#it's to sit there and crochet and correct all the parents going
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What? (Mary and Sirius POV)
Links to the other chapters here
I’m updating this fic again, I know it’s a shocker. I’m really hoping to get this done over the summer. Also, if you haven’t read any of this fic, I’ll be honest that I think it is totally possible to just jump in in this chapter. Like some shit might not make as much sense, but I’m happy if anyone gets into the fic at any point please.
“There’s a lovin’ in your eyes, all the way. If I listen to your lies would you say, I’m a man, without conviction? I’m a man who doesn’t know how to make a decision. You come and go, you come and go-o-o-o.”
Mary’s portable radio emits Boy George’s voice, as Harry and her listen along. A stuffed bear in the boys hands, crochet together, sewn up in spots, thin with years of love causing stuffing to spew out.
As the chorus begins and the “karma, karma, karma, karma, karma chameleon” is repeated over and over on the radio, Harry’s leg shakes with excitement and he flops the bear (Mr. Beary) ‘s arms around.
Sitting on the couch, Mary hears the sound of a car engine running, driving closer and closer. She grins from ear to ear at Harry, both gitty that his parents would be home in just a few moments.
The door bangs into the wall with momentum, as Lily bolts inside, running into the living room, and wraps her son in her arms. Kissing him all over, Harry giggles.
“See, I told you she would be home soon,” Mary smiled.
James walked in to find this scene, his wife and son together, and Mary just kind of there.
“Well, I was going to ask if I could have my son, but he seems a bit preoccupied. How did things go with babysitting, Mary?” He turned to face her.
“No fires, accidents, or pranks–so better than babysitting a drunk 16-year-old you,” she remarked.
“Give him time, greatness wasn’t made in a day.”
“It’s Rome wasn't built in a day,” Lily corrects, brushing her hand in Harry’s hair,“and you better not be insulting this sweet boy, trying to make him a troublemaker like you.”
“Nothing of the sort, just leaving options open,” James grins.
“Sure James, sure,” Mary winked.
“I don’t believe McGonagall would appreciate ANOTHER POTTER terrorizing the school with mischief.”
“And I don’t believe Harry should have his head glued to a textbook for his whole schooling experience.”
James picked up a magazine, flipped to a random page and placed it down on his son's head. Harry held onto his new hat, making sure to keep it on as his mother incessantly began swatting it off.
“I’m not saying that–” Lily interjected.
“But it’s his decision.”
“What would you like to do Harry?” Mary cut in, “when you finally go to Hogwarts?”
The kid thought for a moment, his hand on his chin in an adorable yet deep in thought expression, he glanced at his mother and father, “Don’t know…”
“Nothing comes to mind?”
“It’s a secret.”
“A secret?” the three adults spoke in unison.
“Can we know the secret?” James asked as Lily let Harry down, him having gotten a bit too big to be held for super long.
“You’ll find out later.”
Things went silent for a moment, until the little boy said, “Miss Mary can know.”
The husband and wife made an amused smirk as Harry waddled over and whispered in Mary’s ear, “Magic.”
Mary couldn’t help laughing, “Yeah, I think you’ll get plenty of opportunities to do that there.”
Harry leaned back over, “and quidditch!” He spoke just a bit too loud for the poor woman’s ear drums and for the secret status of the words.
Mary got up and tapped James on the shoulder, “He’s your son alright.”
“I’ve never felt the need to question the paternity of my child, but thank you for letting us know,” Lily quipped.
“So,” Lily taps the seat on the couch next to her, staring into Mary’s soul while in mom mode, “how did things go while we were away?”
“They went fine, again, he’s eaten and slept, he’s alive and you’re happy, right Harry?”
Harry laid on the floor, playing dead.
“Oh Merlin, we’ve lost him, noooooooo,” James played, shaking his son, “how could you do this Mary?”
“What did he eat?” Lily rolled her eyes at the antics.
“Cheese on toast for dinner, some yogurt and fruit for breakfast, and we haven’t eaten lunch just yet but he’s stolen quite a few of my biscuits as a snack so he may not want lunch too soon.”
“How much sleep did he get?”
“We went to bed around…8,” Mary lied.
“Lily, stop trying to interrogate her,” James interjected as he shook Harry’s arms about, still trying to get him up and alive.
“I’m not–”
“You are, lying doesn’t look good on you dear, either of you,” he winks at Mary.
Harry giggles as James begins tickling his stomach.
“HE’S ALIVE!” Mary gasps.
“I think I may need to get some tools and experiment on this great discovery of necromancy, if you need me or patient zero, we’ll be up in his room,” James holds Harry’s hand and leads him out the room, turning to Lily and winking before heading up the stairs.
“What was the wink about? Are you guys gonna get into some…interesting stuff of your own later?” Mary smirks.
Lily’s face is redder than her hair. “What? Heh, no, ummm, actually….oh, how do I say this?”
“Probably verbally, you could try sign though, I’m still pretty new to learning it though so I may not get it.”
“You’re learning sign language?”
“Here and there, but that’s beside the point.” Mary leans in holding Lily’s warm cheeks with her hands, “What’s your secret? Would it be better to whisper in my ear like the kid did?”
Lily smiles, “James and I aren’t in a romantic relationship anymore.”
Mary’s eyes go as wide as the world, scratch that, the galaxy.
“And that’s…okay, that’s good? You’re smiling about it, so…”
“Yes, it’s good, Mary.”
“So, you’re just fucking no strings attached…with a kid?”
“What? No,” Lily laughed, “I don’t–we just don’t feel that way about each other, we’re mates, and despite a long time of both of us denying it, we’re not really into each other.”
“Then why?” Mary asked, sounding as though a rock shattered her glass heart.
“It made his parents happy, it made my parents happy, everyone expected it. It was some fated love, something that was bound to happen, but when it came down to it there wasn’t much there. James is amazing, he’s the best father any kid could have, but I never really wanted a husband and he never truly wanted a wife.”
“So, no more marriage for Madame Lily?” Mary plastered a smile onto her face.
“Maybe someday, if Harry’s fine with it and it’s not too awkward for all of us. Not to a man though, I’m…a lesbian.”
“Oh…..did you find some gal here?”
“Sort of, she’s a lot more nearby than you would expect,” Lily leaned in.
She’s not, she cannot be saying, no.
“Oh,” the sound came out of Mary’s mouth without her even thinking of it, not even knowing as the neurotransmitters had sent signals from her brain right through the larynx and the sound landed out of her lips.
“I missed you, more than anything else in the world, I missed you,” Lily’s eyes were like moss, beautiful clumps of colors, begging to be seen, to be known, to be loved once more by this viewer of the earth.
“I missed you too, but–” Mary started.
Rudely she was interrupted by the sound of a loud thud and crackle of wall by the garage entrance followed by a quite loud “DAMN IT.”
(Changing to Sirius’ POV for a bit because it’s necessary for the story)
At the scene of the destruction as James is transfiguring the wall to be fixed with Sirius next to him, a little bit of blood on zer knuckles.
“I know that they are hurting and I need to give him time, but I am hurting too. And I love Moony, but…I am hurting too and I want to help him but I’m not even whole. How can I give myself when all that’s left are broken pieces and parts and screams and breaking walls and–” Sirius’ hands moved wildly as ze spoke, all culminating in zer sitting in the fetal position.
“Sirius,” James interrupted, “you’re fine to give yourself time, we could play some quidditch or do something else that you love, your world doesn’t have to revolve around Moony.”
Sirius stared off.
“I don’t know how to be with them anymore, still I don’t know how to live without them. They’re everything to me, and just yesterday they were trying to kill me.”
“Give yourself space.”
“But he needs–”
“He needs to figure themself out, just the same as you, you need to figure out whether it’s more beneficial to figure yourselves out together or apart.”
“I’ve been away from them for years, I don’t want to waste whatever time…” Sirius started to tear up.
“It’s not wasting time to get out, Sirius, but the decision is up to you.” James held zer hand up and examined it, “episkey,” he mutters softly.
There’s a moment of silence as the two men look at each other, the years wearing on both of them though more visibly obvious in Sirius, as though ze had been in Azkaban for 12 years rather than simply 3. Bandages still on zer neck. Hair long and knotted. Eyes having lost so much of the light and joy that James loved to see in his friend.
Their silence was interrupted by an only slightly muffled “FUCK” coming from outside.
Sirius had been staring off, in a bit of a trance.
“I’m going to go…check on them, can I? Will you be fine?” James touched zeir shoulder to get zer attention.
Ze nodded, “Just fine Prongs, just fine.”
(Mary POV once more)
When the women arrived at the sight of Sirius sitting on the ground and staring into space, Lily slowly slipped away as Mary turned to her and made a face. James looked at Mary and waved her off, mouthing “I’ve got this.” And despite Mary’s constant desire to interject, she too backed out of the situation knowing that her presence may make things too much for Sirius.
“I’m gonna make some tea, and maybe some sweets to go along with it. That would convince Remus, they always loved sweets, right?” Lily looked to Mary for assurance after they were out of earshot from James and Sirius.
“Yeah…” Mary stared back, are we gonna talk about, her mind wandered.
Flour, cocoa powder, sugar, baking soda, salt, everything that could get on the counters and their clothes somehow did get on the counters and their clothes. Finger sandwiches being made and cut. Store bought croissants being placed on a pan to be warmed up to hopefully fool Sirius into believing they homemade them. Gooey brownies leaving a sweet scent through the room.
As things were coming out of the oven and cooling off, Lily placed a pot of water to boil and stood next to Mary, both women stacking goodies onto plates.
“I really did miss you,” Lily said, looking down.
Unsure of what to say, Mary let the silence afterwards continue.
“Through all of it, honestly…”
“I missed you too,” Mary finally responded, “but–”
Lily closed the little distance that was between them, her warm breath tingling on Mary’s skin, “but?” she taunted.
“I–I don’t know if this is right,” Mary’s face was as hot as a furnace, “I don’t know if I can trust you anymore or love you that way anymore after everything.”
“Just be with me now, please, you’re everything to me,” Lily held Mary up against the fridge, and snogged her.
What about James? What about Harry? You have a family that I am not a part of. But Mary doesn’t say the quiet part out loud because she honestly did miss this.
#marylily#marylily fic#mary macdonald fic#mary macdonald#sirius black#post azkaban sirius#post azkaban wolfstar#complicated wolfstar#toxic wolfstar#like i'm sorry but i'll be honest it's a toxic relationship in this fic#little harry potter#james potter#james potter is the best friend ever#lily evans#lily potter#lily is in love with mary#wolfstar fic
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LTRL AU | Talking Between Relatives
Vera knew it’d take time for anyone—aside from Luisa—to come and visit her shop. It had been a day since she had spoken to her son, and she had fortunately seen Agustín leading his disgruntled wife through town during the morning to—she hoped— was Dr Lopez.
But she had thankfully caught one of the Madrigal she had seen rarely about since she had heard his return. So, she had invited him into her shop at lunch after most of the girls had hurried to eat with their families. The fact he had without a second invitation was a surprise, despite also not going home for lunch either but she was glad to see him sit down and she put together a cup of chocolate Santafereño and a few buñuelos she had since she didn’t like his too-thin frame.
Bruno sat, a little awkwardly but seemed to enjoy it, though seemed to knock on wood stool often which seemed to settle him more.
“How would you like to be addressed, Señor Madrigal or Bruno?” Vera asked politely, as she took a seat and picked up her own crocheting, and began to continue.
Bruno looked up in surprise. “Er… Oh, Bruno’s fine.” He answered.
“Then feel free to call me Vera.” Vera smiled, “I’m glad you took up my offer.”
Bruno shrugged, “A…passing sleep vision last night showed I’d be here. I figured…I’d see what happens.”
Vera nodded but it made immediate sense. The man had no release from his gift, even in his sleep it seemed. “Well, I was hoping we could have a…talk in regards to your family. I can’t imagine it’s… all too easy.”
Bruno paused for a second. “Are you a therapist as well as a seamstress?” Bruno eyed her wearily. “Agustín said you were good at reading people…”
“I’m the youngest of seven, Bruno. I’ve learned to read people by necessity—my older siblings at the least—or risk losing food or personal objects… or getting tackled down a flight of steps by accident.”
“Seven?!”
“Well, there was more and after me but nature is not always kind.” Her mother never went into details so Vera didn’t pass that a second thought. “Nonetheless, I learned young and my mother taught me a lot as well. Was…your mother a single child or did she mention any siblings to you growing up?”
Bruno slurped on his mug thoughtfully. “No siblings, but her mother was a twin. She never talks about her mother or Tia; only that she had them. Wouldn’t you know if my mother had siblings? You came from the same town and you’re close in age, aren’t you?
“Same town but different ends of it.” Vera corrected, gently “Plus, she wasn’t a Madrigal when she was growing up. I can’t remember her maiden name at this point, however, I knew the Madrigal family well.”
That caught his attention, his eyes widening, “Wait, you knew my father?” He leaned forwards.
Vera hummed, not fully committedly. “Si, he belonged to a…small family. A sister and his parents. His family owned a shop close to ours, a bookshop, actually. His family would come in mostly for a new outfit every so often. We sold things a little cheaper so our store was more visited. His family was…known by the fact his father was pale and had such a mass of red hair.”
It was a…distant memory, but she hadn’t been part of the business to care about who came and went too much until she had started to pay attention to boys. But the redhead was easy to remember as they were so rare, more than the blondes. There had been an old woman with red hair and green eyes but Vera couldn’t remember what happened to her. She knew the woman’s family all had dark hair so who knew where her descendants ended up?
“I… think Pedro was a writer? He loved reading. His father used to drag him to my parent's shop for new clothes but he always spent his money on books or notepads than his clothes until his sister cut the threads out of his shirt once to make a point on his spending habits.” Vera hadn’t realized she had stopped looking at the twig of a man until she had looked up from her wool work to see she had his full, wide-eyed attention.
“My…our grandfather was a redhead?” Bruno sounded a little excited at that. “At least we know where Pepa got her looks.” Bruno leaned forwards in both excitement and anxiety about her words, “He was a writer too? W-What did he write?”
Vera paused, though she felt…confused, did Alma not tell her son of his father or his paternal family?? She hardly felt like it was her place to feed her son information of a lost man when she should have done so. On the other hand… there must have been something to hold her back. Vera’s mind touched on her son, her lost son.
Grief.
It was almost annoying to hold the same reasoning but… she supposed that they all had their pain held in different places and in different degrees. Vera knew how to handle hers. She had bid her griefs farewells and let them come and go when they visited since. There was no true way to let it go. She had learned to cope… or risk being caught and left stranded and never moving forwards.
“It varied, I…never got involved in his work. Poems were his main interest but… his last few years, his work got more…political. He wanted to help out his town and to have more of a voice for them as well. But… typically people who got dabbled into politics or expressed their option too much were often sought out and killed.” It was sad to think about that, but she had to think that… the following of them that day their town went to the flame was not without purpose. People with influence or in a position of power were often tracked down and killed for their actions; it had been a common thing in the large, open towns and cities for that to happen. Vera looked up sharply, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to…imply anything.”
Bruno’s face was…uneasy but oddly calm. “It’s fine.” He sucked in a heavy breath. “It just…. I never thought of it that way.”
“Your father’s death?”
“The senseless killing.” He knocked gently on his stool. “and yeah, that too. I…never thought there was a reason for it beyond terror…and war.”
“Encanto is a safe haven and it’s all you’ll ever know, Bruno,” Vera spoke. “Me, your mother… everyone who was part of the fleeing share burdens with that knowledge of what people will do for control and power. We were all just…civilians caught in the middle.”
“But…Pa died for a cause?”
“He…may have been a target for his public views, si, but you and your family were most likely his cause to protect from the moment he met your mother.” Vera didn’t want to diminish the man’s noble sacrifice; it was for his family and only that when the moment came down to it. An honorable, but brutal death.
“Does… did my Mother know about… what he wrote about?” He almost looked hopeful and conflicted at the same time at the idea.
“I assume so. He moved away when he married. I didn’t see him until he was leading the survivors away with your mother a year later.” She hadn’t even known he had died until morning, the spurt of magic had been a wonder and a distraction.
Bruno took another deeper sip of his drink. “Do you have many stories about him?”
“I do but… some don’t paint him in a positive light.” Vera was careful. “Why don’t you ask your mother for more stories?”
Bruno visibly deflated at her suggestion. “Mama never tells us the bad things, barely anything more than him being a good man who gave his life for us. It’s… hard to see him anything less than that. It’d…” Bruno hesitated, “It’d be nice to hear him more human and with flaws.”
Vera felt her resolve soften. It made sense… Alma put her husband’s memory on the highest of pedestals for all to see the good.
“Well, let’s make a deal, you help me find ways for your family to…get on the road to…stability and I’ll tell you all that I remember about your father and his family?” Vera offered, as much as she knew he’d want to hear more now… she’d have to steer the conversation to where she needed it to be. Less on the past, and more on the present.
Bruno hesitated for a moment, clearly weighing his options as he picked up one of the cheesy bread balls and ate it. “That is….acceptable, I suppose.”
“I am not the only one that knew him, I can point you to a few others who may have other stories as well.”
“Please do.” Bruno ran his hand through his hair, “So… where do we start?”
“Well, I’m not the one to go all the way back to the start of the issues, so I’ll go with the more recent stuff. So, to put some perspective on the matter; following the attack on Mirabel; Isa’s been punished and so, what has the rest of the family been doing the following nine months after that?” Vera questioned, continuing her work with the other blanket for the baby to remain busy with her hands. And, not to mention Isa would need a few spares from either spit up or poop so she’d happily make the girl a backup.
