#months we had her but since she was supposed to be a service dog and she didn't have the capacity to learn enough to help me we had to-

[morganbritton132]

It be so funny if they took Joan to soccer game and put her either in the team colour or a cheerleading outfit.

Great minds think alike because I was just thinking that we having checked in with Joan in a while so this problem is perfect.

Every Saturday for over a month now, Joan has watched the humans and Ozzy leave the house in the morning and come back hours later loud, smelly, and energized. She does not have a problem with this per se but if she had eyebrows, she’d raise one of them. She would raise the other when they’re all too tired to play with her for too long after they come back.

So, Joan makes a decision.

When the next Saturday rolls around and Steve is digging around in the drier for his jersey, she makes her case known. She whines. She meows. She gets in the way of every step. She commits a drive-by biting. She even gets in the storage closet in the hallway and knocks over the dreaded cat stroller so it falls into the hallway.

She makes it very clear. She wants to go.

Eddie coos at her, “Awe, baby, she feels left out. Let’s take her.”

“Ed, it’s hot outside,” Steve replies, gesturing to Joan. She rubs her head against his leg. “She’s gray.”

“Steve, don’t be racist.”

“I’m not being – how is that –“ Steve sputters and then rambles on about tiny bodies, and fur, and overheating in the sun, but Joan already knows she got her way. Steve can’t say no to Eddie and he can’t say no to her either. Plus, she always gets her way.

Her way is the right way.

Steve sighs and gives in, “But if she gets too hot, you have to take her home.”

As a reward for Steve and Eddie’s good decision-making, Joan helps them get ready to leave. She wiggles her way into the cabinet with the first-aid kit and pulls out bandaids. She leaves them inside Steve’s cleats. He says thank you when he finds them.

Ozzy huffs from where he’s laying in his dog bed.

Joan purrs when Steve pets her head.

Since Eddie disappeared down into his studio the moment Steve agreed to let her come, Joan continues ‘helping Steve.’ Mainly, she cleans up (eats) all the scraps of lunchmeat he drops when making sandwiches for him, Eddie, Robin, and Nancy.

Eddie immerges from the studio ten minutes before they’re supposed to leave with a hastily sewed shirt made for a cat. It’s made out of the soft material of the cheer squad t-shirts he made for the other team members’ partners. He presents it first to Steve and then holds it out to Joan like, “Ta-dah.”

Joan sniffs the fabric – it smells like Eddie – and Steve is just like, “Why did you make that?”

“Because Joan’s got to represent, Stevie. We’re a jock family now and jocks wear their team colors,” Eddie insists, grin getting bigger when Steve rolls his eyes at him. “Everybody else is wearing team colors. Even Ozzy. See.”

He gestures to the pin attached to his yellow service dog vest that says ‘#1 Steve Harrington Defender.’ It’s right next to a patch that says ‘If You Pet Me, You Are A Part Of The Problem’ which is… “That’s new.”

“Yeah, I’m solving all the world’s problems today, baby,” He grins. “Isn’t that right, Joan?”

She hisses at the shirt.

#Its always fun to write from Joan’s perspective #also I just love the idea of Ozzy being annoyed by Steve thinking her for helping when she’s not actually helping. He helps. All the time. #Joan’s just like: it’s fine if you go out but you better have enough energy to play with me when you come back #eddie munson tiktok saga #steve harrington #eddie munson #Joan the disservice cat #Ozzy the service dog

[the-guilty-writer]

Headcanons for Hotchner!daughter Service Dog

No one asked for it but here we are.

Inspired by the headcanons done by @ssa-thotchnerr on hotchner!reader emotional support dog

As someone who is a service dog handler, this topic is near and dear to my heart, especially service dogs who do psychiatric work. It's also important to me to address the differences between an ESA (emotional support animal) and PSD (psychiatric service dog) as they are two seprate things.

If you have questions about ESAs or Service Dogs send me an ask or a message! It's something I love to talk about and educate on!

Here we go:

CW: Foyet, Haley's death, counseling, medication, PTSD, PTSD symptoms, meanings to names

The whole thing with Foyet was traumatic. Being pulled away from your dad, being in witness protection, being told your dad was dead only to find out that he wasn't, your mom being killed- it was all too much.

Hotch was very proactive about getting you and Jack into counseling. Jack recovered from the events far faster and easier than you did.

