s unlikely since there hasn’t been any retaliation yet. GCPD protocol dictates they’ll pass it off to Homicide until orders from on high turn it over to Major Crimes.

Red Robin ends up stopping two muggings and a drug deal before making his way to Gazzo territory to take some surveillance photos of his own. Security images are helpful in general, but he has camera tech that will let him focus on details the CCTV won’t pick up. 

It’s another relatively early night for him, returning home just after midnight to upload his findings to the servers and shower off the grit and grime of the city.

The apartment is silent, and he expects Jason and Isa to be upstairs in the newly built nursery, but upon closing the secret door again, he notices the faint sound of breathing. Creeping over to the sitting room, he finds Jason passed out on the couch beside Isa’s carrier. The television is on but not showing any channel, instead casting a solid blue light across the room.

Tim can’t help noticing how Jason’s habitual frown has eased in slumber. There’s no trace of a sneer or growl on his lips right now, his mouth parted only to breathe.

He has never seen the older man like this.

There are pictures of him at the manor, of course, most of them hidden away in dusty boxes. It’s only recently they’ve started cropping up at the manor again, though Tim isn’t sure whether it’s Dick or Alfred that’s been putting them there.

Hell, maybe it is Bruce. It’s the exact kind of gesture he’d make to try to tell Jason he wants him around more, without actually having to tell him directly.

Whoever’s responsible for them, Tim’s memorized all of those photos. The boy in those is always grinning or making silly faces or not paying attention to the photographer because he’s busy doing something he shouldn’t be.

If there’s a picture of Jason looking so calm and peaceful, it’s hidden away in Bruce’s personal files where no one can find them.

Tim can sort of see why given how vulnerable his predecessor looks right now. This is the Jason that Bruce remembers, the one he’s built up in his memory that’s different from the Jason once enshrined in the much-maligned class case in the Cave. This is the Jason Bruce is trying to find whenever he squares off with Red Hood and mourns as lost when he can’t find him.

Which is stupid since he’s still right here. I wonder if anyone else will ever realize that?

Tim decides not to wake Jason; he might have been a jerk before, but he should sleep while he can.

Instead, he settles in on the other couch with his laptop to review the surveillance shots he took himself and from the security feeds. If he can figure out just which of these mobster muscle heads is the easiest to break, he can get a better idea of what might have happened to the teenager in concrete.

I’ll just do a quick scan tonight, and study them in more detail tomorrow.

Of course, as usual, he gets invested in his work and doesn’t look up again until about four o’clock, when Isa’s sharp cry pieces the silence. Tim jumps, having completely forgotten her presence, but that’s nothing on Jason, who vaults upward from his spot on the couch, body tense and prepared to react to whatever caused the noise, friend or foe.

His hand is already reaching for a gun—one that Tim is thankful to see is no longer there.

“It’s okay, it’s just time for the next feeding,” he says quietly, trying to sound both casual and soothing at the same time. Based on the bleary look he’s getting from Jason, he’s less than successful.

Jason glares at his empty hand, clenched as if to hold onto something, and Tim must be on the verge of falling asleep himself because for a moment he imagines he can see the outline of a sword.

Great. Hallucinations. Tomorrow’s going to be a triple-shot of espresso day, I can tell.

And it’s suddenly occurring to him that babies and their sudden loud noise-making skills might not be the best thing for someone that’s suffered the kinds of trauma Jason has.

He makes up a mental note to look up some strategies for that. He’s not quite sure how he’ll bring up the subject with Jason. While Jason is adamant that Tim’s the most like Bruce, when it comes to avoiding problems, he’s the one that has more in common with the man.

For now, he decides to just act as normal.

“You know there’s a perfectly good bed upstairs?” he quips. “Thousand thread count, fluffy pillows, solid mattress…”

“Shut up. I was watching something. Guess I fell asleep.” Jason swings around and makes a move toward the baby, but Tim makes a motion to stop him.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ve got it.”

“You already took her when you got back.”

“How do you know? You were sleeping?”

“I was resting my eyes.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Go to sleep or you’ll be face-planting in your coffee tomorrow.”

“I’ll be fine, I—"

“This isn’t your responsibility, Replacement. Go to bed—I’ll handle this.”

Jason is clearly not someone to be reasoned with when sleep-deprived; Tim always suspected that, of course, but he’s never had the up-close-and-personal experience. It doesn’t make him any less frustrated.

“The whole point of you staying here is for me to help,” he reminds him. “So would you just accept it already?”

“You’re also the one with a nine-to-five job and actually need the friggen sleep.”

Tim grimaces. “Fine. But I’m going to make up a schedule for us tomorrow so we can divide the babysitting more equitably.”

“You do that, boy scout. Why don’t you make a chore-wheel while you’re at it?” Jason jeers, taking the baby and heading for the kitchen. “This isn’t kindergarten.”

“Are you sure about that?” Tim shoots back, scowling in frustration.

Just for that, I will make one. See if I don’t.

⁂⁂⁂

Your feedback matters! I want to know what you think of my story, so feel free to leave kudos, a comment or as many of these emojis as you want and let me know how you feel!

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Next Chapter

#jaytim #timjay #babyfic #kidfic #slow build #slow burn #tim drake #jason todd #bringing up baby #baby isa #toddlet #adulting #slice of life

[this-lioness]

Rubbish Blog Update

After an intensely busy week we made the most of the weekend, which is to say I got as much shit done as possible.

Saturday I had an eye appointment, then we did the weekly shopping and I came home to cook.  Ended up making some freezer meals (broth-steamed quinoa with peppers and onions boxed up with veggie dumplings and veggies, “chicken” patties with veggies and seasoned rice, baked cauliflower mac and cheese, 1 doz hard boiled eggs for lunches, another dozen made up into egg salad.  

I also used some of the leftover broccoli to make some veggie-and-egg white patties to go along with the veg sausage for breakfast.  While we were out today I picked up a bunch of fresh fruit, so now we’ve got a fruit salad we can dip into for lunch as well.

Even though we’ve been inconsistent with the gym, this has been a lifesaver for me, honestly.  I get to cook (which I’ve missed), and on the nights that we go straight to the gym we have a nice dinner ready to be served in a few minutes rather than resorting to frozen processed stuff or me having to grudgingly throw something together when I’m already tired and just wanting to relax.