Bruno shrugged, setting his mug down in favor of his plate of fwood he put on his lap. “Well… I noticed they simply…carried on. A little less intense work in town but…it never overly changed. Mirabel was the one to push her mother away from the town's reliance on her gift which… was probably a smart idea.”
“How is she?”
“Who, Mirabel or Julieta?”
“Julieta.”
“I can’t say. I’ve… sort of stayed with Antonio and his animal friends a little mostly to avoid all the drama. He can talk to my rats you see and… it’s just nice to talk to someone who can actually help direct the rats to position.” Bruno seemed to lighten up more as he spoke, “He’s a...very bright kid.”
“I sense the lingering in your undertone, Bruno.” Vera looked up from the blanket, “Is Antonio alright, that should be addressed, I suppose. He’s young and… I suppose he can be easily missed in the mess that’s happened?” Perhaps Bruno’s hanging around also kept Antonio being exposed to such family messes.
Bruno nodded, “He seems alright. But, I suppose he misses how things used to be. I’ve…tried to explain that the family’s going through a tough time in knowing what to do. He thinks what’s happening is Isabela keeps getting into trouble or someone else is and doesn’t know the resolve. One thing after another.”
Vera nodded though she supposed that was a very one-sided thing that could be resolved quickly. “Why don’t you simply talk to Pepa or her husband about his feelings? I can’t imagine she’s realized among the mess.”
Bruno hesitated but nodded, “I suppose. Dolores wasn’t soft on them and… I think they’re doing better with her today at breakfast. They didn’t realize how…affected she is with her gift.”
Though there was no mistake he spoke with a sense of…familiarity. Vera could only assume it was a mutual feeling, given his own gift which she… didn’t care much for. It wasn’t relevant to her and so, didn’t care. She wasn’t the type to ask for a future. Why spoil her own future when patience was a virtue?
Though, looking at his scrawny face and dark eye shadows… he looked far rougher than he should.
“Then, as long as they keep their eyes on their children then it’s not our business. But, how are you handling this, Bruno?” Vera asked. “I can’t imagine it was easy to appear and get thrown into drama.”
The man in question shrugged. “I can handle it, just another day in La Casa Madrigal.”
“You’ve otherwise told me you’re hanging around with your five year old sobrino to hide away from the drama. Don’t you think that it would be…healthier that you shouldn’t resort to such methods for peace in your own home?” She set the last stitch on her work for now, to give him her proper attention. “You shouldn’t have to live that way, not because of your siblings or your mother. There is more to life than that.”
Bruno huffed out shortly, “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
Vera raised an unconvinced, sharp eyebrow up at him, tilting her head to look over the rim of her glasses. "Nine months and no improvement, it’s not fine and no one is willing to talk. I’m not above blackmail or bribery if it gets results.”
“Bribery? That won’t work.” Bruno snorted in amusement.
“So you wouldn’t like rat pockets in your ruana?”
Bruno paused, remaining still for a moment though she could see the wheels in his mind picturing such a thing with some degree of desire. His hand tugged on the front of the one he had. “I see your point.”
Vera smiled though she was glad to listen to Mirabel’s titbits about her family. Bruno and his rats were…common in her talks. She didn't doubt Mirabel already planned for that for him for his gift this Nochebuena.
“I think the problem in the family comes from one source and to solve the family issues, you need to start at the source. Your mother, Bruno.” Vera started, “I hope you’re not too offended on that?”
Bruno shook his head. “I’m not… but I don’t like hearing it. I know…that you’re right. I’ve tried to tell Mama but…it’s hard.” Bruno picked up another Buñuelo, tearing it in half and slowly began to chew. “She doesn’t listen for long.”
“Then she needs a motivation to change…one that doesn’t risk anyone in the family.”
Bruno shook his head uncomfortably. “I… know your intent is good, Vera but…should you really be putting yourself into our family problems? You threw a fit when Luisa did…”
Vera inhaled deeply. “That is different. I have no intention to break into your home and catch anyone unawares. I don’t intend to force myself into a situation like that. I just need to shine a light on the problems and I can point out alternative methods to deal with the problem than your current methods. To do that, I need to understand. The one thing I’ve noticed is no one in your family is actually talking to each other. No talking, no solution.” Vera clarified. “Someone has to start talking.”
Bruno stared for a moment, though his eyes didn’t meet hers. “No one likes talking… it’s uncomfortable.”
“There’s always a breaking point, Bruno,” Vera replied, her voice soft. “Isa broke first. Who’s next?”
Bruno’s shoulders slumped “I hate that.”
“I know. But once it’s all out, feelings and…problems, the family may actually be able to move on. Be a family not treading on eggshells around each other...” Vera fiddled with her blanket. “Broken families drift apart. While I lost everyone, Bruno; my parents, my siblings, and the rest that never made it to Encanto so I’m not willing to allow a loss on such a scale to happen to my son’s family if there’s a way to stop it.”
“You took Isabela.”
“Yes. But that doesn’t mean forever, she needed that just as much as the rest. The point is, the family needs to heal and they can heal their bonds with Isabela as well to the point she’s willing to return to Casita. As a family. Not by force, not when neither side is ready.” Vera pointed out, “Do you need your own vision to see how that might end if the family try that?”
Bruno’s expression didn’t change too much though he nodded. “You have a point.”
“All that’s needed, Bruno, is for the family to be forced to talk; about their problems to their parents and for them to figure out how to fix them. No matter how messy. Apologies, if they’re needed. Your mother should be part of that because she has such an influence over the household.”
That wrinkled his nose. “I’ll…think about it.”
“Then, that is all I can ask.”
-
Isabela gently kept her foot down on the treadle, the wheel spinning and the cotton fluff in between her finger tightened into yarn. Simple, yarn than anything fine like a thread. The motion was predictable and soothing and the sound of the wheel echoed in the silence of her room.
Her heart ached but there was little she could do. Her mind mulling on one thing
No one had seen Mateo since yesterday morning when Luisa had returned him home.
Abuelita had said she had gone to ask for him but… she came back worried. This meant the real possibility he was left to heal if he was still alive, but… Abuelita had no authority to demand entry to see him. Dolores hadn’t raised an alarm either which was… another concern. She wouldn’t notice one less person missing from the town. She could have slept through what happened to him easily.
A part of her itched to go to Casita; for her Tio. If he could see his future and where he was or…if there was no future to be found. She should do that.
But she couldn’t bring herself to leave her home.
Who knew if Camilo had told the town? Was going out really the risk she was willing to take?
Trying to seek out Mateo herself was another thought. But…confronting his sister would be worse if she found out about the baby. It…would be worse to…put herself and risk the child too. She couldn’t do that. Mateo wouldn't want that; for her or for it.
“Isa,” Abuelito’s voice echoed behind her door. “Someone is here to see you.”
Isa kept going. “I’m busy.”
“Isa.”
Her hands paused as she heard Luisa’s voice, the plants in range turning sharp and prickly before a cactus popped up close by. She heard the door open but she didn’t turn to face it so instead, she stopped her bobbin and reset to start on making sewing thread.
“Abuelito, can you remove Luisa? I have no interest to talk to her, regardless of what she has to say.” Isabela asked, forcing her tone to be polite.
“Isa—“
“Shut up, Luisa.”
“No,” Abuelito stepped forwards calmly, "Angry as you are, you speak with respect in this house.”
Isabela turned from her wheel to his stern face. “Sorry, Abuelito.” She didn’t give her middle sister a second glance as she picked up her near-empty basket of cotton, though this time began to reform small puffs between her fingers and dropped them into the bottom. “I don’t want an apology. I don’t want you in my room, Luisa and unless you’re willing to locate the father of my child, I do not want you to talk to me. Please leave.”
“Child?” the echo of confusion was soft but thankfully, she heard Abuelito speak softly and their doorway steps echoed before the familiar clip signaling that her door shut.
-
Mirabel looked up as she saw Luisa return to Casita, her shoulders slumped, and looking very pink in the face like she was about to cry. Mirabel’s hands tightened on her bag of sewing supplies she had though she already had a sinking feeling that tonight's festivities weren’t going to go well.
She knew that Luisa had wanted to go down and apologize, to hopefully bring Isa up to Casita to the party but… clearly something went wrong. Back far too quickly and Isabela-less.
“Did it not go well?” Mirabel asked, drifting from the steps.
Luisa shook her head, her eyes welling up. “She wouldn’t even talk to me. Or look at me.” Luisa swallowed thickly.
“Ah.” Mirabel reached forwards and gently hugged her. “Give it a few days, we both know Isa hangs onto grudges.” Harmless grudges but grudges nonetheless. “At least Abuelito let you try.”
“Yeah…”
Mirabel tugged Luisa to the kitchen, where her mother was working diligently by the stove, talking quietly with their father though…he was doing more of the talking. The creases in his face suggested concern but Mirabel led her older sister to prep the house for festivities.
“Let’s not dwell on that tonight,” Mirabel decided. “Let’s put up the decorations and see about distracting Camilo before he eats all the food.” It would be a good thing and be done by the time the food and party start.
“I...suppose but she said something and I…can’t stop thinking about it.” She plucked up the huge stack of plates, leaving behind Isa’s one on the shelves.
“Oh?”
The table was set up outside on the patio and lanterns was already up, or being put up by Tio Felix and Antonio. Parce was lounging on the floor, chewing an animal’s leg from a recent hunt.
“She…mentioned that… she has a child?”
Mirabel almost dropped the bowl she was carrying. “What?”
Luisa looked around, clearly being careful. “She’s…probably lying but she mentioned a child and the fact I should locate the father as the means for me to actually have a conversation with her.” She set the stack down. “I know she’s upset but…”
“She’s not lying.” Dolores seemed to appear out of nowhere, looking in better spirits. “She’s pregnant and surprisingly far along but Abuela’s not yet to know. So keep this from Antonio and Camilo if you can help it.”
Mirabel stared at her cousin for a long moment though she felt almost winded at the news.
Isabela. Pregnant.
Oh.
Oh.
Now she could see why Isabela was so pissed at Luisa. She herself knew nothing of…the father or anything but if Luisa had interfered somehow… then it affected this…baby too…
“Wait, when did you find out?”
“I’ve heard the heartbeat for months.” Dolores shrugged, “but… it’s only recently she’s known. She had Marquez around to tell him the news.”
Luisa groaned softly, sinking her face into her hands. “That was what I was seeing?”
“Yes.” Dolores’s tone was cooler. “You’re not going to earn back any favors with Isa any time, Luisa. She’s furious.”
Luisa’s head rose, “I can wait…. I just…” She huffed out and walked away back through the door.
Mirabel and Dolores watched her for a long moment before she saw Dolores step to face her, hesitating to touch her arm for a moment. “Sorry for dropping the news on you.”
“I can keep a secret.” God forbid, she had learned from the last time when Isa was involved. “Is…Isa okay with you telling?”
“She expects the family to know at some point but… not for Abuela yet. Your Abuelita’s concerned about how much stress she’s under. The child won’t survive if it’s born too early because of that.”
“What are you two talking about?” Camilo’s voice echoed as he carried a stack of wine glasses, “plotting a prank?”
“No, we’re not you.” Dolores quipped playfully. “We were talking about…Luisa’s mishap with Isabela.” The lie was not too far from the truth, though it made her wince but she’d go along with her story. For Isa’s sake here.
Camilo scoffed, rolling her eyes. “She needs to get over herself.”
“She thinks you spilled to the town about it.” Dolores pointed out, “Lay off her, Camilo.”
“Look, if she's going to screw around then she shouldn’t be upset that she got found out. Luisa did her a favor.” Camilo shrugged, “She shouldn’t be so mad at her.”
Mirabel exhaled out, hating how close to home that phrase was. “She had justification for her anger, Camilo. Stop prodding the cactus.”
Camilo scowled lightly. “So do you, Mirabel. Why are you sticking up for her?”
“Because I want to.” Mirabel snapped, her voice rising to her own surprise which only grew as she felt the hot flush of anger rise to the surface. “Stop going back to that day, Camilo. I am angry. I am downright furious at my sister for what she did. I won’t let my anger get the best of me. I am not ready to shout at her more than she is ready to bare it. There is a time and a place for that. Not now and certainly not any time soon. All I want is to talk to her, be alone with her and actually bond with her.”
“The risks—“
“I’m not done talking.” Mirabel snapped over Camilo sharply, very aware of the eyes on her. “I want to actually move on. I don’t want your weight of concern to keep holding me back so let me decide when I am ready to talk to her. I don’t want any more hand-holding and I don’t want to be spied on to make sure I’m safe. It’s exhausting trying to find privacy and I’m sick of it.” She turned and stormed back inside, not even noticing Abuela through the window
#lest the rot lingers au#encanto#encanto au#isabela madrigal#luisa madrigal#mirabel madrigal#bruno madrigal#agustin madrigal#agustín madrigal#julieta madrigal#alma madrigal#felix madrigal#antonio madrigal#dolores madrigal#camilo madrigal#pepa madrigal
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I simply do not understand why children will see a display and go "I think I need to make a mess of this and break things."
#volunteering to teach 3rd graders on a fieldtrip about fiber stuff#and like three minutes in with the first group#this little girl is like trying to disassemble a skein of yarn??#and then she's just like 'you know what a good idea would be?#what if I took MORE yarn out of the basket.'#had to yell at her like 'PLEASE leave the yarn in the basket (you little fucker)#you can touch but don't pick anything up'#and fifteen minutes in the display fibers were all mixed up??#why did they need to MOVE the fucking sheltie fur#and put the label on the rabbit skin#chaperones really need to just fucking yell at kids and tell them no#like my job is not to tell these kids not to be dumbasses#it's to sit there and crochet and correct all the parents going#'look she's knitting!' idiots. while you're busy misinforming one kid#the other is trying to spill dye on everything#and why the fuck to kids see a sign that says 'do not touch' and be like#'hahahahoohoo I'm gonna touch it. it's opposite day I'm gonna touch it'#swear this is gonna be the year a kid gets their finger torn up by a spinning wheel#teach your damn kids to read and follow signs goddamn#also if they wanted to know WHY they can't touch the spinning wheel#they could literally just ask instead of going 'I'm gonna touch it'
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Cyclical Love
Young!Legolas x Thranduil x Wife!Reader
Summary: Following He Comes First, we’re left wondering how Thran will react to his wife’s second pregnancy. And while that’s important, the real question is this: will Legolas enjoy hearing about his sibling that’s on the way? Continue reading to find out.
PART 1:
https://anaveragebibliophile.tumblr.com/post/657925630710743040/he-comes-first
PART 2
“...pregnant,” Thran said, and if you weren’t mistaken, a little breathlessly.
“That’s correct, darling. We’ll have another Legolas to snuggle and love on in a few month’s time. Another little elfling that will finally complete our family.”
Your husband’s eyes then became as large as dinner plates as these specific facts relayed themselves via hippocampus. Not only was he recognizing that another kind, beautiful, and jovial winë (little one) would be joining them, but he also was understanding that this seemingly unattainable wish of having another child had been granted in a manner of seconds by Valar (God). “Sweetheart, this is excellent news. Really. You have no idea how astounded I am. I cannot wait to meet our newest addition, and I am sure Legolas will be jumping for joy when he discovers that he will have a sibling to share more of his affection with. Honestly, if I did not have our little leaf cuddled against my chest, you can bet that I would be kissing you senseless at this very moment.”
Grinning, you moved away from the doorway and settled yourself against the right edge of the bed and placed your right hand on top of your husband’s left calf. “Gi melin (I love you), you know, and I can’t wait to see you become a father a second time. You will continue to be remarkable in that position.”
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A few weeks later, you found yourself reaching the fifth month of pregnancy. Although a bump hadn’t necessarily made itself noticeable, the other “benefits” of gestation took the opportunity to compensate for that deficit. For example, your hands and feet were achey and swollen beyond belief. So much so that you had to quit wearing your wedding band (which, keep in mind, was a point that was never reached during your pregnancy with Legolas). Also, the morning sickness reached a level of severity that you never experienced with your little leaf. It’s as if the little elfling inside of you is completely distrusting of any of the outside world’s delicacies and would much rather be nourished by your body’s nutrients. And while all of this was, indeed, tolerable (mainly because you knew the end result would be one of the most fruitful rewards of your and Thran’s existence) in your eyes, your son had a different outlook on the situation. Since you and your husand had decided to wait until you were further along before breaking the news, he couldn’t understand why his naneth wasn’t feeling well. Anytime you would shed a tear, he would shed one as well. And it was breaking your heart.
“Thran,” you said, rubbing your tiny, almost imperceptible bump while looking in the mirror, “I think today’s the day that we share the good news with Legolas.”
Your husband came up behind you just then, wrapping his arms around your slowly, but steadily, growing stomach and setting his chin atop your head. “I believe you are right, sweetheart. Now that we are more certain the babe’s survival rate has increased, I think it is safe to let our son know that he will be a big brother soon.”
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Entering your darling boy’s chambers later that day, you both planned to do just that.
“Legolas,” you chimed as you watched him play with the crocheted elven soldier that so clearly resembled his father, “would you be able to put your toys away for a few moments. Nana and Ada would like to talk with you about something. Something important.”
At the sound of your voice, Legolas’ head snapped up and turned to view the two most fantastic people in all of Middle Earth. Almost automatically a smile framed his face. “Nana! Ada! I missed you both,” he said, running to jump into his father’s waiting arms. “Nana, are you feeling any better after your nap?”