After evaluation from a psychologist, they concluded you had severe PTSD.

You were talking to a therapist multiple times a week, taking medication, being open with your dad, even peer support groups, but after a year you still struggled immensely.

Panic attacks, nightmares, hypervigilance, depressive episodes, and avoidance still ruled your life.

Your medical team brought forward the idea of a service dog as an addition to the rest of your treatment.

You and your dad looked into it and decided it would be a good idea.

Until you looked at the price of training or getting a program dog and it was going to be upwards of $15,000 (really closer to $25,000) or at least two years on a non-profit waitlist. Some options were both.

Thank god for the "anonymous donation" from Uncle Dave.

You and your dad met with the program. They had you meet a few different dogs that were ready for task training, but ultimately you were matched with a solid black female german shepherd.

"She's from our outer space themed litter. Her name is Comet, after Halley's Comet."

That had you and your dad in tears.

It would still be months before she would complete her task training, but you got to see her when you went to do handler training.

She finally finished her training with the program and got to come home to complete it with you!

At first, having Comet almost made things worse.

People would point and stare, little kids would scream, rude people saying things like "you don't look disabled", "I thought only veterans could have PTSD", access issues, even some of your friends who didn't want to bring you along on activities anymore since you'd have Comet with you.

But it forced you to be a bit brave and learn to stand up for yourself and her.

And her tasks made your life so much better and gave you so much more independence.

Comet would "search" the apartment for strangers before you entered, so you could come home alone without Hotch or Jessica having to be there.

If you were home alone, she would bark when someone came into the apartment and go check to see who it was. If it was someone she knew, she would stop barking and come back to you, but if it was a stranger she would continue barking so you could call your dad and ask who was supposed to be coming to the apartment.

When you had nightmares, she would wake you up before they got really bad. This improved the sleep quality of everyone in your family.

Comet would alert you before you had a panic attack so she could perform deep pressure therapy and you could use your coping skills to try to make it less intense.

If your panic attack did get intense, she would do a "take down" to put as much pressure on your body as possible and gently lick you until you calmed down.

In the after-fatuige of an attack she would take you to a quiet place to recover and continue to provide pressure therapy.

If it happened when your dad was home she would get him to help you through it.

She would annoy you at certain times of the day to remind you to take your medications, sometimes even fetching the bottles for you.

When you would cry alone she would just starting bringing you anything she could find - water bottles, papers, pillows, dirty laundry (usually bras because it made you laugh) - so you didn't have to be alone with your feelings.

She would stand behind you and alert to people approaching so you didn't get startled.

Sometimes would provide "checks" around corners if you were having a really bad day with hypervigilance.

Having Comet opened up an entire new world for you, making you feel safe without having to have your dad or your aunt with you.

She wasn't a replacement for your therapy or medication, and the public could still be extremely rude. Sometimes you did leave her at home if you were going somewhere that it would be hard to accommodate her and you had your dad to help you incase anything happened.

But she gave you independence that you didn't have before and made your life so much better.

#criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x daughter!reader #aaron hotchner x child!reader #hotch x daughter!reader #hotch x child!reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x y/n #criminal minds x platonic!reader #criminal minds x teen!reader #criminal minds x daughter!reader #criminal minds x child!reader

[snakxreader]

With the silly spooky Halloween day coming up in like- 2 days- can we get a silly little story where Triffany, Wambus, and the Reader watch a horror movie? Maybe 2 movies even? And then later on, they cuddle in the middle of the night on the couch because at least one of them had a nightmare?

A/N: I HAD TO STRUGGLE TO KEEP MY EYES AWAKE BUT. HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!! I GOT IT DONE!! Thank you everyone for being so so patient with me despite everything, I honestly don’t deserve it ^^’. As a treat, I did something a little extra as a joke.

Ooc Spoilers for the fic:

I’d say I’m sorry…but I’m really not lmaooo

Wambus x Triffany x Reader (Halloween Movie Night)

“I dunno why I let y’all talk me into this…”

“Come on, Wamby! It’ll be fun! I’ve heard good things about this movie! It’s supposed to be really good!”

Wambus still scowls, drumming nervously on the couch with his fingers, while Triffany tried to soothe him. You, meanwhile, was trying to find the movie on your streaming services, finally stumbling upon it on Peacock.