I set up a “Google Routine” for us that also turns on some nice mood music and lights when we eat dinner, which has been something nice to unravel us from the day.  I made another for the bedroom when I’m doing my nightly routine.  Sade heavy, of course, because I’m nothing if not predictable.

Speaking of which, I picked up another set of remote-controlled LED button lights today, and installed them in the master bath.  So now I can shower to smooth jazz AND have mood lights, stop being jealous.

(It is probably the tackiest thing in the whole entire world to somebody who is not me, but I don’t care, I love it.)

On Saturday night we finally sorted through the pile of convention crap that’s been clogging up the dining room and took a proper inventory of all the art and jewelry I’ve got left.  I took pictures of our sales sheets as well, and tomorrow (haha, maybe, ugh) I’m going to take a critical look at what’s sold well historically and what makes the most sense to reproduce.

The little hand-painted pendants, for instance, which I dearly love?  Just don’t sell that well.  I only have one or two left, so that’s good, but they took forever to sell, and they are really labor intensive to make.  Meanwhile, the acrylic dragonfly earrings were inexpensive to make, fairly quick to produce, and people snatched them up.

It’s been an interesting experience, to be sure.

We have a pile of stuff to take to Salvation Army, but it rained all Saturday so that was no good.  Maybe some time this week.

Oh, and last Wednesday the handyman came by to install the new door!  MY NEW FREE FRONT DOOR!  (I’m very proud of this, and I recognize that it is childish, but I don’t care.  The dude at Home Depot was ringing up gift card after gift card and just marveling out loud how ridiculous it was.  Proud moment for me.)

I started using a new app that lets you take pictures of your store receipts, also allowing you to exchange the points you earn for more gift cards, so we’ll see how I do with that.  Let me know if anyone wants to give it a shot, I’ll send you a referral!

Finally had an orthopedist appointment last Wednesday as well.  X-rays looked normal, so there’s some sort of soft tissue damage or scar tissue or something?  He couldn’t tell without an MRI, and insurance won’t pay for an MRI (softly singing God Bless America under my breath here), so instead he’s sending me to physical therapy for an “abnormal gait.”  Lovely.  That starts this coming Wednesday, we’ll see how that all goes.

We also went to the gym today and worked up a workout routine in the weights section.  I’m off high-impact cardio for the time being, which means no running, and frankly I really think what I need is to regain, and gain, muscle mass.  Cardio has never really done anything for me at all, although running can be very relaxing, and I can already feel age-related muscle loss setting in.  Can’t have that, so off we go for (ideally) 3 nights a week of weights.

It’s frustrating being so short.  Half the machines that I need to use I can’t because I just don’t fit on them -- my head hits the wrong place, the swively bits press against something they shouldn’t -- and in trying to make them work I end up straining something I shouldn’t.  Marc helped me figure out which ones I could fit on, proper weight and seat settings, so I should be good now.  I wrote everything down, and will work it up into a little chart for myself tomorrow.

I may laminate it, I haven’t decided yet.

In cat news, we are going to have to do something about Rosie.  Laugh as we might about her growling at her food bowl, the amount of absolute hysterics she flies into at feeding time, or the lengths she goes to in order to scavenge even the tiniest crumb of food is getting upsetting.

We can’t offer her anything by hand anymore.  If you try to give her a treat she will bite through your fingers without even thinking.  If you offer her baby food on a spoon as a treat she can no longer contain herself to licking -- she will bite and bite and bite the spoon, and can’t seem to stop herself.  I bought her a slow feeder dish and she spent the entire time biting the plastic bits meant to make her go more slowly, just growling and getting more and more upset, until we scraped everything back into her old bowl.  When she does eat, it’s like she hasn’t eaten in weeks, and she’s convinced someone is going to steal it.

She is a completely different cat when there’s food in front of her.

She is still (and probably always will be) a very tiny cat -- probably only 5.5 - 6 lbs -- but she is at a healthy weight for her size.  I suspect whatever malnutrition she suffered as a kitten permanently stunted her growth.

This sort of behavior can have a physical cause (hyperthyroidism, parasites, etc.), but the copious bloodwork they did on her just a few months ago came back clear, she went through several rounds of powerful dewormers when we first found her, and she is otherwise in good physical shape and health.  She’s also, when there’s no food around, still sweet and cuddly and as loving as she always was.  There isn’t a mean bone in her body.

We saw this once before, in a cat that we fostered when we first moved into this house -- Cooper.  We had to give Cooper back, in part because our other cats couldn’t get along with him, and in part because he was an absolute living nightmare to deal with.  He figured out how to scale the barrier into the kitchen, and would dump the trash can and rip through everything he found inside. He would walk the kitchen counters over and over and over again in case he missed something the last time.  Every single day, multiple times a day.  He’d tear open ANY bag, whether or not it contained food, just in case it might.

Cooper was also found as a starving kitten, although he wasn’t one of ours.  Other accounts I’ve read of these behaviors all have that in common as well: kittens (like Rosie) who were found emaciated, plagued with parasites.  Even long after they find a safe home with ample food and regular mealtimes, that insecurity never goes away. What has helped others, supposedly, is making the cat a safe and secure place to eat every meal, and not exposing it to food at any other time or place than at meal time.

She’s already not allowed in the kitchen, we now have Rosie-proof trash bins, and although we’re already feeding all the cats separately I’ve taken down one of the carriers to lock her in at breakfast and dinner (this isn’t as bad as it sounds -- she wolfs her food down in a minute flat, so she won’t be in there long, and I’m hoping that only giving her meals and treats in that spot will help her feel less exposed and defensive. I moved her bowl into the carrier and she went right in to investigate, so we’ll see what happens at breakfast tomorrow.  Even a slight improvement would be good.  On one hand we laugh at this ridiculous, tiny cat growling so unnecessarily and aggressively at dinner time, but after a moment it’s sort of upsetting because clearly she is super stressed out. I guess that about catches me up.  I’m going to take a nice long shower and listen to smooth jazz amid color-changing lights (SHHH IT’S FANCY) and then maybe do something creative for a bit. I love you all and I hope you’re well <3

#oc #personal #blogging

[chaoticneutralwriter]

14; Rising Tension

In which Jungkook doesn’t have experience with thin walls and you’re experiencing too much.

idol!Jimin x staff!reader ft. poor bun Jungkook

genre: slow-burn, fluff, pining, a little crack, comedy, unnecessary mature-ish themes

word count: 2.9k

follow up of Ramen and Chill?