“Yes, darling. I’m doing so much better. Thank you for asking.”
“Legolas, as your Nana said, we would like to discuss something with you.”
“Certainly, Ada. What is it about?”
“Well, how about we sit on your bed and continue the conversation?”
Your son nodded, gesturing with his arms to be released from his father’s loving embrace. Once back in a bipedal position, he took both of his parents’ hands and guided them to his bed. And as he sat between you and Thran, the floodgate of questions opened: What are we going to be discussing? Am I in trouble? Is something wrong?
Hastily, you tried to mitigate his fears. “Darling, everything is fine. I’m fine. Ada’s fine. No need to worry on that front.”
“Alright. But then why do you need to talk with me?”
“Well, we have some news that we think is very exciting,” Thran started, “and we believe it is the proper to time to let you hear it.”
Hearing this, Legolas perked right up. “What is it, Ada? Oh, please tell me.”
“Iôn nîn (My son), you obviously know that your naneth has not been feeling her best. However, we have not told you the reason for that being the case. You see, a babe is currently residing in Nana’s tummy and will remain there for a few more months so he or she can grow. And when that time is up, you will have another sibling--a brother or a sister--to spread your love to.”
After a few moments, moments in which you and your husband began to perspire from sheer nervousness, you felt two tiny lips kiss your cheek. “A brother or sister! Nana, Ada, this is the best surprise ever! Thank you, thank you so much,” your son shouted, his emotions creating personified versions of happiness, joy, and bliss.
“Oh, we are so happy to see this anticipation, Legolas,” you said. “I know that this sweet babe cannot wait to meet you in the flesh.”
“Really?”
“But of course, little leaf,” Thran interjected. “You are such a special boy and will be such a wonderful role model for your brother or sister.”
“Well, I hope so because I love them so much already. As much as I do you and Nana.”
#thranduil#thrandolas#thranduil x reader#thranduil x wife#lotr#lotr elves#love#gi melin#i love you#pregnancy#babies#legolas#young legolas#the hobbit#fellowship of the ring#battle of the five armies#desolation of smaug#lord of the rings
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JJK pottery dates
Hii I've already made a separate inumaki fic on this so he won't be included. I was originally meant to do this for one character but I've decided to do multiple cause I can😌 Also I've never done pottery so I'm just winging this!
Itadori Yuuji
Yuuji would assume that he's gonna be a natural at pottery despite being both your first time
But yuuji would definitely not care about the end result of it
As long as he has a good time with (Y/N) that's all that matters
He'll accidentally use too much strength when handling the clay. Instructor tells him he's too heavy handed
(Y/N) on the other hand is doing pretty well. Shes almost done shaping and is ready to add some decorations
This is when Yuuji realises he does care about the end result because his looks like a complete mess
To cheer him up (Y/N) engraves Yuujis name into her pot and gives it to him as a gift.
You also offer to take yuujis piece in return
(Y/N) uses yuujis clay thing as a place for small trinkets and earrings
Yuuji uses (Y/N)s pot to plant a cactus
The couple had decided to go on a cute little pottery date for their first date, so why was Yuuji pouting in the corner?
Well at first (Y/N) and Yuuji were having a great time together. Messing around and quoting stupid memes and movie references was just their thing so when it was actually their turn to make something Yuuji had no idea what he was doing.
(Y/N) despite messing around with him had actually paid attention to the instructor and was doing just fine which made matters even worse for Yuuji. He assumed this would be a piece of cake when in reality it wasn't.
"Yuuji stop sobbing in the corner babe, it doesn't even look that bad!" You clearly lied to him but you knew it was for his own good.
"NO ITS TRASH look at yours (Y/N) so nice and pretty no one would ever want mine! Now I'll never be the world's best pottery maker" Yuuji babbled on just being his overdramatic self.
"Well I'd love love yours! I could put my jewellery in it, I needed a new trinket box anyways" you quickly thought on the spot and sighed in relief when Yuujis head perked up
"Really?" Yuuji sniffled and grabbed onto your waist. "Yeah and ill carve your name into mine! Then give it to you as a gift. Equivalent exchange" you winked at Yuuji knowing its an offer he couldn't refuse.
"Okay deal" Yuuji sat back next to you working on your trinket box while your worked on carving his name into his plant pot.
Choso
Choso was trying to learn more about the 21st century
How did he do this? By binge watching old rom coms on netflix.
In the middle of one of the movies a pottery scene comes up and chosos eyes couldn't shine more bright.
He loved the idea. It was a great way to spend your time with your loved one.
Choso immediately rang (Y/N) and demanded she arrange a date, which she did
You and Choso couldn't find any classes near you but looking at Chosos pout and puppy dog eyes begging to find a way you had no choice.
(Y/N) did the next best thing and decided to buy a beginners home kit. Now you both sat in the living room with newspapers littering the table and large aprons on yourselves.
"Okay so let's read the instructions first" you picked up the small booklet and looked over to Chosos who couldn't contain his excitement.
His buns were a little messier than usual as he rushed them the moment the package arrived but he still looked cute nonetheless. "Let me set it up then I guess we can try make a bowl? That seems to be the easiest option" you suggested while flicking through the pages and setting things up.
"Can we make a plant pot? I wanna give yuuji a plant for his birthday" Choso proposed. "Aww that's actually a great idea yuuji would love it!" You exclaimed in return and motioned him to come closer as you were ready to begin.
Choso had sat you in between his legs and leaned his head on your shoulder. His hairs tickled you and butterflys fluttered in your stomach when Choso began to kiss your cheeks slowly inching down to you neck.
"Oi behave" you ordered trying to sound intimidating but just burst out in laughter instead. "Fine sorry sorry let's focus on the pot" Choso apologised giving one last kiss to your head.
The pot was forming nicely but was a bit wonkey due to the hand size difference between you both.
Neither of you could care though, the intimacy of his hands on yours, music playing in the background and laughter filling the room from your stupid stories and Chosos dad jokes he recently learnt was just what Choso wanted.
The plant pot had turned out to be very cute and Yuuji ended up loving it.
Kamo Noritoshi
Kamo noritoshi was brought up in a strict household
During his childhood he was expected to be talented in many areas
Archery, studying, drawing, poetry, crochet, painting and even pottery were part of the many skills kamo noritoshi had devloped
The moment (Y/N) had learnt that the vase and other ornaments in noritoshis room were hand crafted by him she wanted to learn too
Now Noritoshi is sitting here behind his girlfriend teaching her how to make a vase because she wouldn't stop pestering him
"Noriii STOP being so perfect!" (Y/N) had yelled at her confused boyfriend who was simply decorating his clay piece.
"You wanted to do pottery with me and now your doing it. What's the problem?" Norotoshi sighed and turned to look at your vase. If he could even call it that.
"If you were struggling you could've asked me for help" Noritoshi scolded while your cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
"Yeah well I wanted to do it myself" you whined and crossed your arms in defeat.
"FINE help me please it's way harder than it looks" you admitted as nori made his way over to you.
"Firstly you need to be more gentle, it's wet clay not a damn rock (Y/N)" he corrected you and put his hands upon yours.
"Your hands are cold" you whispered to him feeling his slightly calloused hands touch yours.
"Focus (Y/N)" he responded equally as quiet as you. The room fell into a comfortable silence as your and nori moulded your vase together.
When it was finally finished you kissed noritoshi on the cheek. His cheeks turned slightly red but he kept his composure.
"It's fine (Y/N) just don't break it okay" the black haired male reminded you since you were quite clumsy.
"I promise I won't! But next time you have to do this call me and I'll join"
After this date, pottery became a common occurance for (Y/N) and Noritoshi. (Y/N) kept her promise and still fills her vase with flowers nori buys her to this day.
Okkotsu Yuta
Yuta okkotsu was a nervous wreck
You were given free tickets to a pottery event and asked Yuuta if he would accompany you
Of course he agreed without realising what he was actually getting himself into
The couple were currently at the event extremely close to make a bowl together
Yuuta could feel your hair on his skin and wanted to lean closer to bask in your presence
The moment he finally mustered the courage to lean onto your shoulder a little interruption had scared you both
'Okay Yuuta you got this. My wonderful (Y/N) is focused on the bowl so just slowly lean onto her' Yuuta thought to himself before looking towards his hands that were on yours. 'I GOT THIS' Yuuta had slowly inched closer while you continuously spoke so close to achieving his goal.
"IS THAT YOUR GIRLFRIEND!' a young girl with pigtails and pink bobbles yelled at Yuuta. The pair had jumped and practically ruined their bowl but yuuta couldn't care less. His chance was ruined.
"Yuuta she asked you a question" you reminded him and causing the black haired male to turn back to the small girl
"Ah yes this is my girlfriend" He responded with a small blush. "Well she's very pretty!" The cute child exclaimed.
"Thank you sweetie you're very cute too" (Y/N) cooed at the small girl and patted yutas arm telling him to compliment her aswell. Before yuuta could speak the young girl had beat him to it.
"OH YOU MUST BE ON A DATE! Sorry I ruined your bowl" she apologised looking down in guilt for interrupting you both.
"No no it's okay don't worry about it" Yuuta reasured and patted her head giving her a soft smile. (Y/N) blushed at the sight of her loving boyfriend with a child and gave the girl a quick high five before she scurried off to her parents.
"Wasn't she the sweetest little girl yuuta?" You asked and got a small 'hm' in response. "Our bowls a bit messy but I think we can salvage it right? Come closer so we can fix it properly" you grabbed his arms pulling him closer to you. Maybe that little interruption helped him after all.
#yuuji itadori x reader#itadori x reader#choso x reader#kamo noritoshi x reader#yuta okkotsu x reader#jjk fluff#noritoshi fluff#yuuta okkotsu#jjk yuuta#jjk yuuji#jjk choso#jjk noritoshi
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I was the son you always had | Ethan x MC
Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x MC
Warnings: discussion of drug use, language, neglect
Word count: 4.9k
Summary: Ethan confronts Louise. Post chapter 13.
Notes: Title taken from the Bear’s Den song “Above the Clouds of Pompeii.”
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The years have not been kind to Louise Ramsey.
If that’s still her surname, of course, Ethan isn’t sure. It’s what he gave Marlene for the admission forms; she had the wherewithal, at least, to not even bat an eye at the name. He’s always liked Marlene, even if attempting to curb hospital gossip is like trying to put out a fire with an eyedropper. Having been fourteen hours since she was admitted, it’s no secret that Doctor Ramsey’s mom is the OD in room 532.
It’s the same room he’s standing in front of, trying to gather his wits. The rest of the staff look on from behind their pillars and charts, as if the art of discretion is lost on them all. Ethan stamps down on the reflex to bark and snarl at them. It’ll only stoke the flames if he does.
“You have to turn the knob to open it.”
That tight feeling in his chest eases up a fraction. He turns to see Sloane, propped up against the wall beside him. In a sea of a thousand curious faces, her expression of concern is a welcome sight. Resisting the urge to reach for her, he opts for a look of disappointment at the joke, or attempt thereof. She answers with that gentle smile of hers, the one where the left corner of her mouth crinkles up and her dimple appears. Her gaze drifts from his and over to the window; on the other side is Louise, the pallor of her face covered in a light sheen of sweat. The hands that used to hold his as they crossed the street tremble around the pages of whatever magazine she’s pretending to read.
“I don’t know why I’m bothering. I already know why she’s here.”
“No, you think you know why,” Sloane says, and he hates it, but he knows she’s right. “The only way to know for certain is to talk to her.”
“And what would that conversation sound like? Hi, I’m Doctor Ramsey, the son you left without a backwards glance when he was eleven years-old. How was the turkey sandwich you had for lunch?”
She leans her temple against the wall, her eyes glazing over in that familiar way that tells him she’s deep in thought. After the eleven hours she’s been here, thick strands have come loose from her messy bun to settle against her neck. The urge to sweep them away, to settle his hand there and massage at the tight lines is a fierce one.
“Treat her how you would a patient. Ask her about her pain management, about her next steps once she’s discharged. That will give you a feel for her attitude towards you, and towards herself in general. It’ll give you a foundation to start with.”
Reaching out, Sloane squeezes his arm once, then twice, before letting her hand fall away. He misses the warmth of her immediately.
“Alright,” he sighs. “Yes, thank you, that… helps. Truly.”
Before he can work up the nerve, she beats him to his next question.
“I’ll be in the office when you’re done, if you--”
“Yes.”
That smile winks at him again as she pushes off the wall and heads down the hallway. Ethan watches her for as long as he can, until the throng of staff swallows her up. Turning back to the door, he catches Louise watching him before her eyes dart back to her magazine. She hasn’t turned the page for quite some time, and he doubts the full-page cologne ad is somehow keeping her attention. Before he has to resort to a pep talk, he turns the knob and steps inside.
Louise looks up as he closes the door behind him.
“Oh. Hello.”
“Hello,” he greets through a throat stuffed full of cotton. “I’m Doctor Ramsey. I’m here to perform a check up and see how things are going.”
Her mouth opens and closes, her eyes growing wide beneath her bangs.
“Well, okay, yeah, but -- I mean, I know you. I know who you are. You’re my son.”
The angry retort he prepared never comes, drowned out by the roaring pulse in his ears as he picks up her chart from the foot of the bed and reads through it.
“Yes, I’m aware.” He brushes off her words and continues in a forced monotone. “We’ve got you on lofexidine to help reduce the detox symptoms. Even with the assistance, those symptoms will likely peak in the next day or two, depending on how heavy your usage is.”
“I know.” She toys with the magazine as she speaks. “This isn’t my first rodeo.”
Ethan lifts his gaze from the chart and looks -- really looks -- at his mother for the first time in twenty-six years. The dark brown hair she used to tease with her can of Aqua Net, making the hallway outside the bathroom smell of chemicals, is now a sallow gray. The warm arms that would hug him tight are gaunt from malnutrition. The bright face that he remembers smiling down at him, or blowing raspberries against his cheek, or peeking around his door to call him down for breakfast is no more. Pockmarks mar her skin, more visible now without the thick coat of makeup. Deep grooves circle underneath her eyes and along the curve of her cheeks, carving at her skin.
“When did the drug use start?” he asks.
“We were at the tail end of the nineties recession, but layoffs were still happening across the company. I was lucky to keep my job, but with a forty percent cut of staff, those duties had to be distributed elsewhere.” She heaves out a sigh, a weary chuckle following after. “Being the finance manager, I was elsewhere. My coworker, Brenda, she’s the one who got me started, going on and on about how it made her feel relaxed and on top of things. I grew up in the seventies, so I’d taken an occasional trip or two with LSD. It didn’t seem so bad just to try it out. At first, it was a line or two to get through the fourteen-hour work day. Then, after a few weeks, two lines became five. And then…” she drifts off, her hand dipping from side to side.
“Not that working those long hours helped in any way. I never got to spend time with you -- that was your father.” It’s impossible to miss the bitterness in her tone, the downward turn of her lips. “He got to play stay-at-home dad until you turned two. He got to hear your first words, watch you take your first steps. He’d tell me all about what I’d missed when I got home: how much fun you had at the park, how well you did in the spelling bee, how high you placed at the science fair. He got to be the parent, and I was just the moneymaker.”
The dull roar in his ears changes to a shrill pitch, drowning out every sensible thought inside his head. The sob story was to be expected, but the jealous jabs at his dad are a step too far. How dare she walk back into his life and insult the man who raised him? She knew nothing about that first year. How Ethan would come home from school and spot the late notices on the kitchen table. How Ethan would creep down the hallway at night and see his dad sitting on her side of the bed, going through photographs and crying. How, three days before Christmas, the electric was shut off and his dad made the living room into their own campsite, complete with a roaring fire to cook beans on and flashlights to tell make-believe stories.
“So you decided to skip out and miss twenty-five more years of my life?” he snaps.
“Oh, Ethan,” she sighs, “it wasn’t like that.”
“Bullshit.”
“I had to--” she stops and drags in a breath. “I snapped, that day. I’d worked there for thirteen years, right out of high school. I got called into the boss’s office. I thought I was getting a promotion. Instead, I was reprimanded for not performing well enough. That if I didn’t shape up I’d find myself without a job at all.” Her fingers tremble with effort as she pushes her bangs aside, her glare set firmly on the tiled floor. “And then I came home -- early, because I was crying in the bathroom to avoid making a scene -- and your father… he stopped me in the kitchen. He told me that I was working myself too hard, and that I should try to take some time off to be with you two.”
She looks up at him then, sympathy for her misdeeds plainly written across her face. Ethan wonders if he’s still that good at reading his own mother, or if she’s that good of an actress.
“Then you went to the store,” he finishes for her. “And you never came back.”
“I went to the bank,” she corrects, as if, in the grand scheme of things, it matters. “I took out my money and got in the car and drove. I made it all the way to Richmond before a state trooper took note of my tags. After I made it clear that I’d left of my own volition, he let me go, and that was that.”
The flippant way she describes those harrowing days feels like a slap in the face. His next words are spoken through clenched teeth, as he attempts to reign in the anger that burns through him.
“You could’ve… why didn’t you leave us a note? We both thought something terrible had happened. He never said anything in front of me, but I wasn’t stupid. I watched the news. I saw what happened to other moms who disappeared.”
He remembers sitting in Mrs. Lemon’s living room, their next-door neighbor and his babysitter while his dad was out searching. He remembers the ticking of her crochet needles and the smell of the litter box that needed changing and the feel of the corduroy couch under his flannel pajama pants. He remembers Unsolved Mysteries playing on the box television in the corner, the host stepping out from behind a shadowy pillar to ask for his help solving a mystery. He remembers asking for a pen and paper to write to Mr. Stack and see if he could air his mom’s case.