“Finally…” You groan, before turning to face your partners with an ecstatic expression. “Alright, darling, honey, welcome to the movie adaptation of one of the best horror franchises in the known world…..Five Nights at Freddy’s!”

You’re not a stranger to the franchise. You came across it randomly one day and found the idea so interesting that you binged playthroughs of all of the games. Your partners, while not really that understanding of it, have seen your dedication of it and respect it. When the movie was first announced, it was actually Triffany who suggested you all watch together.

Wambus was….less thrilled about the idea.

He wasn’t a big horror movie fan. Or a horror fan period. Never did good with the subject. You had to plead with him to watch the movie with nhim. And by plead, you just gave him puppy dog eyes until he caved in. Worth it though, as now you get to cuddle nest to the cutest Grumpuses in the world and watch a movie you’ve been exicted for ages.

“I still don’t see the point in watchin’ this…” Wambus grumbled, as you plopped next to him. “Why don’t we do somethin’ like..give out candy to kids on Halloween? Why we gotta watch blood and gore all the dang time.”

You patted his shoulder reassuringly. “Awww….it’s ok, you can hold our hands if you get scared.”

Unfortunately for Wambus, months of knowing him have made any sort of glare at you ineffective to getting you to back off. Instead, you just gave his cheek a nuzzle, feeling his fur bristle and hearing the little deep grumbling as he blushes.

“I don’t think it's gonna be that bad, actually.” Triffany interjects. “Last I’ve heard, it’s more a thriller than anythin’.” She says, throwing a blanket around all of you. Wambus still huffs but looks slightly more relieved. He leans on her shoulder as you press the play button, resting your head on Wambus’s arm, before he tucks you under it.

True to Triffany’s word, the movie is more thriller than actual slasher or psychological horror. Of course, the horror that was there, was in your opinion, perfectly executed, and well done. The retro, early 90s vibe it was trying to give added to the aspect and it made the experience all that more memorable.

Triffany was probably the most invested out of all of you, having been invested in the game’s timeline since you told her about it. She spent the movie trying to link the events there to what she had heard from you or seen about. The things that didn’t add up with the orginal were major, but she appericated the side plot between the two main characters, her cooing at the events.

Wambus was incredibly jittery and silent, almost jumping out of his body at the slightest fright. He yelped at every jumpscare, holding onto you and his wife’s hands tightly, so a sense of comfort. You both are more than willing to hold him right the whole movie, helping the brusque man through some of the harsher scenes. And somewhere along the way, he began to ease up a little.

When all was said and done, you three had all decently enjoyed yourselves, though one of you only enjoyed the close time with his partners. Regardless, drowsiness eventually overtook and you headed to bed, snuggled right in-between Wambus and Triffany.

You woke up one a.m. to an almost empty bed, devoid of one of the partners you were snuggled against. Groaning, you pulled yourself away from whoever was spooning you, albeit unwillingly, and headed out of the bedroom. In the distance, you could hear the living room television go off, alerting you to a presence in the house. Quietly and slowly, you step down the stairs towards the sound of the television, to find a familiar blue lug in front of it. He looked exhausted, weary eye bags under his face as he muttered to himself. You quietly sat next to him, causing him to jolt in shock before seeing your face.

“Hi Wamby…” You murmured, slipping his hand into yours.

“I’m sorry I woke ya.”

“Don’t worry about it.” You reassure him. “You ok?”

Wambus fell silent. You didn’t make him talk. Wambus still had struggles opening up about his emotions, even to you and Triffany. “….You’ll laugh.” He finally laments.

“Never.” Your voice is firm and steady. You’d never laugh at him over something that was clearly bothering him.

He sighed. “I had. A nightmare about that stupid movie. Getting chased by one of those dumb animatronics.”

“Oh hon.” You gently snort, and backtrack when you see his hurt face. “Not like that. It’s just, your nightmares are really common with this franchise.”

Wambus blinked. “…Really?” He rasped. You nodded. “I’ve…actually had a few myself.”

“You? You didn’t even flinch at the deaths and gore!”

“Once, I had a dream where I was chased by Foxy all the way down our block.” You said, reliving the event and rubbing Wambus’s back. “I was, like, pissing myself scared. Looking back, it’s kind of funny.”

The farmer seemed to relax a bit, groaning deeply. You didn’t press, simply basking in the silence of the TV. The creaking of the stairs and floorboard break it.