Jungkook has dealt with a lot of things for someone who’s only twenty-one. Most of those things are something your average twenty-one year old would probably crumble under from immense pressure and stress. It’s not that Jungkook didn’t come close to it himself, but he’s pretty certain that he’s able to handle it a little better than most; that much he can say with confidence. Jeon Jungkook likes to think of himself as someone who would meet challenges head on and give it all he’s got so that he can at least say he didn’t try.

 Every challenge is a welcoming one, no matter how daunting because it’s always a learning experience.

 But now, as he stands frozen in the middle of his hotel suite, he’s not sure how he’ll even begin to approach this one.

 You see, not too long ago, Jungkook had returned to his room after a long, tiring night of smiling and greeting esteemed guests and getting his years worth of socializing. He, very decidedly, wanted to take a refreshing shower, take off his suit that has long turned stuffy, wash away the hair products and make-up and slip into a nice, comfortable pair of sweats and hoodie. That was his plan for the night and he had yet to decide whether he wanted to eat something before sleeping or just go straight to bed, reading webtoons until he fell asleep.

 He only got as far as stepping out of his en suite bathroom, changed and toweling his damp hair furiously when he heard it; a distinct thump coming from one of his adjacent walls. At first, he thought he imagined it, but then something else follows it.

 A moan.

 Distinctly female.

 His mind goes haywire, eyes becoming wider than saucers and alarmed, and he starts to freak out, all in the solitude of his own room. A room that Jungkook discovers has very, concerningly thin walls. 

 Even more pressing, his mind comes to realize next, is that the wall in question where the sounds are coming from is in connection with none other than Park Jimin.

 But then if Jimin’s room is beside his….

 Why did he hear a female voice coming from it?

 It’s like everything comes to a screeching halt for Jungkook, time is at a standstill as it slowly dawns on him, in quiet horror, that he's being dragged into something he’s never imagined himself being in.

 He’s eavesdropping on one his hyungs getting it on.

 Jungkook feels his face immediately heat up to the point that he swears he’ll be able to cook eggs on it and his ears feel like they’re about to be burnt off.

 Headphones! Gotta find headphones!

 “I’m so sorry! Where does it hurt noona?” Jungkook hears Jimin’s muffled voice ask, concern obvious in his tone.

 Noona?

 From Jungkook’s memory, he’s most certain there’s only one noona that Jimin would invite to his room this late and, on further thought, only one noona who is up anyways. It had to be Y/N noona.

 Now he doesn’t know whether to be happy for his hyung for finally getting the girl he’s been pining after or still be completely disgusted because he just HAD to pick the room beside his own!

 “A little lower—“ Her strained voice cuts off midway with a slightly more pained whine before adding, “I-I don’t think this is a good idea Jimin.”

 “No, it’ll feel better trust me. I just need to get us off the ground.”

 THE GROUND?

 Jungkook blanches. He didn’t mean to even continue listening for so long at this point, honestly! But seriously hyung?! The ground?! Even if Jungkook wanted to stuff his ears with the most effective sound cancelling headphones right now, he still can’t help but want to face palm for Jimin’s poor choice in initiating his first move to becoming a man.

 Right, the headphones!

 Jungkook springs into action, jerking between going left or right because his mind has yet to remember where exactly he put his headphones. He frantically starts tearing up his room, blindly looking for them, and all the while still catching snippets of the conversation from beyond the wall.

 “Is this better?” comes Jimin’s voice. He hears a responding grunt from Y/N noona.

 “Just… go slowly.”

 WHERE ARE THOSE HEADPHONES?!

 Housekeeping will absolutely murder him by the way he’s tossing the blanket and pillows, clothes strewn all over the place but he doesn’t care at this point. Jungkook needs his headphones and he needs them now.

 “Does that feel good?”

 A hum of contentment resounds through, followed by an airy, “Yes.”

 He hears Jimin chuckle. “Should I go harder then?”

 Jungkook becomes a little desperate, his brain coming up with elaborate plans of using one of his belts to possibly secure a pillow around his head to cover his ears as he’s continues looking for his one saving grace. Okay, okay calm down just think about other things! Like ramen, steak, being kinda hungry, maybe he really should order room service after all…. No! That would blow Jimin’s cover as much as Jungkook wants no part of the steamier aspects of his love life! Focus Jungkook! Overwatch has a new map; he should really try it with hyung sometimes—!

 A loud gasp erupts from Y/N noona that sounds like Jimin’s name, effectively cutting Jungkook’s mid mental tirade and halfway dumping the entire contents of his bag out.

 “Sorry, too hard?” There’s a teasing lilt in Jimin’s voice before he grunts.

 “I’m not gonna be able to walk tomorrow if you keep doing that.” came Y/N hiss before it morphs into a groan.

 “But this is the only way it’ll feel better. So relax noona, I’ll take care of you.” 

 Jungkook is ready to pull his hair out of his scalp. He’s about searched every pocket in his bag, luggage and carrier and still no signs of the Airpods he’s looking for. With a hand through his hair, he eyes look wildly at the mess he’s created, room looking very much like a tornado had just passed through. The hoodie he’s wearing now is starting to make him sweat. And then a light bulb went off in his head.

 …. Hoodie! What was he wearing earlier today?!

 “…. Stop staring at me like that.” Y/N noona’s voice comes out shyly; so quiet that Jungkook almost didn’t catch it.

 He hears Jimin’s unmistakable giggle in response, “Why?”

 “It’s embarrassing….”

 “...I think you look cute.”

 “No I—Oh….” Her tone cuts into a low moan. 

 “Right here?”

 Whatever sweet spot Jimin hit, he does it again to elicit another satisfied sound and Jungkook slaps his cheeks to get himself together, practically diving to rummage through his worn pile of clothing to search for the outfit he wore that might possibly hold the one thing he needs the most right now.

 “How are you so good at this?” He hears Y/N noona ask almost reverently. 

 Jungkook is close to screaming out in frustration, for once cursing himself for packing seven different hoodies that all pretty much look the same anyways (black). It leaves him no choice but to sift through each of them, patting them down in hopes of feeling a familiar lump in one of the pockets.