“I… like I said, Ethan, I just-- I snapped. I had to get out of there. Every day it felt like I was drowning, but then, seeing you, coming home to you, gave me enough air to breathe.” A wistful little smile appears, but soon falls away as she continues. “I made it all the way to Tampa and lived there for a few years with an old friend. After that, I moved around some, changed my name, tried to make something of myself.” She gives a hapless little shrug and reaches up to pull at the dry skin on her lip. “But I was hooked. Still am, I guess. And that always kept me from reaching out -- because I did think about it, Ethan. I did.
“I tried rehab a few times, and the other moms -- their children wrote them letters and came for visiting hours. They talked about all the wonderful things they were going to do together once they stopped using.” Louise yanks at her lip again, cursing when her fingers come away flecked with blood. “But when I thought about writing to you, the thought of you seeing me like that stopped me. And the longer I stayed, the more I watched those families stop visiting and the letters stop coming. And it seemed… pointless.”
Odd, he finds, that she refused to reach out over fears that he would abandon her. He wonders if she rehearsed her lines beforehand, or if she’s this good at ad-lib. The misty eyes and pitiful expression only serve to enhance the performance; she wears a mask, and her face grows to fit it. Buried underneath all that disappointment and resentment, though, is the what if. What if she’s telling the truth? She could have easily been another dejected workaholic that fell victim to her vices and sacrificed her relationships in the process. As a physician, Ethan knows how tight of a hold addiction can have on a person.
“It’s different,” Sloane had said in the on-call room, those bright eyes of hers shadowed with experience, “when it’s not an article or a case study, but your own parent -- someone you’re meant to rely on.”
But he can’t -- won’t, even -- play devil’s advocate, not now. Not with the mother who walked right out of his life and never looked back.
Wandering over to the window, Ethan watches his city move below him; people and cars and buses and trucks going and going while he wastes time here.
“For four days, I didn’t believe Dad.” Unwilling to turn back to Louise, he searches for city hall as he speaks, finding an odd comfort in the ugly, familiar structure. “I thought he was lying when he said you left. He told me you were okay, but that you decided you needed some space from him. I think that early on… we-- he thought you would come back. Then four days became a month, then three, then school started, and when I had friends over I had to explain how it was only Dad now and that you’d left. That no, we hadn’t heard from you, but no, we didn’t think you were dead.”
Though, in his weakest hours, during that first year of her being gone, Ethan had thought about it. Would that look of pity be easier to handle if the concept of choice was taken out of the equation? If cancer or a car accident had taken her away, would that be more palatable for his friends to understand, rather than her choosing to abandon him? He could’ve been the kid making lame dead mom jokes, instead of the kid hiding his tears and fumbling his way through an explanation on why he didn’t need to make a Mother’s Day card this year, Miss Riddleberger.
“You can imagine my surprise,” he says, “when Dad told me you were back in town and wanting to reconnect.”
“Because I -- I do want to, Ethan,” she pleads, her voice cracking over his name. “I’ve spent all these years wondering about you. But look at you! You’ve done so well for yourself. Your father, he told me about how well you did in college, that you graduated the top of your class at medical school.”
“That was nice of him.” The reply is sour in his mouth, bitter and painful. “Did he also tell you that when I was thirteen, I fell off my bike and broke my arm and, despite everything, I cried for you? Or when everyone else was getting graduation photos with their parents, Dad had to stop another family to get our picture taken?”
Louise’s breath hitches artfully; he imagines that she’s clutching a hand over her heart, the picture of a distraught mother.
“No, he… didn’t tell me about any of that.”
“No,” he agrees with a humorless chuckle, “no, I don’t imagine he would have. I imagine he also didn’t mention that I saw you leaving your motel.”
She makes a noise of interest at that. “Then,” Ethan continues as he finally turns back to face her, “my friend was in a nearby market and watched you shoplift. Oh, but before that, she overheard your interesting phone conversation.”
Louise studies him for a long moment and he feels eleven years-old again, sitting on that corduroy couch, hoping and hoping and hoping his mom would come home safe. Some small part of him wants to be wrong about her. But Sloane has taught him time and again that gut feelings can’t be brushed aside.
“That call had nothing to do with you,” Louise tells him.
Crossing his arms across his chest, Ethan settles his shoulder against the window.
“I’ve been a physician for almost a decade now, which means I’ve gotten rather good at knowing when patients are lying to me.” He holds up a hand to stall her immediate protest. “I also know that standing here and arguing with you is a waste of my time. There’s someone out there who I care about a great deal, who I treated horribly earlier because of you, yet here I am. So, here is my offer: once your three days are finished here, I’ll help you secure a spot with a rehab facility. One of the country’s best is right outside the city and I know the director there. Once you’re in recovery, you can decide what you want to do with your life.”
“I don’t think I can afford--”
“All expenses during your stay will be paid for by me.”
“Oh.” Her eyes grow wide and her lower lip trembles. “That’s-- thank you, Ethan, that’s--”
“Let me be clear about this, though,” he interrupts, straightening to his full height and pinning her down with his gaze. “This is the only financial help I will give you. This isn’t an act of forgiveness. I still don’t trust you, and right now, I’m not sure I ever will. But you--” he clenches his teeth against the sudden wave of emotion that batters at him, “--you’re still my mother.”
From his coat pocket, he pulls out a thick, crinkled envelope. Crossing the room, he hands it to her; she pops the tape and slides the card out. It’s been twenty-six years, but he can still remember the glittery flowers on the front, the curly font of whatever silly poem he read aloud to his dad in the card aisle when choosing it.
“You held onto this for all these years?” she asks, tears spilling out onto her pale cheeks. As she opens the card, the dried husk of a flower falls out and onto her blankets; a daisy, her favorite. He remembers sneaking onto Mr. Taylor’s lawn to steal it.
“You left before I could give it to you.”
It’s the last thing he has of hers. Something settles deep inside his sternum at the notion that he’s free of it. “Do you agree to the terms I’ve set?” he asks after a moment.
Louise looks up from the card and smiles at him.
“Yes.”
------
“You didn’t have to come with me.”
“You’re right. I didn’t.”
This late in the evening, with most of the patients fed and medicated, the only sounds are the low murmur of televisions and steady beeps of monitors; the white noise of second shift.
“Did you manage to get any sleep?” Ethan asks, unable to stop the quick once-over he gives her.
“I took a nap on the couch. When I woke up, someone had covered me with a blanket. It was sweet.”
Sloane side-eyes him, that little smile making its appearance for the third time today. He wonders when he’ll stop keeping track of something so silly.
“That was very kind of them to do,” he says.
“It was.”
They make it to room 532 and Ethan stops to shift the tray of food in his hands. Sloane lets out a grumble about men and opens the door for him. He’s forced to a halt right inside the doorway when Sloane stops and flashes him a concerned glance over her shoulder.
“Wait, where’s your mom?” she asks.
“What?”
Nudging her forward, Ethan steps into the room. He takes in the freshly-made bed, the chemical smell of a hospital-grade disinfectant, and, most alarming: the lack of his mother or her things. Turning on his heel, he beelines to the nurse’s station and slams the tray down onto the counter. The plate cover pops off, sending potatoes and green beans into the floor. Kendra glares at him from her seat behind the computer.
“What crawled up your--”
“Room 532 -- where’s the patient?” he growls.
With a huff, she moves to the keyboard and pecks at the keys. Ethan watches the realization spread across her face and hates seeing her anger turn to pity. He’d rather have the former.
“Says here patient discharged herself around four.”
“Why wasn’t I informed?”
“I’m sorry about that,” Kendra replies in a cool tone, then doubles down when he scoffs. “Really, I am. But you’re not listed as the primary attending, and shift change happened right about then. It fell through the cracks.”
Something wet slides across his hand. Ethan looks down to see apple juice dripping over the side of the tray and into the floor. Awareness of the mess he’s made shakes him out of the haze of outrage.
“No, I’m the one who--” he clears his throat and tries again, “--I’m sorry, Kendra. There’s no excuse for my outburst. I’ll get this cleaned up.”
“I can page for a janitor,” she offers.
Ethan shakes his head and crouches down, scooping up the cold food with his hand and dumping it back onto the tray. Before he can stand and start to locate the closest cleaning cart, familiar orange sneakers appear beside him. Sloane crouches beside him and hands him a roll of paper towels, spraying down the counter and floor as he tears off a few sheets. They pile the used towels onto the tray, now covered in a mountain of food scraps and trash. If Ethan were a metaphorical man, he would consider it an allegory for the day he’s had.
Kendra waves them off when they move to pick up the tray.
“I’ll have one of the dietary aides pick it up on their way through.”
“Thank you,” Ethan murmurs.
A nudge at his side pulls him from the slippery slope of his thoughts. Sloane tips her head down the corridor, the invitation hidden away in the lift of her brow. He answers with a nod and follows her towards the elevator.
------
Ethan drops down onto the couch, unable to quiet the weary sigh that escapes him. Jenner hops up to join him, knocking her big head against his shoulder as she snuggles close. He wraps his arm around her and rubs the white patch on her chest; Jenner settles her nose against his chin and lets out a chorus of happy grunts.
Circling the couch, Sloane takes her spot beside him and hands him a tumbler.
“How are you feeling?”
It doesn’t escape his notice that she completely skipped over asking him if he wanted to talk in the first place. The response to that would have been an emphatic no. His throat feels full of all the vague answers he could give instead, of all the ways he could brush aside her question. He thinks about sitting on Mrs. Lemon’s corduroy couch that first awful, terrible night; remembers Mrs. Lemon asked if he was okay; remembers how he boxed up all those new, scary feelings and lied.
A great, shuddering breath escapes him.
“What’s wrong with me?” he rasps.
“Oh, Ethan--”
“I’m serious, Sloane,” he interrupts, clenching his fist tight around the glass. “There has to be some explanation, right? Because that’s-- that’s twice now she’s left without even bothering to say goodbye. And she didn’t-- she never even said she was sorry, for any of it.”
He’s unaware of his own tears until he tastes the salt of them on his tongue. His chest aches from the uneven breaths he takes, his lungs burning from the effort. Jenner whines and licks at his jaw, sensing his distress.
“Why didn’t she stay?” he chokes out, unsure of which time he’s referring to.
Sloane slides her hand under his and takes his glass. Placing it on the coffee table, she turns back to him and wraps her arms around him, guiding him back into the cushions. He settles his head on her shoulder, where she runs soothing fingers through his hair.
“There’s nothing wrong with you. I could list your accomplishments until I’m blue in the face, but I know all that doesn’t mean shit to you right now, so I won’t. Instead, I’ll remind you that you’re loyal and honest and hardworking and, despite the losses you’ve experienced and despite the ways you try to hide it, you care more about helping people than anyone else I know.” She kisses the crown of his head and hums. “Well, besides me, of course.”
Her intended effect works; despite it all, he feels a laugh slip through his aching throat -- it’s feeble, but it’s there.
“She’s the one missing out on knowing you,” Sloane assures. “We can’t choose who our parents are. You and I happened to get stuck with the short end of the stick when it comes to our mothers.”
Ethan knows the gist of her issues with her own mother; knows she left Sloane and her little brother at their grandparents when she was nine.
“Tell me,” he requests, to which she hesitates. “I want to know. This isn’t some tactic to… I’m not trying to avoid my own troubles, I promise.”
Her fingers resume their movement as she heaves out a sigh.
“Most of the time, it was me and Milo by ourselves, waiting for my mom to come home from work or from the club. She would come in and pass out on the couch. I knew how mad she would get the next morning if she stayed there, though, so I’d wake her up and guide her to her bedroom, make sure she took her contacts out and took some ibuprofen. On the weekend, she would have her friends over and they would fill our little apartment. But it was exciting, being around so many people, watching all of them, talking to them, fetching beer or cigarettes for them when they were too drunk to stand. Sure, sometimes they would get violent, or steal, or fight, and I would hide Milo with me under my bed until the cops left. But she threatened to drive down to Indiana and leave us in a cornfield if we got her in trouble, and I believed her.
“Then Milo started school and cut himself on some playground equipment. He has hemophilia, so the blood wouldn’t clot, and they called her to come pick him up. When she called back to tell the school nurse to ‘staple the fucking wound shut,’ the school called CPS. The morning after that first state visit, my mom packed us a trash bag each and loaded us up in the car. She told us we were going on vacation to see Gramma and Grandpa. When we got to Virginia, she kissed us on the cheek and told us she’d be back in a week. I never saw her again.”
Ethan reaches up for her hand and holds it in his, warming her fingers that have since turned cold. He can feel the small hitch in her breath as she clears her throat to continue.
“Thankfully, Milo doesn’t remember much. But he was the one who sought her out when he got old enough. He tracked her down when he was in college, found her and her new family. She lives in Corpus Christi; she’s the wife of a lieutenant. They have two kids, a boy and a girl, both in high school. After she dumped us off, she started a new life for herself.”
“Did your brother reach out to her?”
The humorless chuckle tells him all he needs to know. He lifts their joined hands to press a kiss to her knuckles.
“She told him he was mistaken. Milo sent her a photo as proof. She countered with an offer for hush money.” Ethan can’t see from his position, but by her tone, he knows she’s rolling her eyes. “Some things never change, I guess.”
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“Me too.” Sloane squeezes him tighter to her for a beat. “But I’m telling you my little sob story only because it makes me more appreciative of the people in my life who care about me. At first, that was my grandparents, who never once made me and Milo feel like a burden, who loved us unconditionally. Then, my friends at school, and my friends in college, and my friends now. And you have Naveen, you have me -- you even have your ‘boys,’” she teases. “But you also have your dad, who’s proud of you even when you burn pancakes. Just know that you can feel angry and hurt at her, but her walking away doesn’t diminish the love others have for you.”
Ethan closes his eyes at her reassurances, drinking them in. Unable to work up a response, he lets go of her hand to slide his arm around her waist and pull her impossibly closer. His heartbeat slows at the soft circles she rubs along his back, sinking easily, readily into his embrace.
“I don’t burn pancakes,” he says after a few minutes of comfortable silence.
“What?”
“My dad, he said that?”
“Oh, my god.” Sloane barks out a laugh; he enjoys the sound of its return. “Out of all that, you would focus on that?”
“Since it was a testament against my cooking ability, yes.”
“I don’t think he meant literally. More like metaphorical.”
“Metaphorical pancakes?”
“No, you’re-- oh my god you’re the worst.”
“I thought I was amazing and caring and thoughtful?”
“You are, but you’re also the worst.”
He moves out of her embrace and up to meet her gaze. Her kiss is a gentle one, a brush of her mouth on his.
“Are you hungry?”
“Starving.”
“I think I know just the thing.”
------
Author’s notes and what-have-yous:
I barely googled AMA discharges or protocol for those, but I know that since she is his mom, Ethan would not be allowed to be her actual doctor.
“He wears a mask, and his face grows to fit it” is a line from George Orwell’s Shooting An Elephant, changed slightly for this fic.
#open heart#ethan x mc#ethan ramsey#ethan ramsey x mc#Kaila writes things#f: I was the son you always had#okay second time's a charm right?
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2am thoughts.
I show a lot of signs of ASD.
(or would they be symptoms?)
But like... Does that mean I should follow up on this?
I know quizzes aren't diagnostic tools but like, all that I take kinda point in that direction but neurotypical Nancy over there (my husband) takes them and is all a-okay so it kinda checks out.
I don't know. I can't turn my brian off.
I'm cycling through all my precious hyper fixations and kinda going, symptom, symptom, symptom.
And I honestly don't know how to feel about this.
I kinda freaked out a little because my husband moved my toothbrush but I can't control my emotions well when I'm tired.
And it just makes me remember all the times my family would call me "weird" or different.
I'm kind of a chameleon (I don't know if that's a symptom), but like, I try my best not to be weird. I attach to people and emulate their behaviour so I'm not picked on as weird and freaky and yeah sometimes I'd have to go from group to group so I wouldn't show how weird I am.
I can't seem to help it. People don't like me jumping my leg up and down to try and soothe myself. I literally got told to stop it once by a stranger sitting in front of me at a festival because she was trying to take a picture and I was wobbling the floor too much for her to get a steady shot so I've never done it since.
My husband notices when I wiggle my feet when I'm sleepy so now I only do it under the covers which kinda helps because I like the pressure and the tactile feel of the sheets on my feet.
I know I'm weird. I've always been weird. I can basically tell you a breed of dog just by looking at it because I used to study dog breeds after seeing a poster in the vets when we used to take our dog.
I used to be told that I even ate wrong. Hell, I was told that today! Because I seperate my skittles and you have to eat them in order from worst to best (yellow, orange, red, purple then green, unless you're American because American skittles are different flavour and I don't really like those when I went there, sorry). And I like all my food to be separated. If they're on the same plate they should have a good half centimetre between eat item so they don't touch but preferably eat item would be in seperate bowls but that's a lot of washing up to do so I don't ask for that anymore. I used to be told I ate things wrong or upside down or the wrong way round because of I could I would take the filling out my sandwich and eat that last because that's the better bit. But I do TRY not to get upset when my food touches, like, in a restaurant, I don't expect them to seperate my food, it comes how it comes, I'll seperate it myself. I was told to stop being weird, eat the pepperoni ON the pizza. My mum would purposefully move my sweets when they were all in lines which was really distressing but I knew it was just me being weird, again. And I don't like soft food. Like, I can't eat a sandwich that has a salad filling and a tomato was on the bread. It just makes it soggy and disgusting in my mouth. Like if you have too many crackers and then try to have water after but then there's mushy cracker in your mouth. No. Just no. Yoghurt is bad. I grew some in a lab once at different temperatures and I do not want to ingest that.