“What’re ya two doing up so late….?” Triffany yawns, sliding right next to you and dealing her arms around Wambus.

“Bad dream.”

“Ock-“ Triffany cuddles closer to Wambus. “I’m sorry dear, you want to talk about it?”

Wambus yawned. “….I was being chased and cornered by that stupid bear.”

“Sorry, hun. Do you want us to stay with you tonight on the couch?”

Wambus hesitated. “…That. Would be nice, yes.”

The blanket from earlier is once more draped across you three, everyone shifting into comfortable positions while the television blared. You three watched the show on there, some late night gane show.

“….Thank you.” You heard Wambus mumble, drowsy in his tone. “I love you two so much.”

“Always sweetheart. We love ya too.” Triffany says, as you nod in agreement.

After a minute, you can hear the soft snores of Wambus as Triffany snorts lovingly. “Must've been exhausted, big goof.” She turns to you. “You should rest up too, hun.”

“Triffs, I’m fi-”

“Shhhh.” She stroked your fur, and immediately you melted into her. Damn your weak spots. “Go back to bed hun….just ease your mind….”

You don’t even remember your eyes closing before you pass out.

#bugsnax #bugsnax x reader #wambus troubleham #triffany lottablog #wambus troubleham x reader #triffany lottablog x reader #triffany x wambus #triffany x wambus x reader #I wish I could’ve written triffy more but I’m ridiculously unconfident about writing her well #I hope at least I got the accent ^^’ #happy halloween #!!! <3

[modern-day-bard]

Worth The Feeling

Note: I’m still having issues posting this as quick as I would like, I’m sorry! To anyone who has read the first two chapters or left a note, thank you so much! 🤍

Content Warning: 18+

This story includes explicit smut, intimidation, and an age gap relationship (MC is 26, Pedro is in his 40s). Minors, do not interact.

Chapter 3:

Knowing that Barb was not kidding about the coffee, I make sure to stop at a cafe on my way to set. I also made sure to toss a spare t-shirt in my trunk this time, just in case. Luckily today's call time was a very late 6:00am, so I had an extra hour and a half of sleep under my belt. Hopefully that will make the possibility of mistakes lessened today.

For most of the day, things go off without a hitch. We're filming a couple of reshoots from yesterday's scenes, as well a couple of more indoor shots of another part of the CIA set. Nothing too crazy. By noon, I'm depositing Lloyd's dog, Pebbles, back in his trailer and heading into the soundstage again. I find my place next to Lana by the craft service's table right before they start the next take.

"Okay..." Lana mumbles out of the corner of her mouth. "I may have been wrong."

I glance sideways over at Lloyd and the producers seated behind the camera. I've been chewed out once for talking during a take, and once was enough.

"Wrong about what?" I keep my voice at the same level.

"Javi, how he wouldn't remember your little encounter yesterday."

My back stiffens.

"Why do you say that?"

Lana pauses, either to think over her words carefully – a rarity for her – or because she wants to make sure we're not overheard or scolded.

"Well, every time Lloyd calls cut, he looks over at you."

I feel heat rise to my cheeks immediately.

"We're standing in front of crafty, Lana. He's probably just hungry."

"Depends on what he's hungry for, I suppose." I can practically hear her suggestive eyebrow wiggle. I lightly slap her on the arm, trying not to draw any attention to ourselves.

Though a part of me can't deny the bubble of excitement I feel at her words, another part of me knows that Lana is my best friend, and she is kind. Kind enough to give me some hope, and maybe a boost of confidence. My last relationship didn't end well, and I met Lana only a few months afterwards when I was still a mess. She's pushed me to go on a few dates since then, but the Los Angeles dating scene is beyond bleak. Plus, it's hard to emulate Lana's optimism when her and Mia have been happily together long before I even arrived in L.A.

"Cut!" Lloyd calls out, "Martin, I'm going to need you at least five paces to the right before Javi delivers his line."

"Aaand cue look..." Lana snickers next to me.

I look up, and sure enough, I make eye contact with Javi as soon as I do. He doesn't look away instantly like I assume he will, and neither do I, like I thought I would. We hold each other's gaze for a moment longer, but his expression gives nothing away. For all I know, he's simply dissociating. But then, I catch the corner of his mouth tip slightly upward, and he peels his eyes away. I mean, he could have been smirking at Lloyd's directions, but I'm not sure.