 “So that means I’m doing well right?” Jungkook can clearly hear the gloating in Jimin’s voice and it makes him want to gag a little. He does not need to hear any of this.

 A slight hum of affirmation lets Jungkook know that Y/N noona is pleased. Jungkook grabs probably the fourth hoodie and gives it a violent shake but nothing comes flying out like he expects it to and the first sounds of exasperation escapes the young man.

 “Agh! Don’t—!” Suddenly her voice rings out in a protesting whine just as Jungkook’s fingers brush against a square shaped container, buried in the fabrics of the cotton hoodie. Jungkook lets out a small scream of joy, grabbing at it like a madman that he thought he might’ve torn something in the process.

 “Oh sorry noona. Lifting your leg a little was supposed to make you feel even better. I guess it was too soon.” 

 “You should’ve warned me first.” 

 Jungkook fumbles, grasping the smooth case of his Airpods, flipping open the lid and unceremoniously shucks the wireless buds out before whipping out his phone and hooking it up to the Bluetooth in record timing that even Guinness would be impressed. He shoves the ear buds into his ears and plays the first song on his playlist, turning up the volume to near max. The youngest, with the feeling of winning the lottery, celebrates his victory by throwing his hands skyward in a double fist pump, laughing almost manically to himself as he’s finally free from hearing the conversations next door.

 ———

 You’re trying to steady your breathing, keep yourself from making any more embarrassing noises as well as conspicuously trying to hide the blush setting fire on your cheeks right now... but the way his fingers work.

 “Can I try lifting your leg a little more?” 

 You think about it, trying not to get lost in the way his fingers knead into you, working at the knot that has built there.

 “I guess? Just go slowly.” You say with eyebrows furrowed in trying to figure out whether or not the pain has died down enough for it. Jimin carefully grasp your ankle and slowly brings your knee up. He gets it to bend just slightly before you give a hiss of discomfort.

 Jimin sighs, “Noona why are you so stiff for?”

 You shoot a half-hearted glare as his fingers work to loosen your stiffened muscle again.

 “I don’t know….” You reply in a grumble, playing with the buttons of his suit jacket currently thrown over your lap. It wasn’t your fault that in the moment of being completely caught unaware via having a stupidly attractive male come half an inch close to kissing you, your leg decides to cramp and give you the worst Charlie horse of your life (talk about a moment ruined…. not like there was one to begin with anyways). And as if to add insult to injury, Jimin was adamant about massaging the muscle cramp out of your leg to make up for it. You’re not blaming him though; he was just being his regular sweet self, but you’d rather curl into a ball of suffering and not have someone like Jimin witness it at all.

 But there’s no escaping Jimin. He already felt bad enough for not breaking your fall in time from tripping over his bag strap, sticking haphazardly out from under the bed, which he shoved in his haste earlier in attempt to clean his room. 

 So much to your chagrin and immense embarrassment, he hauls you up with ease and places you on his bed, setting up the pillows so that you were comfortably leaned back and courteously gave you his discarded jacket to place on your lap to prevent any accidental flashing. Your last attempts at protest die the moment he presses his fingers into your calf.

 It’s been a good twenty minutes of Jimin diligently working on your stubborn muscles. He checks up on you every once in a while, making sure he’s not adding too much pressure that it hurts you while you on the other hand, struggle to even maintain eye contact with him. You wish you could say this was a comfortable silence, but you feel too on edge for it. 

 In the lull, you get lost in the bizarre events that lead up to this point and you don’t even know which one you should have a mental meltdown over first; the fact that you have a world class idol who-happens-to-be-your-low-key-crush massaging your leg or the fact that he possibly implied not minding ramen and chilling with you in-the-you-know-what-I-mean sorta way earlier. You feel your head grow dizzy with an oncoming headache. 

 Hohh my God…. You need to lie down…Wait you already are—!

 “Don’t tell me you’re falling asleep on me noona.” Jimin’s voice pulls you back from the recesses of your mind. When you’re back in the present, eyes focused on him, you realize he’s stopped massaging your leg and opted to just have his hands resting against your shin. He’s smiling at you in a way that reminds you of a Cheshire cat. You feel your cheeks flare again, a pout working onto your lips as you stubbornly look down to pick off imaginary lint from his (costs more than your student loans) jacket.

 “No I’m not…” You mumble. You hear a melodic giggle come from him before he lets out a long breath.

 “I’m really sorry that happened noona. It was my fault the bag was there, I was careless.” Jimin apologizes for the nth time. Your head shoots up, mouth open with a rebuttal at the ready.

 “No Jimin, it’s not your fault…. I’m just clumsy.” 

 He puffs out air and whines, “Why won’t you let me apologize noona?” 

 “Well…you’ve already done that by giving me a massage….” You reply and he laughs airily in response, a heart-stopping smile plastered on his face as he absent-mindedly starts to rub circles into your flesh again. The feeling nearly makes your knee jerk because his touch this time is gentle, not enough pressure to consider it a massage but by now your cramping leg has subsided to nothing more than a dull ache. 

 His thumb is tracing invisible patterns across your skin, almost in a way where he just likes being able to feel you and it sends you into a confusing place; one where your body is melting against his touch, craving for more and the other wanting to pull away out of shyness from how intimate this suddenly got.

 Your heart begins to race at the foreign feeling, like it’s triggered into a flight or fight mode and you think that maybe it’s about high time you leave. As much as half of you did want to stay, enjoy the calming presence of Jimin, you feel as if your heart has not yet reached that level of readiness. And besides, you really shouldn’t be here any longer than you need to lest you really do want to get in trouble.

 So with a shred of reluctance, you begin to pull away from him. Jimin notices of course, stopping all movements of his hands but making no move to prevent you from eventually slipping away from his grasp. He opens his mouth to speak, no doubt ready to apologize but you cut in.

 “I should go Jimin. It’s really late and you should rest.” You say gently, a small smile on your face.

 “Ah…Um, yeah.” Jimin stammers, getting up from his seat at the foot of the bed while running a hand through his hair. You make to gather yourself as well, swinging your legs to the side of the bed and begin to take your first tentative steps after cramping the crap out of one leg.

 In a flash, Jimin is next to you, arms hovering by you in case you decide to re-enact the entire thing again. You shoot him a thankful smile and he nods in reassurance. With a sigh of relief, you manage to stand and feel comfortable enough that the weight didn’t feel straining. Still, you take your steps carefully to the door and once you reach the threshold, the reluctance spikes.