But yeah. I'm just like... Is this why people think I'm rude? I've literally been called spikey and aloof by people in therapy.
But then my hubby says this could all just be trauma brain trying to put things "right" or "orderly" and just trying to grasp at control from a time where I had none. (I call it trauma brain because I'm not diagnosed with PTSD and even though I stand with self Dx I can't personally agree to something unless it's like, officially on paper and such, another lovely quirk)
I don't know. He says I need sleep, which, yes, I do. But I cannot turn my brain off.
Like I keep thinking about Greek mythology and how I was really into that, and knitting and crochet and the different kinds of fibres you can use, and like, dimaond art, and psychology. And I wanted to be a mortician because I don't wanna be around people because talking is HARD.
And people are always "why didn't you talk to me?" when I have a mental health crisis but I don't know how to do that! How do you pick up a phone and go "hey! Just wanted to drop a line and say I'm suicidal but there's nothing anyone can do about it anyway seeing as it's all wonky brain chemistry so I don't really know why I'm telling you!" yanno? I don't know how to talk. I don't. Like. I've said it to people before. I see you. We've spoken. I see you as Friend but like... Talk? Uh... Weather? Music? Life? Philosophy? Where... Do we start?
I love my brothers, very much but I do not Do Sport and that's all I can think they're into. I am not Sport Person. I am not Ex Military. I am not Parent. How do we do this? Do we HAVE anything in common? Since the pandemic we haven't been able to play D&D and they don't seem interested in picking that back up so like... Where do we start?
I know people don't get to know me. I put people off by being blunt about my past abuse. It makes them uncomfortable. Like, casually dropped in having sex around 13 once and my friend about fell off his chair. Casually mentioned my father nearly killing me once and again he did not know what to say. Hell, again, it happened today. Talking about when I fell off my bike and broke my arm in two places and nearly my knee and my head bounced off the pavement and I could have died off not for my helmet and they thought THAT was dark until I said I also got told off for bleeding on the sofa and instead of calling an ambulance my dumbass father called my mother from work who took an hour to get home who then took me to the hospital. (and now I'm saying it all again to freak more people out. Awesome.) and I didn't even say how I needed a cloth over my knees because they looked so mangled I couldn't stop looking at the wreckage that was my body and the worst part was I walked home on that knee and when my brother found me he said are you okay? And all I could worry about was my stupid bike that I got for Christmas because I knew they would kill me if it got damaged. My self worth was lower than a bike. At 8.
So is this trauma? Is this ASD? I don't know. All I knoe right now is that I'm weird and I freak people out and I don't know when to shut up but I need all this out my head to be asleep.
And no one understands when you just and a word stuck in your head over and over again. And hubby was like, oh like when a line in a song plays in your head over and over and I said yeah but sometimes it's just a word like hypotenuse over and over and over and it won't stop.
Like now. I can't stop typing because this is all my inner monologue and it just won't stop. It won't let me sleep.
When I used to be like this as a kid I used to look out of the window. No matter whose (is that a word? I'm tired) house I was in. And the world would be still, and quiet, and I wanted that. But my brain doesn't like shutting down and right now I can't sleep until the sun comes up because that's when Trauma Brain says, ah, yes, safe now.
And my husband likes the door open to the bedroom even though I've told him it's a fire risk and no we haven't had a fire but my mum was freaked out by fire after she was in hospital next to a burn victim once and now I've got that trauma. Like, I have to have a safety plan on how to get out if there is a fire and even though it's still only a wooden door you'd be surprised by the amount of protection it brings.
And he likes night lights which, yes, can be helpful sometimes but I don't like light in my bedroom at night. So now I wear an eye mask but I hate the pressure on my face but I don't tell him that but now if I don't wear it I can't sleep because I'm used to the pressure even if I hate it!!
This is tiring. I've been typing for like, 40 mins and I just want to cry and sleep and punch his stupid snoring face because he can sleep and I can't and it's not fair. It's like he's rubbing it in my face. Oooo look how well I can sleep, snoring away next to you ZzZzz!! Ugh. I know it's stupid and petty but I'm tired. I've not slept more than five hours a night for nearly two weeks now and I know that's actually quite a bit for when my body decides to be in these moods and it's got to the point that my body is just fighting my sleeping tablets like an evil villain trying to thwart me.
But I need to wake up WITHOUT a migraine tomorrow as hubby had clinic at hospital but thankfully his dad is taking him but I have to pick him up and if I have a full migraine I don't k ow how I'll drive and I'm just. So. Tired.
Maybe this has helped. Maybe I'll put my phone down and just... Sleep.
Wow I've had to correct myself so much because I'm typing weird.
Weor Weor word word weird. That's it. Weird. That's me
Weird.
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Those Who Fall: “APTF” Story (Modern Domestic Stucky AU)
Thirty-Two:
Steve considered their haul a success. Enough pictures to fill a whole wall of their day's adventure. Enough apples to make crisp, pies, and fried battered apple rings. Enough pumpkins for everyone to carve a pumpkin of their own and a few to spare.
Now all they had to do was carry it all into the house.
"Steven, I swear to god, if you don't get your stubborn ass away from those pumpkins," Bucky threatened, huffing as he just carried his fifth large pumpkin up to the main floor.
Defiant, Steve argued, "I can carry a god damn pumpkin, James."
Struggling, Steve's arms immediately ached as soon as he lifted the pumpkin. In no way was it the biggest pumpkin. If Steve was being honest with himself, he'd admit that it was one of the smaller ones. Which made it all the more pathetic that he was already starting to break a sweat and breathe erratically.
"You are so fucking stubborn," Bucky complained, taking the pumpkin from Steve. Shaking his head, Bucky started carrying the pumpkin upstairs to the main level, "You're trying to kill me. I'm positive. You are trying to send me to an early grave all because you don't care about your own health the way you should."
"Why should I care when you care enough for the both of us?" Steve mocked, following his husband.
At the landing, Bucky turned to look at Steve. Giving him A Look that made Steve's stomach churn uncomfortably. It was the look that confirmed he was completely outraged, but to the point where he was calm. Typically, it usually came out whenever Steve talked poorly about himself or refused to take care of his health. A Look that hid just how hurt and scared Bucky was.
The first time that he had seen that look was back when Steve suggested they break up because he was being stalked and didn't want Bucky mixed up in that.
When Jonas, Vis, and Luke headed for the stairs, Bucky moved out of the way. Steve tried to follow the teens back to the lower level, but Bucky grabbed onto his elbow, pulling him away from the staircase. Entering the living room where they had moved the furniture to the side, Bucky set the pumpkin down on the large blue tarp they placed on the hardwood floor.
"That's Katie's pumpkin!" Ethan joked.
"Is that so?" Katie feigned offense, pulling the six year old in and tickling him. "And why's that?! Huh?!"
"Because the tallest gets the smallest," Sophia giggled, sitting next to Holly who was beating her hands against one of the bigger pumpkins.
Wiping the dirt off his hands, Bucky gave Steve another look. This one, Steve knew better. It was the one that screamed, "we're going to talk whether you want to or not."
Steve hated that look almost as much as the kids did.
Nevertheless, Steve followed Bucky downstairs to their bedroom. As soon as the door was closed behind them, Steve started, "I already know what you're going to say."
"Then, why do you insist on putting your health at risk? It's ridiculous! We're supposed to be a team, and if you don't care about yourself, what do you think our kids are going to do? Huh? Why should they bother caring about themselves when their father doesn't care about himself?"
"Don't," Steve crossed his arms. "You know that I don't talk like that around them."
"It doesn't matter if you don't talk like that around them! You're actions speak loud enough for everyone!"
Steve rolled his eyes, "For fuck's sake, Bucky, you know that I don't act like that around them! I mean, Christ, how many parenting books did we read? I know that how they see themselves is based on the examples that we set. But I should be able to carry a fucking pumpkin! Don't baby me!"
"I don't baby you," Bucky scrubbed his hand over his face. A move that made Steve's gaze drop. Especially when -- just like every other time -- Bucky's eyes were glassy with unshed tears. Taking a step towards Steve, Bucky tenderly tilted Steve's chin up, so he was looking at him. Brushing Steve's hair from his face, Bucky said, "I want you to be happy and healthy, and I want us to live a long life together. And when you don't care, it makes me think that might not…"
"Buck," Steve solemnly sighed. Wrapping his arms around Bucky's waist, Steve pulled him in and gazed up at his husband. Without any of the earlier attitude, Steve asked, "Why should I care when you care enough for the both of us."
Clenching his jaw, Bucky rested his forehead against Steve's and warned, "Steve."
Steve gave Bucky's torso a comforting squeeze and assured, "I'm not putting myself at risk. I just want to be able to do things that everyone else can. Christ's sake, it was pumpkin. And a small one at that. I should be able to lift it."
"I don't want you to push yourself so much," Bucky confessed. He caressed Steve's cheek and reminded, "We don't need a repeat of you pulling a muscle putting on sunblock. Or dislocating your shoulder as you moved the sofa to get a crochet hook. Or spraining your ankle because you stepped off the stairs wrong. Or any of the times that you had to go to the hospital because of your asthma. Or --"
"Okay, I get it," Steve interrupted, playfully covering Bucky's mouth with his slender hand. Knowing that his husband was right, and his heart was in the right place, Steve decided, "I'll try to be more mindful. I can't promise that it'll happen every time. Or that I won't inadvertently fuck our kids up. But I'll try to be more mindful of myself."
Reaching up, Bucky held Steve's wrist and pressed a kiss to Steve's palm, "That's all I'm asking for."
As Bucky leaned in for a kiss, Steve ducked and held up a finger, "But I don't want another lecture."
Sighing, Bucky pressed a kiss to Steve's temple. With his lips still there, he said, "I'll try."
"Thank you," Steve eased. Standing on his tiptoes, Steve kissed Bucky. It wasn't the first time that the pair had this argument, and Steve doubted it would be the last. But Steve knew that he had to try. He had to stop putting himself at risk. Knowing that he couldn't leave Bucky or their kids the way that he and Sarah were left. Especially not if he could stop it from happening.
Resting his forehead against Steve's again, Bucky confirmed, "I love you."
"I love you, too."
Fighting back a smirk, Bucky joked, "Even if you are a stubborn asshole half the time."
"Oh, geez, Buck. Really feelin' the love," Steve deadpanned. Bringing his arms up, he stroked the back of Bucky's neck and pulled him in for one more kiss. As they parted, Steve teased, "You love my stubborn ass."
Rolling his eyes, Bucky slid his hands down to Steve's ass and gave the supple cheeks a tender squeeze. Feigning annoyance, Bucky playfully sighed and agreed, "Yeah, I do."
Sharing one last kiss, the pair finally pulled apart and left their room. Finding the minivan's trunk was closed, along with the garage door, the pair walked back up to the main level of the house. Laughing, the kids were all in front of their pumpkins. Drawing the designs that they wanted to carve while teasing that theirs was going to be better than the others. Halloweentown was playing on the TV and large bowls of popcorn were in the middle of the tarp, so they could share.
"Papa, will you help me?" Ethan asked, pushing his glasses up his nose and accidentally getting marker on his forehead.
Hugging him from behind, Bucky whispered, "We all need you."
Silently, Steve squeezed Bucky's arms wrapped around his waist before moving out of the embrace. Crossing the living room, Steve sat on the floor beside the kindergartener; his knees popping and cracking the entire way down. Sitting on the black throw cushion with the haunted house, Steve looked over the uneven sized circles.
"What do you need help with?" Steve asked, idly watching Bucky take a seat next to Luke.
"I need help with eyes," Ethan clarified.
Looking over the circles towards the top, he assumed, "That's what these are?" Ethan nodded and Steve asked, "Is this supposed to be a monster?"
Ethan shook his head, "It's me."
"But, baby, you don't have four eyes," Steve good-naturedly scoffed while his brows furrowed.
"Yes, I do," Ethan argued, standing up and getting in Steve's face, "Kids at school said I do!"
"Hey," Steve warned, grasping onto him so he wouldn't get accidentally headbutted by the six year old. When Ethan gritted his teeth and his face turned red in his insistence. Steve wiped at the marker and asked, "Who says you have four eyes?"
Pouting out his lower lip, and ducking his head, Ethan confessed, "Emily and Gemma, and Lance."
Hearing the little Jeffrey boy's name made Steve's jaw clench in his own anger. But if Ethan chose to see it as a good thing, then Steve wasn't going to correct him. Instead, Steve nodded and affectionately pushed the plastic framed glasses up his cute little button nose, and brought Ethan into his arms.
With him sitting in Steve's lap, Steve brought the medium size pumpkin closer. Nuzzling against his cheek, Steve softly complimented, "You did a good job. I can't even draw circles that round."
"Yeah?" Ethan asked, lighting up as he turned his head to look at Steve. Steve nodded and Ethan beamed, "Will you help me make a smile?"
"Sure can," Steve smiled, kissing his cheek as Ethan handed him the washable marker.
Feeling eyes on him, Steve glanced across the room to Bucky. A fond grin was on Bucky's face as he watched Steve. And just like old times, Bucky winked at him.
#a place to fall#jump then fall#those who fall#bonus#stucky#steve rogers#bucky barnes#steve rogers x bucky barnes#marvel#fanfic#wattpad#ao3#modern au#domestic life#fluff#smut#otp
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Lover (Steve Harrington x Reader)
A/N: GUYS as you’ve probably noticed, I’m incredibly excited about the release of @taylorswift‘s new album. IMO, Lover is one of Taylor’s best songs to-date, and I thought it would fit perfectly with a fluffy, domestic Steve one-shot.
Warnings: Mild language, heavy fluff. Story under the cut.
We could leave the Christmas lights up 'til January
This is our place, we make the rules
And there's a dazzling haze, a mysterious way about you, dear
Have I known you 20 seconds or 20 years?
It wasn’t until you and Steve moved into your first home together that you realized how deeply in love he was with holiday decorations.
You had started the process of moving your belongings into the new place at the end of September. By mid-October, Steve had begun pestering you about shopping for Christmas decorations. You reminded him that you hadn’t even unpacked the last box yet, and Halloween hadn’t even occurred yet. Steve was persistent that you needed to get the lights up as soon as possible to “maximize the Christmas spirit.”
After a lot of convincing, Steve had finally agreed to wait until November. By then, you figured, he’d forget about it. I mean, this was the guy who couldn’t remember his social security number and occasionally wrote it on his stomach (“because I’m not dumb enough to keep it on, like, my hand, Y/N, where everyone can see it.” When when you suggested he just carry his social security card with him, he told you he didn’t trust himself not to lose it.) Surely, that guy would forget all about it, right?
Wrong. On November 1st, you were nursing a Halloween-candy hangover when Steve dragged you to Goodwill. You returned home with enough decorations to light up a mansion and spent the rest of the afternoon stringing them all around your tiny one-bedroom house. After dinner, you and Steve headed outside. As the sky faded to black, Steve wrapped an arm around your shoulders, and he watched in wonder as your small townhouse transformed into a winter wonderland.
“Look at that, Y/N! We did that,” he said. The various colors of the lights reflected in his eyes as he gazed down at you.
“I didn’t know King Steve Harrington could get so excited over Christmas lights.” Your smooth teasing was foiled by a strong gust of wind that left goosebumps on your arms and caused you to shudder.
“I’m full of surprises,” Steve said as the two of you started back towards the front door. “For example, you probably didn’t know, but I can make the best cup of hot chocolate in the state of Indiana.”
“Oh, really?”
“Oh, yeah. Grandma Harrington taught me her secret recipe.”
Even though you’d known Steve for years, you learned new things about him every day. You wondered if you’d ever run out of things to learn about the boy you’d known all your life.
Can I go where you go?
Can we always be this close forever and ever?
And ah, take me out, and take me home
You're my, my, my, my lover
We could let our friends crash in the living room
This is our place, we make the call
And I'm highly suspicious that everyone who sees you wants you
I've loved you three summers now, honey, but I want 'em all
Dustin Henderson started referring to your place as “our house” before you guys even moved in. He dropped by several times a week with updates on the newest happenings at Hawkins Middle or questions about how to handle a Suzie situation. At least once a month, Dustin crashed on your couch after a weekend movie night.
On one occasion, you and Steve returned home from a date night to discover half a dozen adolescents gathered around the television in your living room. A curly-haired kid carried around a bag of chips in one hand and waved cheerfully with the other. He flashed his infamous toothy grin, which you met with a half-scowl, half-squint of confusion.
“Dustin? How did you get in here?”
Dustin spoke through a mouthful of Doritos. “My mom dropped us off. And then I used my key.”
Your glare switched targets. This time, you directed it at Steve. He clamped his hand down on his face; you weren’t sure if it was to avoid your gaze or express his frustration.
“Dude, I gave you that key for emergencies only.”
“This was an emergency!” Dustin threw up his hands, sending an army of cheesy corn chips into the atmosphere. After falling back to earth, bright orange triangles wedged themselves into your new white rug. “The season premiere of our favorite show is tonight, and we didn’t have anywhere to watch it.”