I hear interference over my walkie.

"Repeat." I say into the mic.

"Hey Ava, it's Dwayne. Talent requested escort to and from their trailer."

"Copy. Who do you want me to escort?"

"Javi, please. You should break for lunch soon, be sure to bring him to his trailer and confirm that his lunch was delivered."

Javi requested an escort?

"Copy. Thanks, Dwayne." I secure the walkie back on my belt.

Lana is gaping at me.

"He requested you to escort him? Ava, take a hint!"

"He didn't request me specifically. He requested an escort. I'm one of the more seasoned PAs and Dawyne probably knows I'm least likely to get lost."

"Right. Sure." Lana says in a tone that is anything but agreeable.

I don't have time to reply before Lloyd calls for lunch. I grab a water bottle and an apple off the crafty table behind me and walk over to Javi, who is just stepping out of the set.

I can keep my cool.

"Mr. Gutierrez, I'm here to escort you back to your trailer?" Oh god, why did it come out like a question?

Javi smiles that same warm smile as yesterday.

"Hi, Ava. Sounds good." He claps his hands together, startling me. "Let's go!"

"Right this way." I lead him out into the sunshine. We walk side by side for a few moments before he breaks the silence.

"How long have you been a PA?" I glance up at his tall frame, which is bent slightly toward me in seemingly genuine curiosity.

"Four years and counting." I give him a polite smile.

"Ah. And do you enjoy it?"

I shrug. "It has its ups and downs, like any job. I do love the film industry, but I could do without the early call times." I'm not sure if I should be this honest with an actor, but his brow has knit together in a way that felt that he wanted the real answer, not just the pleasant one.

"But there is something else you would like to do." It wasn't a question.

"Um...yes. I'm actually in graduate school currently. Online, and I double up on classes when we're on hiatus."

"What are you studying?" He really is curious.

"Film Production. I'd like to be a director someday, or possibly an editor. Later down the line, producing would be my ultimate goal."

Javi raises his eyebrows, nodding slowly. We're almost to his trailer, so he probably is realizing that he has asked me enough questions–

"How old are you?" He blurts out.

It's not totally unusual for talent to make small talk, but that seems like a personal question.

"How old are you?" I counter without thinking. We're stopped in front of his trailer now. I'm holding my breath, unsure if I've offended him.

But then his brown eyes are alight with humor, and I know that I haven't. And then, easing my trepidation further, he laughs. His laugh is bright and breathy. It makes me giggle for a moment too, though I'm unsure why.

"You could just google me." He points out.

"Googling you feels inhumane." I say honestly.

"Inhumane?" He is close to laughing again.

"Yeah, I mean, you can't Google me to find out. But I can do it to you."

"I don't know, you have a pretty Googleable face." He is staring into my eyes now, and I have no idea how to take that or what he just said.

"Well, regardless, it just feels dirty." I walk up the three steps to his trailer and open the door for him.

As he steps inside, so low that I almost don't hear it, he murmurs, "Dirty isn't necessarily a bad thing."

I keep my face turned away from him for as long as possible so he can't see how red it just became. I remind myself that he doesn't know for sure if I heard him, and that my face could also be red from the heat.

I poke my head inside to see if he did indeed get his food. It looks like it's already been dropped off on his table.

"Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Gutierrez?" My hand is on the trailer door, ready to go eat lunch myself.

He regards me for a moment from his chair.

"Yes. Two things. You could call me Javi, and you could join me for lunch."

I hesitate. I wasn't expecting that. His gaze is mostly friendly, but with something else I can't place. No one from talent has asked me that before, and I'm not sure if it's breaking any rules. But, with walking back to craft services to get my own lunch, and then needing to come back and get Javi again to walk back to the soundstage, it would actually save me time to eat here. As in, I would actually have time to eat at all.

"Please, I have plenty." He says, opening up the takeout box on the table.

"Okay, thank you." I take the chair across from him, placing my apple and water bottle on the table.

He takes a large bite of his burger, and me a bite of my apple. Then his eyes go wide and he hunches dramatically over his plate.

"Shit!" He says, mouth full. "I forgot I'm still in my wardrobe." Javi stays in that hunched position as he finishes chewing, clearly being careful of where to put his hands. I get up instinctively, moving to the small kitchenette and grabbing a paper towel for him, but when I turn around he is right behind me, apparently doing the same thing.