 “Thank you— for the ramen and…. the massage.” You cough and fiddle with a strand of curled hair.

 “I— it’s no problem noona. I’m sorry that—“

 “No! No, honestly Jimin.” You force yourself to look him in the eye because even if you’re the one leaving feeling like you could just bury yourself in a hole, you won’t leave having someone like Jimin feel sorry for something that’s not a big deal anyways. “I’m not even upset about it if that’s what you think. In fact I think it was nice— that you even offered to massage me. I mean the massage itself was nice too but— you know.”

 He blinks, surprised by how adamant you sound before a smile blooms on his face, eyes disappearing into crescents and he lets out a giggle, hand coming up to cover his mouth.

 “I understand.” Jimin says. The grey of his contacts sparkle in a way you think felt too much like adoration that it makes your cheeks flush. You swear you must look like you’ve drank a whole bottle of champagne by yourself (an idea that sounds rather appealing at the moment) and yet he still continues to look at you like you’re the apple in his eyes.

 “Goodnight noona.” The warmth in his voice sends involuntary shivers down your spine, made your breath hitch and pulse rise all at once. You nod in a slight daze, taking a few seconds too long to form a reply.

 “Y-yeah. Goodnight Jimin. I’ll— I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

 He sends you off with another smile, one that you shyly return before you scurry out of his room and practically fly down to yours. Your shaky hands fumble with the keycard for a bit before you fling yourself into your room, doors shutting with a click and your legs give out from under you.

 You breathe out deeply, braced against the door and heart hammering in your chest. 

 This is it…. You think. This is how you die. 

 Because to your elation and horror, you’ve come to accept that you’re in too deep now.

 You’re balls deep in love with Park Jimin.

#jimin x reader #jimin x you #park jimin scenarios #park jimin scenario #park jimin fanfic #park jimin fic #BTS park jimin fic #park jimin fluff #park jimin oneshot #idol!jimin #idol!jimin x reader #park jimin imagine #park jimin drabble #BTS park jimin fanfic #jimin fanfic #jimin scenario #park jimin imagines

[chanyueda]

my dumbass previously posted this on my sideblog lmao but its ok i posted it privately and now i have to suffer the consequences of copy pasting it manually on this phone because apparently i cant copy paste the whole thing

Dearest pen pal,

You did not write back again. I’m starting to feel like I really annoyed you with everything that’s happening to me. Tell me, should I even continue? I’m sorry, Steven. I really am.

Can’t you at least write back, just one? I’m not really telling you to actually do it but I haven’t heard from you! Are you okay? Do you need help? I’m worried! You don’t know how you make me feel so distracted with everything that I have to do. I’m on my final year at college, it’s stressing, yes, but what stresses me more is the fact that you’re not writing back to me.

Please be okay, for my sake? That’s all I ask of you now. Forget about writing back. Just...be okay.

Your pen pal,

Andrew

Something nagged at the back of his mind. Why did he decide to not write back anyway? His conscience slowly swallowed him. This...Andrew, kept hoping he’d write back one day, but he never did.

Steven unknowingly crumpled the letter. He felt a wave of anguish that boiled inside of him. He was confused; why was he feeling this way? It’s only the second letter, but the emotions were already too much for him to bear. He could only crumple the paper more for he can’t translate his feelings into words.

Steven wanted to write back immediately after crumpling the paper. He was already on the move to get a pen and paper, but he realized he didn’t know the address of this person. Usually, the letters are put in an envelope with the name and address of the sender, but looking inside the chest, no envelope was found. It only contained Andrew’s letters, which baffled him more.

It’s not like him to leave letters like this. When he received one, whether it’s from a carrier company or some random one, he’d keep the envelope. He thought, maybe if he kept it, if ever he wanted to send a letter, he’d have a clue of the address. So why, in this case, the letters were not placed on their envelopes?

“Why are you being weird, standing in the middle of your room like that?” Star, his roommate, stood in the doorway again, doing a facepalm.

“I’m not...?” Steven glanced around, yeah, he was definitely standing up.

“What’s gotten into you?” Star asked, already concerned. He approached Steven cautiously.

“The letters.” He replied with no hesitation. “They’re weird. Not me.”

“Care to share?”

They sat down on the bed and Steven got hold of the two letters he just read minutes ago. He fumbled with his fingers in nervousness, and straightened the second crumpled letter. Star could not help but laugh, which earned a look from Steven.

“I’m sorry, it’s just that...you crumpled it. And you’re just on the second one! There’s hundreds of them for you to crumple.”

“Stop...” he groaned. “Look, I’m not good at this but, this person...Andrew, keeps on writing to me.”

“Yeah, you got that much from reading 2 letters.” Star shrugged. “What I mean is, you’re assuming shit.”

“No!” Steven unknowingly shouted. “I...I’m sorry I shouldn’t have...”

But Star didn’t get offended or anything, instead, he laughed it off, saying, “You’re just confused okay? Naturally, everything about you will affect everything else, including your feelings and emotions. Anyway, continue on! I want to hear more.”

Steven sighed before continuing, “He’s been writing...no, telling me that I’m not writing back to him anymore. Like, he’s insinuating that we were communicating before but I just...stopped?” He let out an exasperated sigh. “I don’t know!”

“Let me see that!” Star forcefully grabbed the letters from Steven’s hands and read them on his own. His facial expressions varied from time to time; he was shocked at first but soon after, he found himself close to tears.

“You’re overreacting.” Steven commented while watching him.

“Wow, the audacity! You’re the one who’s overreacting! I’m mainly conveying normal emotions while reading shit. Besides...he really made it sound like you were exchanging letters before. Why would he even bother to write pen pal if you two weren’t doing this?”

Steven remained quiet.

“Plus the second letter—“

“What’s wrong with it?!” He said suddenly, which sent Star into a fit of shock. “Sorry.”

“Who’s overreacting now bitch?” Star rolled his eyes. “Anyway...Andrew didn’t write your name at the first part. The...salutations shit. I don’t know, I don’t write letters.”

“Wait, what?” Steven stole the crumpled paper and reread it again. “Y-You’re right! I...I’m confused. Maybe he just forgot it? Or...maybe he purposely left it out?!” He rambled, which earned a look from his roommate.