You crossed your arms over your chest. Your eyes scanned over the gang sprawled across your couch, armchairs, and carpet. Judging by the boxes of candy and cans of soda littered across the floor, Dustin must have raided your pantry. Apparently, the kitchen wasn’t the only place he infiltrated, since almost your entire linen closet was spread out over the living room. Lucas and Max shared the recliner beside which Dustin was currently standing. Will sat on a pillow with his back against the coffee table, his attention still focused on the television screen. You turned your attention to Mike, who was curled up next to El under a crocheted blanket you’d received from your grandmother.
“Doesn’t your family have a TV, Mike?”
"Yeah, we do, but my mom kicked us out so she could watch a soap opera or some shit. She and Nancy love that crap.”
Nancy.
That name ignited the flame of jealousy in your chest. You knew it was totally irrational; she and Steve hadn’t dated since high school. They’d both moved on-something Nancy did almost instantaneously. Steve had told you the whole saga of their mostly-one-sided relationship, and you were fairly certain Nancy never really loved him.
Still, Nancy was Steve’s first serious girlfriend. She was the first girl-the only girl, other than you-to whom he’d said “I love you” and meant it. Nancy was, and would always be, Steve’s first love. There wasn’t anything you could do to change that.
“Y/N? Hey, babe, you good?”
Steve’s voice jolted you back to reality. You shook your head slightly to clear it, then nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”
You pretended not to notice the way his mouth twitched downward slightly in concern.
“Great. So we can stay?” Dustin interrupted. The hopeful gleam in his eyes was too much to resist.
“I guess,” you sighed, earning a chorus of triumphant “yeah!”s from the kids. “Your show’s probably about over by now, anyway, isn’t it?”
Dustin furrowed his thick brows, as though that was the most blatantly incorrect assumption you could have made. Lucas let you know that “it doesn’t even start for three more hours.”
“Won’t that be, like, midnight? Your parents aren’t going to freak out if you come home at two in the morning?” Steve asked.
“Actually...” Dustin drew out the word until he finally ran out of air. Then, he spoke the next few words in one breath. “We were hoping you’d let us spend the night here?”
You and Steve exchanged glances. Between your schoolwork and Steve’s work schedule, the two of you hadn’t been able to spend as much quality time together. You’d finally both managed to secure a responsibility-free night and a cheesy rom-com to watch while cuddling on the couch. (Steve pretended to hate those movies, but he almost always teared up at least once during the show.)
None of that mattered now, though, because your boyfriend could never say no to his favorite child-or so you thought.
Steve scratched the back of his neck. He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye before saying, “Actually, Dustin, tonight’s not the best night for a sleepover. Y/N and I kind of had plans.”
Lucas raised his eyebrows suggestively. “Plans, huh? What kind of plans?” he said, earning a smack on the arm from his girlfriend.
Color rose to your cheeks; Steve picked up a pillow someone had haphazardly tossed on the floor and launched it at Lucas’s head. Instead of hitting its intended target, though, the cushion collided with Max’s face. Ever the hothead, the ginger quickly contorted her neutral expression into a deep frown. She chucked the pillow back toward Steve with tremendous force, along with a few other throw pillows. Only one actually hit Steve. The rest rained down on you.
And, as a mature, homeowning adult battling literal children, you knew there was only one correct response: to hurl each and every one of those pillows right back.
It didn’t take long before the scene devolved into utter chaos. Fluffy rectangles flew across the living room, smacking into bodies or simply into walls. The kids outnumbered you and Steve three-to-one, so you were doomed from the start. However valiant of an effort you two gave, the party still overcame you, burying you and Steve under an avalanche of pillows.
“Clearly, we won this fight,” Dustin said as he loomed over you. Steve had tried to act as your human shield, so he laid beside you on the floor. “I think that means we earned the right to stay.”
“Dustin-“
“No, Steve, it’s okay,” you said, turning towards him. “I know it’s not what we originally planned, but maybe a sleepover with the kids would be fun.”
Steve looked at you with admiration glittering in his chocolate eyes. “Yeah?” he asked softly.
“Yeah.” You shifted a few pillows to get closer to Steve and plant a gentle kiss on his mouth. He smiled as your lips brushed his, and for a moment, you forgot about the gang of gangly tweens in your living room.
Then, a symphony of “ew”s and “aw”s and “can you not”s and “I think it’s sweet”s erupted throughout the room.
Steve shot into an upright position, pointing his finger in the general direction of the sitting area. “Hey, this is my house, and my girlfriend, and if I want to kiss her, I will. And if you dweebs want to stay here to watch your stupid show, you’ll keep your mouths shut.”
“As long as you keep yours shut,” Dustin quipped. “I think I can speak for everyone when I say we’d rather not see you and Y/N sticking your tongues down each other’s throats.”
You tossed the last pillow throw of the night at Dustin but agreed. You and Steve kept the PDA to a minimum that night. They were just kids, after all, and you didn’t want to corrupt them. However, when Nancy came to pick up Mike the next morning and Steve waved to her from the porch, you didn’t hesitate to flounce out the front door in your robe and draw Steve into a passionate kiss.
You just had to make sure Nancy knew what was yours.
Can I go where you go?
Can we always be this close forever and ever?
And ah, take me out, and take me home
You're my, my, my, my lover
Ladies and gentlemen, will you please stand?
With every guitar string scar on my hand
I take this magnetic force-of-a-man to be my lover
My heart's been borrowed and yours has been blue
All's well that ends well to end up with you
Swear to be overdramatic and true to my lover
And you'll save all your dirtiest jokes for me
And at every table, I'll save you a seat, lover
Your favorite part of the day was coming home to your best friend.
Steve more or less memorized your schedule. You arrived home around the same time every evening, so Steve knew when to start listening for the sound of gravel crunching under the wheels of your car. He would then meet you on the porch with a “hello” kiss and a “how was your day, honey?” You always feigned indignance as he took your bags, murmuring something about how weak he must think you are to not be able to carry them two more steps. But, secretly, you spent your entire commute home anticipating the interaction.
This was especially true on the stressful days, the ones you felt would never end. Even though Steve was completely clueless in most situations, he could typically tell when you were in a foul mood. Those were the times he pulled you a little closer to his heart, hugged you a little tighter, loved you a little extra-just in case you needed it.
Today, you really, really did. It had been one of those days where everything seems to go wrong. You couldn’t wait to crawl into bed with Steve and snuggle all your sorrows away.
As you pulled into the driveway, your heart beat faster in anticipation. You watched the front door swing open. It took you a second to realize that the figure standing on the porch wasn’t your boyfriend. Rather, it was a short, stocky kid with a halo of golden curls. If it hadn’t been for the unmistakable hair, you might not have recognized him; you’d never seen him sans ballcap but plus a paisley-print bowtie around his neck and certainly never with dish rag was draped over his arm.
“Hey, Dustin,” you said. When he responded by simply smiling back at you, you asked, “What...what’cha doing here, kid?”
“Hello, Ms. Y/L/N. I’ll be your server for the evening,” he responded without missing a beat.
“My server?”
Dustin bent his head slightly in what he must have considered a sophisticated spin on a nod. “Indeed. Now, if you’ll follow me, ma’am...”
You kicked off your shoes and set down your purse before wandering after your guide down the dimly-lit hall. Something crinkled under your footsteps. You quickly noticed small ovals scattered across the wood floor. As you stepped on one, it felt like silk against your bare feet.
Petals?
You were too busy staring at the flowers scattered across the hall to realize you’d reached your destination. Dustin stopped, and you ran right into his back. You stumbled before regaining your balance and taking a look around the room.
The “server” had escorted you to your own kitchen-a place you were quite familiar with, since Steve couldn’t cook a decent meal to save his life. (To be fair, though, you weren’t much more skilled with the stove, so approximately 90% of your diet was comprised of takeout and peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches.) However, you’d never seen the kitchen quite like this.
It was the cleanest it had been since move-in day. Not a dish sat on the counter or even in the sink. The crumbs typically scattered across the floor had been replaced by rose petals. Sparkling white Christmas lights stretched across the room, and Elvis Presley crooned over the record player in the corner of the room. You didn’t even know Steve owned a record player. (As you later discovered, he didn’t. He’d borrowed it from Jonathan Byers.)
In the center of the room, your cheap card table was draped with a lace tablecloth. Wedged between two covered silver platters that looked like they belonged in a castle, a flickering candle cast shadows on the face of the boy sitting beside it. As soon as his eyes fell on you, he scrambled to his feet and over to you.
“Hi,” Steve said, winding his arms around your waist. He sounded breathless, even though he’d literally just walked a few feet.
“Hey.” Your eyes flicked from his slicked-back hair and freshly-shaven face to his crisp button-up and newly-polished shoes. “What’s-um-what’s all this?” you asked, vaguely gesturing around the room.
“Oh, you know.” Steve pressed a quick kiss to your lips before taking your hand and leading you to the table. “I just thought I’d do something special for you tonight.”
"That’s...really sweet.”
Steve scooted your chair in before placing himself back into the seat across from you. Dustin disappeared into your pantry, then returned with a bottle of sparkling grape juice. As you watched the teenager carefully pour a splash into each of your glasses, you asked whether Steve had bribed or tricked him into spending his Friday night playing restaurant.
“This is my full-time job, ma’am. This is how I earn my living,” Dustin answered dutifully before breaking character. “Besides, four of my stupid friends are on a double-date, and Will’s sick, so I had nothing better to do.”
“Way to sell us on the idea that you want to be here, dipshit,” Steve remarked.
“Hey, show our waiter a little respect!” you teased, gently kicking Steve under the table.
“Thank you, Y/N. But, actually, I prefer the term server,” Dustin corrected. He proceeded to produce a notepad from his pocket and read you the specials-or, rather, special, considering there was only one: spaghetti with meatballs. “On our regular menu, we also offer a wonderful noodle dish with a marinara sauce for the same low price as the special-zero dollars.”
You quirked an eyebrow. “So...just spaghetti again?”
Dustin clapped a hand over his heart in mock offense. “Excuse you, madam. It’s spaghetti without meatballs, which is a completely different experience.” Dustin glanced around as though someone might overhear before quietly adding, “Personally, I would recommend the spaghetti with meatballs, unless you want grubby hands digging around in your dish to pull out the meatballs, which may or may not already be incorporated into the pasta.”
You rolled your eyes but laughed nonetheless. “I guess I’ll have the spaghetti with meatballs, then.”
“Excellent choice. And for you, sir?”
“I’ll have the same,” said Steve.
“Well, you’ve both made this very easy for me. Pardon my reach,” Dustin said, leaning over to pluck the covers off the platters. A heaping hill of noodles, red sauce, and meatballs lay underneath.
Dustin took the lids and disappeared into the living room. You weren’t sure if Dustin was just trying to stay out of the way or if he was going to attempt to wash them in the bathroom sink. It definitely wouldn’t have been the weirdest thing he’d done in your house; once, you and Steve caught him trying to explain morse code to a squirrel in your backyard. That kid was truly an odd duck.
And speaking of weird behavior, you were still seriously questioning what was happening. Steve was a sweetheart, and he did everything in his power to make you happy. This definitely wasn’t the first time he’d surprised you with a thoughtful gesture, but it was probably the most all-out he’d ever gone. The last time he even attempted to cook for you was during senior year of high school, when you first started dating. As an after-school snack, Steve had popped some pizza rolls in the microwave and promptly forgotten about them...until, of course, the kitchen appliance burst into flames.
As strange as it was, you didn’t want to ruin the moment by verbally expressing your curiosities. You simply swirled slightly-soggy spaghetti around your spoon and savored the small talk. Eventually, Dustin reappeared to clear your plates and ask if you wanted dessert.
“What are my options?”
Dustin’s excellent waiter facade faded for a second. He glanced at Steve with wide eyes. His gaze begged for guidance-which Steve failed to provide. He simply squinted at Dustin as if to say, Figure it out for yourself.
The entire ordeal lasted about fifteen seconds. It was too long for Dustin to turn back to you with a tight-lipped smile plastered on his face as though nothing had just happened between them.
“The final course is-the dessert, uh-it’s a surprise.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you could have sworn you saw Steve offer a nod of approval.
“Okay...” You drew out the word as your mind jumped to every conclusion possible. “Is it a good surprise? Or is it, like, a somewhat-edible science experiment that might actually poison me?”
“Oh, no, no. It’s a good surprise. You’ll like it. I promise,” Dustin said. “I-uh-I’ll go get it,” he said, then disappeared once more.
“Steve, why did Dustin just head toward the bathroom? I swear, if he made Jell-O in the toilet or something, I’m going to lose it.”
Steve just shrugged. He avoided your gaze, and a few beads of sweat had broken out across his forehead. That pretty much solidified your suspicions that Steve and Dustin were pulling some weird sort of prank on you.
Dustin returned a few minutes later with yet another silver platter. (Seriously, where was he getting these things?) This time, though, there weren’t any noodles on the plate he unveiled. Instead, a small velvet box sat on the metal.
The next few seconds happened in a blur. You recalled Steve rising from his chair and reaching for the box. Then, suddenly, he was on one knee in front of you. The box opened like an oyster. Instead of a pearl, though, its treasure was a glimmering diamond ring.
Tears began clouding your vision before Steve’s lips even parted. As soon as he spotted the water in your eyes, Steve started to get choked up, too. He tried to power through, but his voice became more strained with each syllable.
“Y/N. These past few years with you have been the best of my life, and I never thought...shit." Steve blinked rapidly, attempting to clear away the tears. “I never want to spend my time with-with anyone else-damn it,” he murmured as a drop of water finally escaped his tear duct and rolled down his face. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I had this whole speech prepared, but now I’m a mess-”
You stopped his ranting by placing a gentle palm on his cheek and a kiss on his forehead. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I love you for the whole-ass mess you are.”
Steve leaned into your touch for a moment and whispered, “I love you, too, Y/N.” Then, he straightened up, cleared his throat, and softly asked, “Will you marry me?”
“Of course.”
Steve barely had the patience to slide the ring on your finger with his shaking hands before he picking you up and swinging you around. He kissed all over your face, and your happy tears mixed with his in a joyous saltwater solution.
The kiss fest didn’t end until Steve, caught up in all the excitement, accidentally pressed his lips to your nostrils. The two of you burst into a fit of giggles amplified by the ecstasy of the emotions you were feeling. Your hysteria lasted for several minutes and ended with you and Steve laying on the floor, lungs devoid of oxygen and limbs tangled together.
“Are you guys really that happy, or are you, like, on something?”
You both glanced toward Dustin, whose presence had completely slipped your mind. Luckily, Steve had a response ready. It was cheesy and cliche, but nothing could have fit the situation more perfectly:
“No, dude. We’re just high on life.”
Can I go where you go?
Can we always be this close forever and ever?
And ah, take me out, and take me home (Forever and ever)
You're my, my, my, my
Oh, you're my, my, my, my
Darling, you're my, my, my, my lover
***
Taglist: @novaddictx @anabundance0ffand0ms @rexorangecouny @broadwayandnetflix @explode-a-pult @whormotional @loulouloueh @readinthegarden12 @lacunaclouds
If you want to be added to the tag list for a specific character/my writing in general, leave a reply or send me a message! Thanks again for reading. <3
If you want to check out more of my writing, here’s my masterlist. :)
#lover#lover fic#steve harrington#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington x you#stranger things#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things x reader#stranger things fanfic#stranger things steve#stranger things steve x reader#steve harrington songfic#lover songfic#steve harrington oneshot#steve harrington one shot#steve harrington drabble#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington one-shot#stranger things one shot#stranger things oneshot#parker-potter writes
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40 days in quarantine. At least 15 more to go.
(tbh, I’m not even sure if these number are correct)
It’s just my rambles. You don’t have to read it. But I want to have it here so after some time, when everything’s back to normal, I can come back to remind myself.
It’s been 40 days since I’m not allowed to go outside. Only food shopping, which I do once a week. I used to spend a lot of time outside. Yes, I’m an introvert, but I like going for a walk, sometimes jogging, window shopping, getting lost in an oldtown because I decided to make a turn to a street I’d never visited before, etc. I also grew up in a grandparents’ house, we’ve had a garden, not a big one, but still a garden, and a pavement by the street where all children used to go to play (it was a safe neighbourhood with almost no cars in the street, and it was easier times in general, nobody cared as much as parents do now and I’m thankful for my childhood). I’m getting lost, but the point is – I’ve missed being able to go outside.
On a bright side, I know that a person doesn’t need a lot to survive. A bed, some food, a phone to help yourself to pass the time. That’s it.
But at what cost… I already know that my physical and mental health will be a mess after this. And even my personality.
Physical health. Last year, because of a healthy diet and working out, I’ve lost 20 kg. I’m pretty sure I’ll gain at least half of it back during quarantine… I try to work out every evening, but 60 minutes of exercising is not enough when all other hours of the day are spent sitting on my ass.
Mental health. I understand that it’s important to keep some kind of a schedule. But why wake up if I have nothing to do during the day? I would like to come back to some of my hobbies, but I have no materials. Origami requires paper, I did some things from old maps, but that they’re finished, and there’s no paper in food shops. Crochet requires a hook and yarns, again, not possible to buy them. Online shopping might help but still waiting because of increased delivery time. And some of “hobbies” with easier access (movies, making gifs) somehow are not interesting to me anymore…
Personality. For a long time, I wanted to work in some NGO or in university. Forget that. Private business, corporation, international company – whatever pays me enough to afford living alone, having the whole apartment to myself, later, getting a house with a garden, and travelling. Money is important in life and I won’t even try to pretend that it’s not.