"You don't have to do that." He says, grabbing his own paper towel and tucking it into his collar.

"It's my job." I try not to focus too much on his fingers tucking the towel in his shirt as I respond.

"You're not a nanny. I invited you to lunch." He smiles as we sit back down.

"An actor acknowledging that I'm not a nanny is somewhat of an enigma around here." I smirk and take a swig of my water bottle, slightly less worried he will take offense this time.

He puts his hand on his heart in mock-hurt.

"You think so low of my community?"

I chuckle. "Your community has a long way to go."

"If I offer you my fries, would that help our case?" He pushes the plate toward me.

"Possibly..." I accept one of the fries, remembering that I haven't had time to eat all day. I can't help but close my eyes as I take a bite. I really am hungry.

I open my eyes to take another, and I realize that Javi is staring at me. He hasn't taken another bite of his burger. His brows are knit together again, his mouth parted slightly. I feel my breath catch in my throat, and I fake a cough to cover it up.

"I'm sorry, by the way." I keep my tone casual, picking up another fry. "For the other day. I should have done my research on the castlist beforehand."

"Aren't I the one who made you spill your coffee?" He raises an eyebrow. I'm beginning to think there is hardly ever a time where humor isn't filling his eyes.

"You can't be held responsible. It was way too early for any of us to open doors correctly."

"Well on behalf of all actors, I'm sorry too. It doesn't sound like we've made a very good impression."

I shrug. "Some of you aren't too bad. Especially the ones I didn't realize were actors." I smile at him.

"Now I'm offended." Javi takes another bite of his burger, clearly no truth behind his words.

"Well, unless you want to get lost on the way back to the soundstage, you should toughen your skin."

Javi chuckles quietly.

"First you clearly don't watch any of my work, and now you would abandon me?"

"To be fair, I have seen one of your HBO shows. The Passage Of Time, I believe."

"My character wasn't memorable enough for you, huh?" He quirks an eyebrow again.

"I was too focused on the blonde, Huston Katz, at the time." I take a long drink of my water.

"At the time..." Javi repeats back, almost absentmindedly. "So I have a chance at becoming memorable?"

I highly doubt he meant for those words to be filled with the same level of innuendo that I feel now. Luckily, I don't have a chance to respond before he speaks again.

"Besides, I wasn't worried about getting lost. Maybe I just wanted some company."

"Maybe I just wanted some fries." I say, taking a large handful. He laughs, pushing the rest of the plate toward me in defeat.

- - -

By 5:00pm, I'm finally winding down my responsibilities. I have a handful of things to deliver to Barb and her team, and then I should be able to go home. I almost drop everything in my arms when I hear rapid footsteps sprinting behind me, and then two hands grip my shoulders.

"Tell me everything." Lana says breathlessly.

"You almost gave me a heart attack!"

"I don't care. How dare you not find me first before all this." She gestures to the stuff I'm carrying.

"Before my job?" I can't help but laugh.

"Yes!" She has no shame. I love her. "Now tell me!"

"Okay, okay, just keep it on the downlow. Keep in mind this means nothing to him."

"I completely disagree, but continue."

"Well, I escorted him to his trailer and we had lunch."

"If you don't give me actual details I swear to God I will stab you with my walkie."

"Okay. He's... warm."

"Like his skin?" Lana's eyes widen.

"What? No! His words, or I don't know, his personality was warm. Jesus, Lana."

"I mean if you're not going to worry about your sex life, I have to." She folds her arms and I can tell she's growing impatient with me. I'm not certain if she's impatient over how I'm answering her questions, or simply that I didn't have sex with this man in his trailer the moment we were left alone.

"How did doing my job turn into worrying about my sex life?"

"I can just tell these things. And Ava, let's face it, you need to get laid."

I stare at her in shock, my mouth agape.

She shrugs. "I'm just looking out for you. Ever since you and John–"

"The Traitor, you mean."

"Right, The Traitor. Ever since you and The Traitor broke up, you've barely gotten back out there. And now this nice, beautiful man is showing you attention and you don't even want to acknowledge it." Her voice is softer now, and I know that she genuinely wants me to have hope in this situation with Javi.