“Why...do you seem angry?” Star shook his head. “No, why are you angry? What’s it to you, anyway?”

Steven couldn’t make out a reply to that.

“You’re affected!” Star laughed once more. “Minutes ago, you were ready to fight whoever this Andrew is and now…”

“I’m still ready to fight him! For a different reason, that is…”

The question still stands, what’s it to him anyway? Andrew just didn’t write his name and now, he’s mad about that? Something tugged at the back of his mind, but he paid no attention to it.

“Yeah whatever, you gotta get ready. We’re leaving in 5.” Star stood up from the bed and went out the door. “Take the letters with you, if you want.”

Steven stared at the unread letters. It was too early to form conclusions, and he knew that, but he can’t help it. He just wants this whole letter thing to be over. But he knew it wasn’t going to be that easy. These letters might, and still contain the answers to the questions he’s had on his head. These letters might give an insight as to what happened between him and his mysterious pen pal.

What even happened between the two of them?

i fucked up the middle part HAHA im too lazy to edit more ☹️ anyway i really love editing your parts @avantbergara bc im really trying to align it to your personality but i think im doing worse? lmao idk whatever

#standrew #buzzfeed worth it #bwi #second chap already??? #im making progress sis #letters #this made me sad ya know

[cosmosogler]

hi guys. another night of way too little sleep. makes me too tired to talk.

i didn’t draw much tonight. i worked on a digital picture for a little bit but i mostly watched youtube videos. some of it was about comics and literary theory and history of theater and stuff... so i can pretend i got something done i guess.

harrison helped me take snoopy to the vet this morning. it’s been too hot for me to want to force snoopy to sit in the carrier for 25 minutes while i cart her over to the vet’s office so he drove us. it was nice of him. i talked a little bit about how i feel like i’m never productive enough even when i work on physics consistently every day and i spend all my free time working on the comic or learning about stuff related to making comics or stories in general. 

i’m not sure what to do about it. i don’t know if i’d feel better or worse if i was getting more involvement from the audience. like, i know i’d feel pressured. i can try not to. i’m already disappointed that i had to move my posting schedule back to once every 3 days instead of 2 just because i don’t have anything i can draw fast enough to post that consistently at this point. i was hoping to get some requests but i didn’t get any... i dunno what to do. 

i realized i was obsessing a little bit over whether or not my friends were doing what i asked. i’m going to try to let that go even though i’m still kind of hurt and, i guess, legitimately upset about it. i suffer from being “permanently salty” and i have for my entire life!!! 

i just can’t be checking that garbage all the time. it’s like i’m back in 2014 waiting for a homestuck update. i wish i could be happy with the validation i’ve got. but it’s like, as soon as i have something i want secured, i immediately turn my attention to the next thing i need and forget about all the holes in my self esteem i’ve already plugged with whatever i can find. 

maybe what i want, more than for them to just read my dang story, is to have something to talk about. i just want my classmates to talk to me. i just want the people in my life to talk to me about SOMETHING. the comic is just a topic i have a lot to say about. 

i wish i didn’t feel so lonely. it’s making me feel all sore and hollow. i’m probably less pleasant to be around so the worse i feel the less people wanna hang out with me. 

this is what i was thinking about in group yesterday. most people have their friends to help them through difficult situations. like yeah friends can drift apart or be really confused by you acting weird or drop the ball, but i always feel so... abandoned i guess. pushed gently out of friend circles by people constantly making plans for parties i can’t attend because the plan was made same-day. for example. or being booted out of friend circles because a guy in the circle broke up with me (or we had whatever “falling out”) and no one wanted to hang out with me individually. like when it came down to me or him, they’ve always gone with him.

i feel like i can’t depend on anyone. like my friends are all well and good and fun while i’m fun, but as soon as things get rough for me i’m on my own. i’m only a good friend when i’m easy to have as a friend. that’s what i feel like. i’ve really... felt like that several times in my life, really acutely. with craig, naturally. high school when i had my wisdom teeth out and my friend threatened to kill himself because i was ornery when i couldn’t eat food and was in pain because mom stole my pain meds. sorry that was a big sentence. 

now, with the department causing all those problems for me. i didn’t feel supported by my classmates, not really. i don’t know if that’s because they weren’t supporting me... or maybe if it’s because i just physically cannot feel supported by other people any more. maybe it’s a problem with my perception. usually is. 

it’s always easier to say “maybe i’m the problem” than it is to say other people are the problem. i don’t wanna go casting blame around where it doesn’t belong. not if it’s something i could theoretically change. and i do want to change it. but if i admit it’s out of my control then... what am i supposed to do? 

like, if it’s not a problem with me, then am i just supposed to say “welp, it sure does look like my life is pretty lonely!” i can already see that! i want something to do about it. but the more i try to change the situation, the more upset i get when the situation doesn’t change... 

i wish changing the situation was easy. i wish i could just ASK whoever to hang out with me or whatever and they’d say “yeah sure” and then actually do it. could you imagine? 

the other option is to find another community. that’s been rough and slow going and not really going anywhere too. i feel like it’s not going anywhere. i feel like there’s something about me new people will take issue with and they’ll start ignoring me like everyone else. i wish i knew what was wrong with me. i wish i knew how to not overshare the many very depressing stories of my life. makes me look pathetic. no one wants to hang out with a loser.

i wish i wasn’t too shy to ask more people to hang out. i know some of you guys who follow me talk to me sometimes, and i know some of you even probably wanna play games. i wish i wanted to play games. i don’t wanna do anything... don’t even really have the energy to watch movies with oz. i don’t know where to scrape that energy up from. even during vacation days or weeks i just can’t seem to make myself do anything with people who actually seem to like me. 

is that, like, self sabotage? is that what that is? how do i make that stop? 

i guess that brings me full circle to the beginning of this entry then. i plug up the holes in my life and immediately turn my attention to the holes that aren’t filled and forget that the holes that were filled ever even existed. because they’re not urgent.

like i’m always putting out all this crap that’s on fire! that’s what it feels like. and i don’t have time to pay any attention to the stuff that’s not on fire any more because i gotta put out the NEXT fire. when am i supposed to rest? do i even know how to rest? i don’t think i do. even when nothing’s on fire my brain decides to pretend something is burning so i can panic and not pay attention to the stuff that’s fixed.