But there’s also a strange turn to this – I never wanted a relationship, I didn’t even have a teenage crush or anything, but now I actually want to try dating. Maybe after few dates I’ll realize that no, it’s still not for me, but maybe I will enjoy getting to know some people, hopefully, time will tell.
One more thing to personality – it’s very difficult for me to talk with people, I never know what to say, I analyze too much what others are thinking, etc. Guess who will be even worse after this? Now I literally speak with people only once in a week.
I know it’s necessary. I know it’s for the better. I know that in a few years we will all be “do you remember when?” and it will be interesting. But it’s not easy now.
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“Families” can be together forever.
A vent piece that’s basically been my evening.
Warnings: Emotionally abusive parents, religion, a little bit of religion resentment.
Word Count: 1811
Pairings: Familial LAMP/CALM
Taglist: @generalfandomfabulousness @i-will-physically-fight-you @sander-sideblog @me-evil-never
“You see, Virgil, this is basically your fault. You just allow yourself to sit passively by, letting things happen around you.” Yeah, he thought, maybe because I have anxiety and the mere thought of voicing my opinion makes my blood run cold and my hands start to shake. But out loud, he said nothing. He bit his lower lip until it began to hurt and kept his stare straight ahead. He happened to be looking at his mother’s glabella. Perfect. Now to anybody, it would appear as though he was making eye contact and he couldn’t look away for the fear of making it seem as though he was giving up on his silent side of the debate.
“You could have thought of a solution! You have a brain, but instead you give all of the power to a twelve year old-” His mother was suddenly cut off for a correction. “Ten.” was his father’s input, which only seemed to fuel his mother on more. “-Ten! Even worse! You gave all the power to a ten year old and you expect them to make a smart decision?!” You’re never very keen for others to help out with issues. He once again thought spitefully. Whenever I’ve offered help in the past I’ve always been brushed off with “it helps them build character” or “They need to learn how to deal with issues all on their own.” So now when I allow that to happen, I’m the bad guy? He wasn’t surprised. Honestly. This wasn’t the first, and it wouldn’t be the last time that his parents began to yell at their children for god knows what after bringing them all together for a nice “family time.” A faint ‘meow’ from the other side of the closed glass door made VIrgil want to wince, but he kept up his stony face. He couldn’t show forth any sign of weakness now. He continued to stare on even though each and every desperate meow was like a knife stabbing, and twisting in his heart.
“You see, Virgil, thanks to your actions, the cat is basically being abused.” You were the one that put it out there! He wanted to scream. You’re the abusive mastermind behind this whole scene! I had nothing to do with this, and you know it! It’s not my fault that you’re so emotionally unstable that you believe throwing an indoor cat outside is a fair and just punishment for Logan not wanting to sing in front of you guys, not wanting to sing a religious song that’s practically propaganda anyways! It’s hardly just in the slightest! But instead, he kept his gaze forward and his jaw clenched. God, he hated being the oldest child in the household. He honestly didn’t know how Patton did it before he moved out to college. It seemed like every week their parents were yelling at his older brother for some stupid thing or another, and Patton had just learned to take it, and hadn’t turned out bad because of it. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Roman fidgeting uncomfortably, and Logan looking longingly out of the glass door at their blue tabby as it let out another elongated and miserable meow.
“I half hope that the stupid cat jumps a fence and gets hit by a car.” He overheard his mother saying. Every muscle in his body seemed to tense at that. He wondered if his parents spoke about him like that when he wasn’t present. For some reason, he didn’t doubt it. They ever seemed to like him very much anyway, but now they liked him even less because they didn't have Patton to pick on. They hated the way that he locked himself in his room, they hated the way that he would haphazardly skip meals when he was feeling too depressed to even get out of bed. They hated the fact that he would either be in his room, at work, or out in his car. The ‘beloved Family Time’ that his parents had cherished and wanted for them had completely been thrown out the window since before Patton left in Virgil’s opinion, but his family simply couldn’t understand that he wanted nothing to do with them. He continued to stare forwards despite the hammering in his chest.
“Heck, I hope it jumps over any fence just to teach you kids a lesson. Two of the fences would mean it would get hit by a car, one of the fences has two dogs on the other side that would beat it up and chew on it, and the other one has another cat. Maybe they’d get into a fight.” The almost longing tone in his mother’s voice honestly made Virgil sick to his stomach. This is why he didn’t enjoy spending any time out of his room, even less around his parents. He wanted to jump up and yell “You're sadistic!” and storm out of the room, but that would just mean a bigger punishment for virgil in the end, so he stayed in the recliner and kept his gaze.
A while had passed and hardly anything had changed. Someone could almost cut the tension in the air with a knife. His mother finally spoke up again. “Your see, this is a perfect example of Justice and Mercy. I set down perfectly reasonable-” Yeah right. “-Rules and consequences. Logan broke it, and now I demand justice whether it be by keeping the cat outside, or Logan singing and us letting the cat back in. Logan is refusing to meet my demands for justice, so what should come out of it?” Your never brought up where mercy comes into play here, your absolute witch. Virgil thought while he clamped his hands together. His mother turned on him and quirked a brow while somehow maintaining her glare. “Virgil? Can your think of an alternative option?” Virgil glared right back and kept his silence. He could feel the cold radiating off of his mother at this point. Out of the corner of his eye, Virgil could see Roman fidgeting even worse now. He finally broke. “How about I take Logan downstairs and he can just sing the stupid song to me?”
His mother looked at Roman with an almost displeased look. “Fine. Wow, Virgil and Logan. I would have thought that the cat would mean more to both of you. You two were so eager to get her in the first place.” Virgil had finally had enough, and while Roman was descending the stairs, he took Logan by the arm and mumbled “C’mon” even though his anxiety had practically spiked at that point. Logan looked up at him, and Virgil could see the fear in the child’s eyes. “Where are we going?” Logan asked. Virgil looked towards the staircase as he mumbled a quick “Downstairs.” This seemed to be acceptable enough for Logan because he followed Virgil down without another word. After the two had climbed down far enough that their parents couldn’t see them, Virgil really had to refrain himself from flipping his parents off. The only thing that stopped him was giving his brothers a bad example.
Virgil quickly moved to the couch, where he sat down and drew his legs up to his chest. Making himself smaller even in a completely non threatening environment was the most comforting thing he could think of after escaping that tense scene. He attempted to lengthen his breathing as he caught the tail end of what Logan was saying. “-ave to actually sing it or may I recite it like a poem?” Virgil and Roman shared a shrug before Roman said “Whatever you wish, Lo.” With that, the room fell completely silent before Logan began to quietly recite the lyrics to the least appropriate song for what had just happened.
“I have a family here on earth. They are so good to me. I want to spend my life with them through all eternity. Families can be together forever through Heavenly Father’s plan. I always want to be with my own family and the Lord has shown me how I can. While I am in my early years I’ll prepare most carefully so I can marry in God’s temple for eternity. Families can be together forever through Heavenly Father’s plan. I always want to be with my own family and the Lord has shown me how I can.”
Through the whole time Logan recited the song, Virgil couldn’t help but think about the lyrics. He didn’t want to be with his family for all eternity if it meant having to spend literally forever with his parents. He didn’t believe in the church that his family made him attend. He had no interest in getting married or even in dating. The irony of the situation was almost overwhelming in a morbid way. Instead of bringing any of this up, or acknowledging it for more than a few seconds, he nodded to Roman and Logan and they began their journey upstairs.
“Did he do it?” Mother asked. Roman and Virgil nodded. His mother opened the glass door and the cat darted in. Logan went straight to it and pulled it onto his lap. He looked more emotionally drained than usual. Virgil went back to his chair, as did Roman. Pretending once again to be the “good guy” in this scenario, his mother smiled and began to speak. “This whole thing was a metaphor for the afterlife. I was Heavenly Father. I set laws that got broken, and God said that no unclean thing can dwell with him. The cat was paying the consequence for that like we do in this life.” Virgil looked up at the ceiling in the hopes that if he didn’t have to look at his mother while she was spewing this off, it would make it less painful. He heard his mother abruptly stop and then “Virgil Sanders, are you rolling your eyes at me?!” He felt the anxiety gripping at his throat, but he managed a glare, a shake of the head, and an angrily mumbled “I wasn’t.” His mother didn’t even try to go back into the whole story she was creating. She threw down her crocheting supplies, crossed her arms, and finished in one breath. “Basically Roman was Jesus Christ, helping us atone for our sins and the cat was us getting into heaven afterwards.”
Virgil tuned out for the rest of the night until he could get back into his room and properly curse and flip everything off. The one thought that got him through the night was two more years. You only have to stay here for two more years, then you can quite the church, go to college, live your life, and never have to say anything to these excuses of parents ever again.
A/N: This was my evening (plus more IRL yay me) tonight. I needed a positive way to get my anger out, and I needed to get myself back into writing so hey, double win for me. Sorry that this was kind of ooc and not too fluffy ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
#thomas sanders#roman sanders#thomas sanders fandom#virgil sanders#sanders sides#vent fic#tw abusive parents#tw abuse#abusive parents#abuse#religion#tw religion#tw animal abuse#tw animal neglect#tw neglect#neglect#animal neglect#fanfic#fander#fanders#fanfiction#sanders sides fic#fic
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Straightforward Actions To Aid You Far better Understand Hobbies
If you are searching for one thing to do with your cost-free time, it truly is a very good notion to just take up a pastime. No matter what you happen to be intrigued in, you can uncover a hobby that works for you. Right here is some data about hobbies that can help you locate anything really worth doing with your time.
If knitting is not your cup of tea, but you adore to perform with wool, why not try a piece of crochet. It is mentioned to be a lot less complicated than knitting, and nonetheless as progressive when admiring the end consequence. From attire to granny squares for a blanket, there is a good deal that can attained employing a crochet hook.
If you have put in a good deal of time functioning on a counted cross-stitch project for your residence, bear in mind to think past the completed item. All needlepoint justifies to be admired by every person so permit income in your price range for framing. A professionally carried out framing task can make all the distinction if you desire to hold your piece up on the wall.
Attempt utilizing specialist color palette for your interest initiatives. It can be difficult to choose shades that go effectively collectively. Rather of reinventing Orange Essential Oils , try out utilizing some color palettes that are experimented with-and-correct combos. They can make your initiatives seem much more eye-catching. You can find these in paint brochures at your regional paint retailer.
Do you get pleasure from working exterior? If so, then gardening may be a wonderful interest for you to undertake. Regardless of whether you choose to expand a vegetable backyard or a flower backyard garden, you can relaxation assured that you will commit heaps of time outdoors experiencing the new air and the warmth of the sunshine.
If you enjoy doing work on pcs, you may want to take the subsequent stage and flip computer programming into a pastime. This is one of people hobbies that can pay off (practically) in the long run. The more you teach yourself, the more marketable expertise you will when looking for a work. Plus programming can be a lot of enjoyable way too.
If you already like football, make it a pastime. Fantasy soccer is a passion that will get you in the game without possessing to stage foot on the football field. Just get your close friends together, decide out some players for a crew, and then see how they're able to execute throughout the year.
Do you enjoy generating your property search beautiful? Then property inside design and style may be the best interest for you. Several men and women do not realize that they can use residence interior style as a passion. You can make quilts, paint wall hangings or construct a new bookcase to showcase your pastime.
Nature viewing is almost certainly the ideal passion if you appreciate the all-natural setting, do not want to spend money and just really feel like calming. Get a blanket and sit down at the park or in your backyard. Take be aware of the birds, chipmunks, squirrels and other animals that encompass you. You will be stunned by the diverse critters that you see on a everyday foundation.
Lots of individuals enjoy the passion of taking part in game titles on the web. These online games are so included that it's simple to get rid of by yourself in them. You may get pleasure from gaming online if you have a whole lot of spare time in your working day to working day existence.
If you journey usually, you could start a selection of items from your travels. There are a lot of products, such as spoons, postcards, or wine bottles, that are effortless to accumulate. No subject what is in your assortment, these provide as reminders of your different vacation encounters.
Choose up that aged guitar and discover a handful of chords. You never have to grow to be the up coming Eric Clapton, but you can surely gain from studying about an instrument. Guitar enjoying is a soothing pastime and it delivers you the ability to convey your feelings anytime you come to feel the need to.
Getting up a pastime can assist you uncover a hidden enthusiasm or talent. If you are truly fascinated in getting up a distinct hobby, you should do it. You can in no way be certain what you will uncover out about by yourself and your personal abilities and abilities till you try out some thing new. You could even find some thing much better that you want to go after skillfully.
Did you know that some hobbies can be environmentally helpful, plus save you some significant funds? Numerous people fret about shelling out funds on a passion because they feel the money could be far better expended on basic requirements. If you choose gardening as your passion, you can decrease squander by composting and employing it as a fertilizer to grow healthier veggies. Expanding your very own vegetable can help you help save funds on grocery costs.
One issue that many men and women do not consider when thinking of hobbies is workout. Excess weight education, biking and walking are all superb hobbies that enable you to enjoy the outdoor even though getting in condition. An additional exercise alternative that is considered a passion is swimming. Swimming enables you to continue to be great while enjoying the outside.
Be positive to remain nicely hydrated while you appreciate your interest. Whether Nag Champa Incense are actively playing a recreation of soccer or toiling away on a carpentry project, when you are properly hydrated, your mind will work as envisioned. You are going to make greater choices and continue to be safer even though you perform or perform.
Parents can support produce their kid's intellect and learning abilities by acquiring them fascinated in hobbies at a younger age. Children love to understand about issues they are fascinated so tie academic factors to the interest or interests that your little one by natural means has. This will have wonderful positive aspects for your child for a life span.
Begin listening to and studying about different types of songs for your next passion. There are several on the web sites that make it cheap, if not totally free to hear to all types of issues. When you know the artist, commence understanding about their lifestyle and how they got to be exactly where they are today.
Now that you have had a chance to study this article, you have a lot of ideas and information. Think about which Lemongrass Essential Oil look most exciting to you, and then get out and do them. Time is your most essential possession, so make confident that you pick a passion that you can really enjoy.
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When did you know you were bi?
I hope you don’t mind that I told more of a story then a brief when. I’ve never been asked this question. So I’m letting a lot out. Like 600 words, almost an assignment.
I believe I was between 12-13. I had starting spending quite a bit of time on the internet and tumblr. I found out about the LGBT+ community and found out about bisexuality. At first it confused me why there was a specific term for liking both buys and girls, then I looked back in my life and realized that the reason why I was so confused was because I was bi. I did in fact like women as much as I liked men.
I didn’t think much of until I turned… what 14/15? I was still so young, I still didn’t have my first crush at that point. I became more aware how much of a ‘problem’ and ‘different’ it was and how much bigger it was than I thought. So I kept it more under wraps. Until a friend came out as gay. I don’t think I really came out, just mentioned in a conversation. It’s just such a normal part of me, it’s hard to think of it as anything special… until the thought of coming out to my family.
My mum likes to knit and crochet, she says stuff about knitting clothes for my children. I don’t know if I want children and if I end up with a woman if she would want a child. Although same-sex marriage wasn’t legal in Australia so I had to shove that thought away.
At some point I was tagged in something on facebook and wrote something like:
What are you scared of?My parents finding out who I am
I was young and stupid to accidentally let that slip. My nannie read it and it was my birthday when I saw her next. She whispered “I got this before I knew you were gay.” It meant so much to me, but I did correct here. As I was talking to her my papa(grandfather) was whispering to my dad. I urged them to stop. Later that night my dad told me: “You’re not gay, it’s just a trend.” Because at that point the discussion of America legalizing same-sex marriage was happening and a lot of people were coming out.
I think some of my friends have forgotten that I am bi because of some conversations about bi people. Like ‘Do they experiment?’ ‘What’s it like to be bi?’, they kept saying that right in front of me. This was only a few weeks ago… This was a kick to the head for me and I need to be more open about it.
I’m only 17. I’m young. I haven’t come out to my family. I only come out to people if it’s mentioned. I do not intend on coming out to my family until necessary despite the fact that it would help my mentality greatly. I have only had a crush on 2 people, both guys. I’m not letting that fact take away my bisexuality. They just have the personality I love.
But I want to wait till the end of the year to think about getting into a relationship. I’m graduating. I get to meet more people. Discover myself. At the same time, I’m scared as fuck.
As much as I go ‘Oh yeah I’m Bi, whateves. I’m hella shit.’ I’m too scared to properly come out to my family.
Lastly, I realized I didn’t add the fact I’m Demisexual to my weird bio. Whoops. Yeah… I realized I was demi when people were talking about sex, who’s hot and whether or not that they would fuck them. I would and still sit their like ‘Uhh what about their personality. That’s the best part.’ ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
I am very comfortable with discussing my sexuality and what I’ve gone through with it- which isn’t much.So if you have any other questions, feel free to ask.- - - - - - - - - -Honesty hour: Ask me anything and ill be 100% honest, all questions answered.I’m going to do this for the day.
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Your Tumblr username: @ikiiceland
Tumblr username of your giftee: @space-is-out-there
Special mesaage to your giftee (optional): Happy holidays, and hope you enjoy the fluff!
Tweek didn’t sleep well. He never had. Long after Dad started snoring and Mom turned off all the lights and locked the doors, Tweek was still up. His eyes zeroed in on his digital clock as it clicked from minute to minute. His ears strained for the singsong voices of the underpants gnomes. At some point, he tumbled into sleep, but all too soon his alarm was blaring and it was time for school.
Tonight was worse than usual. His mind was electric, crackling with awake-ness. Even his eyes refused to pretend sleepiness, wide open. Tweek stared at the clock. 1:22 A.M. If it were one of the bad nights, where breathing came too quickly or his stomach climbed into his throat, he could call Craig, but he hated to wake up his boyfriend over just a sleepless night.