"I know, okay? I know I haven't really gotten back out there, and I love how you're looking out for me, I really do. But, and it's a very large but, we don't actually know if he is interested. So until we have some concrete evidence, can we just go about our days? Please?"

Lana watches my face for a moment.

"Okay. Fine. But when we do have that concrete evidence, you need to promise me that you'll go for it."

And whether it be the need to finally put down the collection of crap in my arms, or maybe the possibility of a tiny glimmer of hope within me, I nod my head.

"Okay, I promise."

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

Series Masterlist

#pedro #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x original characters #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #the mandalorian #tlou #narcos #javi gutierrez smut #javi gutierrez fanfiction #javi gutierrez x reader #javi gutierrez x you

[lovedrunkheadcanons]

Chapter Contents

(Arranged Marriage Fic) Read on AO3

Rated M

The time read 1:09 AM on the dot. A feeling of grim solemness cloaked the deserted streets. The decimated opera theater was cordoned in a shroud of response vehicles, revolving lights twirling red and blue. Reporters first at the scene had canvassed the complex, attempting to interview people and take photographs as ambulances were frantically wheeling survivors to the nearest hospital, seconded only by mortuary vans. Vested dogs were set loose, their snouts glued to the ground, while rescue volunteers and medics searched through rubble like it was a minefield operation, ordering everyone to be quiet when they thought someone was yelling for help beneath the wreckage.

Satoru stayed out of their way. He was silently cheering them on, but had already scanned the area with the use of his Six Eyes. All the people buried underneath were dead and those that made it out alive beforehand would have their memories wiped clean, as was standard protocol. Probably not since the World War had the death toll been so staggering.

He found Nanami talking to two policemen next to a freight truck unloading an excavator. The salaryman’s hair looked a little unkempt and his cleaver knife was dripping with blood, but Satoru didn’t care. He stomped right over, fuming.

“Shit, Nanami, I’ve been looking everywhere. Where the hell have you been?”

“I appreciate your time, officers,” Nanami deferred to the sergeants, keeping his tone professional. “That’ll be all for now.”

The two officers nodded and raced to assist their fellow service men and women. Nanami held his silence and fixed his eyes upon the rows of emergency vehicles lining the tapped-off street. Satoru followed his gaze and saw he was looking at Hannah, sitting out the back end of an ambulance, the Yamazaki siblings nestled on either side of her. Someone had given them blankets to stay warm. The three of them were quietly observing the rescue efforts. Her belongings were piled in her lap and her feet were still barefoot.

“How is she doing?”

Satoru’s anger towards his comrade cooled to a low simmer. “Fine, I guess,” he sighed. “Good but not great. You know how it is.”

“Any injuries?”

“A few scrapes here and there, but overall nothing life threatening.”

“Who’re the kids?”

Satoru glanced back at the two children huddled in blankets next to his wife.

“Stowaways,” he replied. “She found them when we got separated in the Domain.”

Nanami turned to issue him a condescending look. “You got separated?”

Satoru scowled and massaged his soar eyelids. “Hey, it’s a long fucking story, alright? The Domain ended up being a trick room. I’ll tell you about it later when I’m not dog-shit tired and properly caffeinated.” He was gonna drink a whole pot of coffee when he got home. His head ached like the dickens.

Nanami let out a long sigh and loosened the bow tie around his neck. He brought his cleaver knife to inspect the damage. “Sorry I wasn’t able to talk earlier. Got myself in a bit of an…altercation.”

“Sheesh, no kidding.” Satoru scrutinized the bloody knife. “What, some fanboys needed your autograph or something?”

“Suppose you could say that,” Nanami said with a shrug. The knife made a shing when he repositioned it in his grasp. “Though, I’d say I gave them a bit more than just my autograph.”

“You killed them?”

“No,” Nanami huffed. “They’ll be treated for their injuries and taken in for questioning. I have a feeling they’re connected to the attack somehow.”

“What, this?!” Satoru pointed to the destroyed theater. “You’re shitting me?”

“Two random goons assault me at an exclusive event, and a special-grade curse suddenly pops out of nowhere? That doesn’t sound odd to you?”

Satoru shrugged. “No. Not really.”

“Think, Satoru. What were we planning to discuss tonight?”

“The investigation regarding Hannah’s attack two months ago.”

Nanami gave a curt nod. “Precisely.”