maybe if i pay attention to the stuff that’s fixed i have to stop feeling unhappy? and that’s a lot of pressure. if i stop feeling constantly stressed and unhappy, does that mean all the time i spent stressed and unhappy doesn’t matter? 

i already don’t matter. i guess i just want people to notice how bad i feel. but i can’t seem to get the amount of “noticing” that i want. maybe if i feel worse more people will notice and i’ll finally get the amount of noticing i want. but if i start to feel better, then that means i dealt with it all by myself and no one ever really helped in a way that made me feel better. 

i don’t know if that makes sense. i wanna look back on my life and say “yeah this person was really great, i love them” but i can’t seem to... find anyone like that. and if i feel better on my own then it’s like, i really am alone? i dunno. 

that was a lot of feelings. thanks for listening, internet. i feel like i learned something. or, i guess i have stuff to think about. it’s like 12:20 now and i’m hungry but i need to go to bed. but i’m too hungry to sleep, but if i snack right before bed it’s gonna be hard to sleep... i love these dilemmas with no good solutions! i live for them!!!

#FEELINGS EXPLOSION

[theramseyloft]

Pigeon domestication: Feral Pigeons are not wildlife.

There were some inaccuracies in the first post on this topic, so I’m making a new one. A second edition, if you will.

One of my followers once asked me why it was that pigeons in wildlife rehab should be held when other animals should be handled as little as possible.

I misunderstood the crap out of her question! And it took three posts to realize I had!

Injured or orphaned Wildlife in a rehab center need to be handled as little as possible to avoid imprinting onto humans. They need to be able to survive on their own, and developing the habit of asking humans for hand outs will lead it to becoming malnourished at best and get it killed for being a nuisance at worst.

Mammals in particular may be killed on approach as fearless approach of humans by a wild animal is one of the warning signs that it might have rabies, which requires brain tissue to test for.

Pigeons are not wild animals. On principal, imprinting avoidance should not apply to them.

Furthermore, it causes them a lot of harm.

Pigeons are intensely social birds! Nestlings suffer from touch starvation as intensely as a human infant and can be mentally stunted or even out right stress to death from lack of interaction.

More urgently: We are simply not capable of teaching a domestic pigeon peep to survive in the wild.

Pigeons are social and observational learners, with cognition equivalent to a human 5 year old. Like human children, pigeon squeakers are TAUGHT how to be pigeons. 

Their social structure is VERY human like! Their father takes them out on foraging trips (because mom either has or is getting ready to lay the next clutch) and teaches them where to find food, water, and nest materials, what to eat, where to shelter, and how to interact with other pigeons. How and when to defer to the status of older established flock mates to avoid a fight and how and when to stick up for themselves to make sure they get their fair share of resources.

Songbirds and nearly all other columbids kick their kids out as soon as they are self feeding and they either make it or they don’t. Their parents will chase them out if they come back.

Feral Pigeons only leave their families if the flock has grown too large for local resources to support. 

Truthfully, orphaned feral pigeons do not belong in wildlife rehab at all. Pet shelters should be set up for them. 

Feral Pigeons are not wild animals. Imprinting avoidance should not apply to them any more than it should apply to an orphaned puppy.

Feral puppies don’t get raised among fox kits or coyote or wolf pups at a wildlife rehab and sent out for release “into the wild”.

Seriously. Take a moment to consider the following scenario:

A shelter gets an orphaned or injured puppy. They bottle feed it until it can reliably feed itself, heal it’s injuries, and clean out its parasites.

And then they return that just weaned, newly healthy puppy to the alley from whence it came.

How many of you, of you actually saw this happen, or heard the plan for the puppy’s release, would not be INSTANTLY concerned for its well being?

How many of your guts just clenched at the thoughts that flooded your minds of it getting hit by a car? Going hungry enough to have to eat garbage? Getting into something poisonous or sharp? Dying because it was left alone with no shelter or resources in a hostile environment?

How many of you, upon hearing that that puppy was going back into the street, would protest that it needs a home? That it’s a pet? That it’s helpless? That it’s most likely to die if it’s released?

What would your reaction be if that rehab brushed all of those aside by pointing out that there are adult strays eating garbage and dodging cars, and they’re fine?

How many of you would get upset? How many would protest that those strays aren’t healthy? That they are skinny, full of parasites, visibly sick, and limping from old wounds?

How would you react if that rehabber looked you dead in the eye and said “Those are wolves and they should be free.”

What if, at all shelters, only purebred puppies, or puppies with obvious fancy traits were put up for open adoption, and all mutts were “released” back onto the street, with all offers to adopt them turned down because they were born outside? What if you could only request to take home a mutt puppy if it lost the use of a limb and was deemed unreleasable?

This happens to pigeons every day, and they are no less domesticated than dogs are.

Dogs have been traveling with humans since the time when there were several species of human!

But pigeons have been with us since our settlements became permanent, and that relationship is nothing to sneeze at!

Do you know why doves have the religeous significance they do?

Because of the Wild Rock Dove, which is to domestic pigeons what the wolf is to domestic dogs.

Rock Doves are cliff nesters native to Turkey, India, the northernmost coast of Africa and southern Europe, who live only in very specific locations: Seaside cliffs on the edge of deserts.

They are grain eaters that need to drink a certain amount of fresh water every day.

If you were lost in the desert, finding a Rock Dove would save your life, if you could keep it in sight. 

During the day, it would lead you to water because it can’t go a day with out. 

At night, it would lead you back to safe, habitable shelter. After all, if there are predators or noxious gas in abundance, the Rock Doves couldn’t live there either.

It’s true that pigeons were initially domesticated for meat, but the Rock Dove’s bond to a specific home site and the unerring navigation that returned them reliably to it every night lead them to being domesticated more like dogs than any other livestock.

Pigeon holes are really easy to make. It’s just an even opening in a mud or stone wall deep enough for a fully grown bird to be completely sheltered and wide enough for two pigeons to build their nest and raise two peeps in.

Babies could be collected from the wild at around two weeks of age, feathered enough to thermoregulate and just starting to wean from pigeon milk to seed. At this age, they could be moved into the man made pigeon holes and hand fed until they could feed themselves.

It would be three to four weeks before they began to be really capable of flight, so the man made dovecote became the Home site onto which the babies imprinted to just as much as their handler.

If the keepers were smart, they brought home a group of babies, because rock doves are social with a cooperative family structure.