“You can call me anytime,” Craig had promised him over and over, but Tweek had his own litmus test for when it was okay.
So after a few minutes of staring at the phone in his hands, Tweek set it back down on his nightstand, slipped out of bed, and padded downstairs. He could have stomped and bumped into everything from his room to the television and his parents still wouldn’t have gotten up. It probably wouldn’t even wake them up.
Wrapping himself in a crocheted blanket Craig’s mom made for him, Tweek settled into the middle of the couch with the clicker. Maybe he could catch a rerun of Red Racer or something. He knew some channels played anime late at night, and he always felt himself nodding off when Craig started explaining the premise of the show to him.
He finally came across Sailor Moon and figured that was close enough. At the sight of the choppy, ancient animation style of what was clearly a filler episode, Tweek sighed, figuring this ought to do the trick.
For a filler episode, though, it was awfully interesting.
There was this whole dramatic story about a magical crystal and an evil queen and brainwashed people who turned into blobby, rotten monsters that reminded Tweek of Cartman. It was pretty awesome when they were defeated.
“In the name of the moon,” he repeated, his eyelids growing heavy even as he longed to stay up for one more episode. Reminding himself that he had school in the morning, he set up the television to record the upcoming episodes, turned everything off, and dragged himself back to bed.
The next morning, Tweek woke up with the Sailor Moon theme song stuck in his head.
He didn’t say anything about watching it at school. Cool or not, it was a show about girls, which meant Cartman would pick on him. Tweek liked flying under the radar in the hallways and engaging with that group of friends as little as possible. It was a typical school day. Tweek waited afterschool for Craig to get out of detention, and then they walked home together.
“How’d you sleep last night?” Craig’s palm was warm against his own.
“Uhm, okay.” After two o’clock, that is. Craig gave him a sideways look.
“You yawned a lot today in class. You know you can always call me.” He squeezed Tweek’s hand, his thumb tracing over the band-aid wrapped around the heel where Tweek had given himself a papercut.
“I know, but I wasn’t bad or anything. I just couldn’t sleep.”
“Even if it’s just you can sleep. You can call me.”
They went over to Tweek’s house, since his parents were at the coffee shop, and spread all of their homework over the dining room table. Fourth grade homework mostly consisted of reading short books and completing worksheets on their iPads, but it looked more important when there was stuff all over the table. Tweek read the passage from their science book aloud while Craig listened with his eyes closed, and then Craig rattled off all the answers to the worksheet without having to look. Tweek double-checked all of their answers anyway, and everything was right.
“You’re really good at remembering all these things,” he said.
Craig tugged his ear flaps a little farther down over his ears. “That’s ‘cause you read ‘em so good.” Tweek thought about correcting his grammar, but it seemed mean to pick on somebody who was paying him a compliment. Especially his boyfriend, who didn’t always do so well with communicating.
“Thanks,” he said instead. Craig smiled with closed lips, still hiding the new braces that glinted on his teeth.
Working together meant their homework was done in half the time, even with checking their answers, so Tweek asked if Craig wanted a snack and to watch cartoons, and he did. While Craig went to turn on the television, Tweek scanned his shelves for chips or crackers. They had tortilla chips but no salsa, which defeated the whole purpose of tortilla chips, and crackers but no peanut butter, which was fine but not ideal.
When Tweek carted the crackers and two juice boxes back to the living room, he found Craig sitting on the couch with half of the blanket draped over his shoulders, the other half laid out for Tweek. It wasn’t until Tweek had settled into his seat—without spilling any of their snacks—that he realized Craig had pulled up his recordings.
“Sailor Moon?” Craig asked. Tweek usually found solace in Craig’s reliable monotone, but right now he wished he could read his boyfriend better.
“It was on last night but I fell asleep.” It was important to point out that Tweek was justified in not calling Craig in the middle of the night.
“But you recorded them,” Craig pointed out.
“I wanted to see what happened,” Tweek mumbled. Craig blinked at him, that slow, deliberate blink that drove Tweek nuts because he never knew what it meant.
“Okay.”
Tweek squawked in protest, but Craig had already pressed play and tossed the clicker onto the cushion beside himself. Craig cupped his juice box in one hand and held his other arm out expectantly. After a few seconds, when Craig looked over, Tweek made sure he saw that Tweek was scrunching his nose up at him in disapproval. Craig blinked acknowledgement that Tweek was annoyed, and, satisfied, Tweek snuggled into his side. Craig’s arm wrapped around his shoulders, immediately warming what he hadn’t known was cold.
They watched the two episodes Tweek had recorded the same way they watched everything: Tweek talked to the television as if the characters could hear him and kept a running commentary on the action, and Craig didn’t say anything but laughed at Tweek’s jokes and sometimes ran his hand down Tweek’s side to tickle under his ribs.
“What do you think?” Tweek asked once the last recording ran out.
“What do you think?” Unreadable!
“I liked it.” Tweek’s voice tiptoed over his honesty. As insurance, he added, “But it’s kind of old, you know?” The old animation didn’t really bother him, but it sounded like a valid criticism.
“It’s not that bad for the nineties,” Craig said. “Red Racer is from the seventies, and its animation is pretty crappy, but it’s got good characters and a good story.” Debatable. “Sailor Moon’s not bad.”
Tweek’s whole chest swelled up with affection at Craig’s glowing praise. Then Craig suggested they start it from the beginning. They looked it up on their streaming accounts to see who had it, logged in, and started up on episode one. By the time Tweek’s parents got home and started making dinner, they were comparing favorite scouts.
“I know we haven’t gotten up to her episode yet chronologically, but I think Sailor Jupiter is my favorite,” Tweek said.
“I think I’m going to wait until they’ve all had their introduction episode before I commit,” Craig said. Typical. “It’s cool that they’re all planets, though. And how their powers kind of match up with—”
Leave it to Craig to turn Sailor Moon into science class. Not that Tweek really minded. He breathed in deeply, his head resting in the crook of Craig’s shoulder while the theme song of Sailor Moon twinkled in the background and his boyfriend babbled on about planets and moons. Every stitch of nervousness unwound itself from Tweek’s fingers and toes.
That is, until Dad stuck his head in the living room and announced, “Hey, you two, you can cuddle after dinner. Ha ha!”
The worst! When Dad disappeared back into the kitchen, Craig shrugged. “He’s not wrong,” he said, squeezing Tweek’s hand.
He wasn’t but that was beside the point.
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The Last (for now) Days of Being a Student
29 Oct 2018
Honestly though, my last semester in uni wasn't very studious. I had one course called Sixteenth Century English Literature in which the professor basically mocked all forms of religion and pointed out all the sexy details in Shakespeare's sonnets. For the final exam, which was three essays long, I wrote one very indignant essay about why I needed more women in literature and how all of the supposedly feminist writers in the sixteenth century were full of *$#% (but in a literary chic way). I got an A.
To top off the not-student like behavior, I TA-ed for my advisor's Freshmen English class. I survived a semester before and couldn't be prouder of myself for the job I was doing. It was mostly writing emails to students, making photocopies now and then, and sending reminders to the professor. The most excruciating part probably was correcting their essays' grammar and spelling. My friend said "Why bother? They probably won't read them," to which I retorted "CUZ I LIKE BEING RIGHT!" On the anonymous end-of-the-term survey, I've received many confessions of love to which I awww-ed and laughed. But most of them genuinely thanked me for the effort I put into emailing them, asking them questions, and drumroll correcting their grammar.
But why bother reading about my boring school life when you can read about what I have been doing not in school! Here is what went down in my life from April - June 2018.
The Diary of Anne Frank
The best way to cure jet lag is to go straight into tech week the following week. I have experienced many ailments from traveling and found jet lag from Europe to Asia is quite the worst. Fortunately, I signed myself up to run the lights for the Butterfly Effect Theatre's production of The Diary of Anne Frank. This was our second run but this play just doesn't get old. Fun fact about this play: this show's original Broadway cast had young Natalie Portman playing Anne. The Diary has been adapted into many plays but this version doesn't deify Anne into a hero figure but truthfully illustrates the inner drama of a teenage girl and the struggles of seven people living in a cramped up space. Honest to God, I cry almost every curtain call.
During the production, I read many young people don't believe that the Holocaust happened—this information killed me a little. It's absurd that someone wouldn't believe in a historical event with monuments and memorial sites all over the world with many primary sources and survivors who are still alive to tell their stories. Don't even get me started on how good some great works of fiction are based on WWII, like The Reader, Everything is Illuminated, and The Fiddler on the Roof… Also, there was a group of high school students in Taiwan that dressed up as Nazi soldiers and marched around the school for an event. Ignorance is not bliss, naïve is not cute—history is there for us to reflect and learn. I somehow took these news very personally, maybe because I grew up listening to the same Bible stories as the Jews, maybe because I cannot stand uneducated people, probably a combination of both.
A representative from Israeli cultural office was invited to open the show (we had free falafels, hummus, and pita during the last run of the show but not this time, insert whimpering). The weekend swooshed by. I was just thankful I could be a part of a show that spoke a story that some started to neglect.
That was the last time I worked with this theatre company because 1. they did have one last show August but I was helping another show the exact same time 2. rent issues with the theatre space 3. the artistic director got a new job in Vienna. He moved early September and he basically sold everything from costumes to lighting equipments. It was a hectic process to watch a theatre company that I truly felt at home turn into a goodbye yard sale. I learned a lot about running low budget shows, programming with too-old consoles, but most of all I made connections with people I know I will meet again in this tiny theatre world.
Fashion Revolution Taipei
April was a month where I went crazy juggling all about. I collaborated with Totes & Tees, a small social enterprise that focuses on ethical and zero-waste fashion. I have been following this small company for a while through a mutual friend and was really interested in what they did. The owner was also going to be one of the hosts for Fashion Revolution 2018 in Taipei. The idea was to have a runway showcasing up-cycled items handmade by many different designers. I was to crochet a beanie from a no-longer-used piece of fabric. Sadly, I couldn't participate on the actual day because I went on a family trip to…
Rome & Paris
To say this was a family trip would be a misleading statement. My parents were there to lead the seminars they have been running for 10+ years. As I mentioned in Update 3.0, their heart is for the Chinese speaking people all over the world. The Asians basically took over a whole hotel on the outskirts of Rome to host Fathers' School and Mothers' School simultaneously. This meant, there needed to be a baby sitting club. Slowly raise your hands if you're a pastor kid you basically did everything that was assumed of you! (Did I volunteer? Did I chose to be their child? We'll never know) No, I'm not being bitter, I just simply love poking fun at my stereotype. Besides, I was asked nicely to participate in taking care of the children—a member from the Taiwan side of the team had activities prepared for them, I just had to support. I said "WHY NOT? I JUST DID THIS A MONTH AGO!"
But, this crowd was tough. It wasn't like calming down super rowdy Hungarian-Romani children nor was it like being dragged around by crazy bubbly Filipino kids. These were well-educated, cellphone-hogging Chinese-looking kids who preferred classily sitting on chairs, not the floor, chattering away in Italian. Of course, they were all embedded in their Chinese-ness from their parents, so they still understood most of what we were trying to do. However, whenever the head teacher asked them to do something extremely "Asian", my TCK heart ached, feeling all the "well, they are NOT going to relate to that at all…."
Because the seminar lasted three out of the five days we were at Rome, we only had enough time to look around the Vatican and trot around to sneak peek here and there. One of the free days was taken over by a tour set up by the local church. They took us around historical sites that were related to the early underground churches and Apostle Paul. We visited way too many cathedrals that all of them started to look the same. The most memorable place was the underground tunnels where the early Christians escaped to and hid from the Romans. Going to a Christian school, we would always play Underground Church when we had class sleepovers—even though it was just a game, the danger felt extremely real. But as I stood in the tunnel, I could actually really imagine how real their fear must have been. I was in awe of the way these early Christians kept their faith even in the dark, cold underground.
After eating one too many cones of gelato and faking one too many Italian conversations in Spanish, we arrived in Paris. They were only going to host Fathers' School so umma and I had plenty of free time. However, being the only linguistically competent person in the group (but honestly, my French is basically nonexistent), I had to take everyone around the city. I was annoyed at having no time to myself and just my parents but thankfully, appa had three days free and the crowd let us be for two of those days.
Paris' reputation really proceeds itself, it's a bit dirty, there are more rude strangers than nice people, and they really hate you if you ask "parlez-vous anglais?". Despite all the negative stereotypes, I took my little tour group all around the places I've researched in advance. I was also allowed to go off on my own when I wore them all out by 5 p.m. I'm proud to say I've actually hit all the touristy places I wanted to visit with and without the group. We even visited Versailles kudos to the fact umma is so internet-savvy that she actually researched. She was very intent on visiting a few places like Château de Versailles, the top of the Eiffel, and the Louvre—her excuse always being "I'm never coming here ever again!"
After two-ish weeks of venturing around Western Europe, we emptied out the 99 cents cheese blocks at the local Carrefour market, squished it into our luggage, and sat on a long plane ride. Umma commented that I seem to be the "vacation type", she couldn't understand how I could still be so chipper being gone from home so long. Although her observations were accurate, I wouldn't have wanted to stay longer unless I started taking French classes or something—the language barrier was devastating.
Sharon McGill Memorial Service
My dorm mother passed away from cancer last fall. Her favorite drink at Starbucks, toffee nut latte, just came round again. I received the news via McGill dormie Facebook group while I scrolled through my phone during class, bad idea. My commute back home that day seemed five times longer than usual. Halfway through my walk home from the bus stop, I ran into umma. She asked if I wanted to go to Costco with them, then asked why I don't look so well. I honestly had no clue how to break the news. Appa's car rolled around to pick us up for Costco, I said Sharon died, we cried a little and had a moment of silence. I always thought about how umma and Sharon, appa and Terry are the same age. My mums and dads. They are some of the most important people of my life and one of them was gone.
I'd like to think I had enough time to process through this situation. Then I'd realize that not all valleys in life are empty holes. You don't just get over it. You live with their memories. Some days will pain you more than others but they're there to remind you that you are that much alive. You can still feel. As cheesy as I'm starting to sound, this is something I have been needing to remind myself lately.
After what seemed like too long, the day of Sharon's memorial service came. I hopped on the familiar bus from Taipei to Taichung. Visiting high school wasn't a big deal but I've never thought I'd visit because my dorm mum passed away. The auditorium was filled. Dorm kids had priority seats. Terry gave a bear hug to everyone who made it. The whole thing began with Terry mumbling to the mic "Alright, let's get this over with," to which I definitely chuckled. I didn't even bother holding back my laughter or tears or both as they came and went throughout the service. At the end, I could just feel this was a closure that everyone who knew Sharon deserved. I cannot describe what kid of feeling that was. The feeling of home? Feeling of clear certainty. Maybe everyone's love for Sharon somehow became a tangible atmosphere. I must say it almost felt like a wedding.
During the reception, there was a photo time where Terry was huddled around 30-something out of 120-something of his dorm children. Later on he said that was the highlight of his day. He also said no one was allowed to leave the dorms before midnight, to which most of us complied to. Most of the dorm kids that showed up all graduated around '02 or '03 so I was just a little bit very intimidated, mostly because I forgot the fact that we were all bound by the similar experiences of studying in Morrison while living in a dorm with the same dorm parents. It was a good evening to be a McGill Dormie.
Bye Hair Day
I have been notorious for the way I treat my hair. If you know the song "Grace Kelly" by Mika, well, in the chorus, he is singing about my hair circa 2013-2015. Then I stopped. I hated the way my hair felt dry and crinkly, I wanted my normal long hair back. I also remembered I've always wanted to donate my hair to a cancer foundation. It was just something I wanted to cross off my bucket list. So I've been growing my hair out ever since—it took way longer than I thought. Throughout my hair growth, two significant people in my life died from cancer. It felt like I had way more reason to donate now.
June 16th was the date. My friend also wanted to join in. We found Little Princess Trust, an organization that gives out free wigs to young girls who have lost their hair due to illnesses. Their guidelines said they love receiving longer hair because they're more popular. After some measuring I decided to get a buzz cut so that I could maximize the length of hair I could donate. Besides, I've been wanting to have crazy buzzed hair after a couple of years of freakishly long hair. Fickle me, I know.
My hair stylist washed my hair way thoroughly, dried it for what seemed like an hour, tied it up into sections, and snip, it was in a plastic bag. My buzz cut buddy and I couldn't stop rubbing our heads the following few days.
But my oh my, I did not know that a head of hair was keeping me warm all this time. I was constantly dealing with extremely cold overhead AC on buses and I eventually caught a really bad cough for three plus weeks. I now never leave my house without a hat of some sort.
My hair has become so short that I have been tracking my days with hair length. My best friend, Fanny keeps saying it's like watching a little infant grow every week. I told her to stop being so overly dramatic.
oh dear, this is getting real long
Instead of asking how someone's day was, Sharon would ask us three things: 1. what was the low point of your day? 2. high point? 3. what have you learned today? or what do you think Jesus is teaching you today?
So to boil down my April to June into a few pointers, it sucked that I got really sick for almost a month, but I loved getting to travel and do a lot lot lot of things. I'm learning that well-done goodbyes are possible. Currently, I'm learning to do just that—slowly closing up gaps responsibly, honestly, and kindly. God is also teaching me that I'm allowed to chose and do what I love (but more on that next update).
Thank you for catching up on my life, I promise the next post will be just as long.
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