If taken at the right ages, that group formed a mini flock, just big enough to watch each others backs and their surroundings on foraging trips farther and farther afield. 

When pigeons take mates from another flock, the pair decides which family to join based on the security of the nest site and availability of resources, so pigeons from a man made dovecote always had the advantage of superior security. New mates came home with the tamed peeps and learned by observation that the human care takers were harmless protectors.

If the farmer was smart, they’d only harvest meat or eggs sparingly and at night so that the pigeons would not associate the human with being preyed upon.

Because pigeons could go out and forage for themselves and be trusted to return, the farmer didn’t have to feed them, and a person could not be too poor to own pigeons.

Not only were they live stock that fed themselves and brought more birds back with them, the guano of a well fed pigeon is one of the most nutritious fertilizers on earth!

If you want crops to grow in a desert landscape, moist pigeon guano worked into the ground will work wonders!

Pigeon guano eventually became so highly prized that people who could afford to hired armed guards to protect their cote!

We kinda ALWAYS knew about pigeon navigation, but the Greeks and Romans wrote a LOT about their use as messengers.

Messengers were not just any domestic pigeon! Speed and navigational accuracy were the traits their lines were selected for exclusively, so these were expensive specialty birds, especially beloved by the well-to-do and the military.

Every fort and palace had a cote for messenger pigeons so that they could recieve the most urgent of messages in situations where a human runner was just not fast enough.

Royal emissaries and platoons of soldiers out on a mission were sent with a supply of birds from that palace or fort so that if they needed to get a message out, they could send it by the fastest carrier over the straightest path.

Pigeons continued to be used in the messenger capacity until only about 50 years ago. 

During this time when every one depended on them for swift communication, EVERY ONE loved and revered pigeons!

Their diversity so inspired Charles Darwin that he did a TON of his genetics research using them as models! And pigeons were so beloved by Victorian England that his editors tried to twist his arm to write a book entirely about pigeons instead of what became the Origin of Species!

When Eugenics began to fascinate the European well to do and dog shows came to be, pigeon varieties also blossomed! 

There were pigeons all over the world at this point, and different regions had so many different ideas of what shape and color and pattern made a beautiful Pigeon! While some valued the appearance, others valued a unique areal performance or a more musical singing voice.

There are at least as many distinct breeds of pigeon now as there are of dog! I have heard that there are more, possibly even considerably more, but I don’t know enough about dog breed diversity to say for certain whether or not those assessments are accurate.

We have taken pigeons EVERYWHERE with us! And when we loved and took care of them, everybody benefited.

But about 50 years ago was when technology caught up with and surpassed the speed of pigeon borne messages, and pigeons were slower with more expensive upkeep.

As previously stated, the military were not the only people who loved pigeons.

But a LOT of the people who kept them after the military phased them out in the US were immigrants and people of color. 

It was a status symbol not to need gardens or farms or livestock, so pigeon coops became associated largely with poor neighboorhoods and immigrants. 

As pigeons fell out of favor, and more and more ferals started living on the closest thing to a comfortable environment: Buildings. 

As they were fed by fewer and fewer people and had access to less and less grain, it became more common to see the white streaked splatters of the pure uric acid that pigeons excrete on an empty stomach.

Uric acid eats stone, concrete, asphalt, and especially metal.

Feral Pigeons thus became linked to property damage, and the smear campaign that coined the description “Rats with wings” ( http://www.audubon.org/news/the-origins-our-misguided-hatred-pigeons ) and linked them with filth and disease was the final blow to the public’s esteem for this animal that has been our partner and companion through THOUSANDS of years of history.

That description of pigeons was all it took to turn thousands of years of adoration and respect into knee jerk revulsion. 

Add the fact that domestication favors year round reproduction, and 50 years later, the feral population of pigeons is staggering. 

Millions are spent to kill them off and drive them out using everything from poison to spikes to nets, tar, traps, and fines levied on the kind souls that recognize their hunger and feed them.

The Street Pigeon Project spearheaded in Germany has found that the most effective way to decrease the feral population and minimize the damage they cause to buildings is to, get this: Take FUCKING CARE OF THEM!!!

They built a big, comfortable rooftop loft with lots of nesting spaces, provided a good mix or grain, seed, legumes, and calcuim, and swapped out the eggs with fakes.

The unrestrained, non-coerced feral pigeons spent 80% of their time in that loft, only leaving to stretch their wings.

It was more comfortable than the awnings, eves, attics, and signs that had been the best nesting grounds available, so they left! 

With no need to range out to look for food, they didn’t go very far.

On full bellies, with good food, their poo wasn’t just pure uric acid anymore!

With eggs swapped out as they were found, reproduction decreased by 95%!

And the best part? It cost SO much less to house and feed the ferals than it did to try to exterminate them!

That’s not even scratching the surface of the OTHER benefits that could be extended from that project!

Pigeon eggs are edible! Even if the thought squicks out people and they can’t be regulated, animals can eat pigeon eggs too. They could be donated to wild life rehabs and animal shelters.

A street pigeon project could partner with community gardens to clean the lofts and keep the fertilizer they gather. THEY could also use the eggs to compost!

Cleaning the loft could also count as community service!

Pigeons did not invade cities. We abandoned them there, after they helped us coordinate building and connecting them.

They are, in every sense of the words, abandoned, forgotten sky puppies.

And they deserve to be treated with the same concern and compassion as every other lost pet.

Adult ferals would be more hurt than helped by capture, but they should have the option of a safe place to go to be fed and cared for, and weaned babies deserve to go to loving homes.

I know there are too many to home right now and that isn’t feasible for rehabs that get hundreds of them, but where rehoming isn’t an option, they should at LEAST be acclimated in a group with supplemental feeding until they find their way in the world.

Pigeons were made what they are by us. They were abandoned by us. 

Everything we complain about regarding pigeons are traits WE intentionally bred into them! And we inexplicably treat *them* like the invaders after abandoning them the second they were no longer deemed useful. 

We even forgot that the pidge we see every day on the street are domesticated birds! 

They are literally stray dogs with wings!

It’s time we remember that relationship and remind other people.

And please, please… be kind to the Sky Puppies. 

They deserve to be loved again.

#dove-mom cooing #feral pigeon #the history of the domestic pigeon #be good to the sky puppies