Satoru waited a beat, trying to think. “Um…okay, so what does that have to do with this again? I missed it.”

Nanami heaved another exhausted sigh and wiped his glasses down his unwrinkled shirt. “As of now, nothing. But the two goons I took down began following me soon as I entered the theater. I thought nothing of them at the start, thinking they were just a couple of waiters making their rounds, until I saw them communicating through earpieces. That’s when I knew something was off.”

Gojo cocked his head. “Why didn’t you alert the others? Utahime and Shoko were already there.”

“It’s a party. You bump into the same people all the time. I had to be sure it was really me they were after. So I waded around a bit and after three full laps, I went upstairs to the gardens. As I thought, the two losers followed and that’s when we,” he nodded to the knife in his hand, “exchanged pleasantries.”

Satoru raised his hands. “Hold up. I thought you said this was connected to the curse att — ”

“Let me finish!” Nanami seethed, letting slip a few irritated grumbles before going back to his story. “While up on the roof, the goons stupidly revealed their motive. They were wanting to steal my phone.”

“You’re phone? Why would they want your crummy ‘ole phone?”

Nanami’s eyes flared heatedly. His phone was neither crummy nor old. “Do you realize how much personal information is stored in a cell phone nowadays, Satoru? All anyone would have to do is guess a few lucky numbers and immediately have access to all your messages, your credit card purchases, what websites you’ve visited, the whole gambit. There’s a reason cell phones are sought after when apprehending a suspect. They’re like evidential gold mines.”

“Alright, alright, I get it,” Satoru relented, batting the air as though it would dispel his faux pas. “You don’t have to talk down to me. I’m caffeine deprived, not stupid.”

“Someone wants information on Hannah, and is going through great lengths to obtain it,” Nanami continued, gripping his chin between his fingers analytically. “They must’ve known I had been roped into her investigation a few weeks ago, and tried apprehending my phone at a time I’d least expect it, meaning there has to be a mole feeding them intel. The loss of human life doesn’t seem to deter them either. They want to make as much noise as possible. Get our attention. Raise hell.”

The Six Eyes wielder began picking his ear boredly as his comrade rambled. “I still don’t see how this is all related...”

“Satoru,” Nanami said sternly. “You and Hannah were the only ones trapped inside the curse’s Domain.”

“No, not true,” Satoru quipped. “There were also the kids.”

The salaryman exhaled. “Fair enough, but so far there have been no other living witnesses showing symptoms of Domain exposure. The dead will require autospies of course, but as of now it’s just the four of you. It doesn’t help that you admitted to getting separated either, and knowing the curse was one of Sukuna’s finger bearers is also troubling. It could mean he…” Nanami paused. “No, forget it. We’ll wait for more evidence before drawing more conclusions.”

“Conclusions? What conclusions?” Satoru said this moronically as though the salaryman were speaking in riddles, but feared he already knew the answer. Not counting the kids, revealing he and Hannah had been the only two living escapees made the bolts tighten in his chest. He couldn’t deny it any longer. Hannah was being repeatedly targeted by someone? Someone with the ability to transport special-grade level curses from one place to another, including the backstage of a fully packed theater without anyone knowing. There was really only one person who could accomplish such an undertaking. But still. What would his former best friend want with his wife? That logic made zero sense. The Sight was triggered from raw cursed energy floating in the atmosphere. The amount of cursed energy increased when curses were being spawned, or when cursed objects, especially powerful ones, were beginning to unravel. Japan was never in short supply of those, but if Suguru was searching for Sukuna’s fingers, or a powerful cursed object, why use Hannah to find them. The curse from tonight was a finger bearer. What good was it to use somebody with The Sight when you had no trouble locating them yourself? Or was there something else at play?

Is this out of spite, Suguru? Satoru thought. Are you targeting her to get to me?

“Still have that finger on you?”

“Yeah.” Satoru paused his reflections and dug out the Sukuna finger from his pocket, purple and withered, like it had been preserved in a case of formaldehyde. He saw the revulsion show on his comrade’s face and laughed. “I know. Gross, isn’t it?”

“Idiot, stop flailing it around. You’re an adult. Act like one.”

“Chill, man, chill,” Satoru appeased. “I’ll pay Kumari a visit and have her reseal the damn thing. Haven’t seen her and Ichiro in a while — Yeah, yeah, then I’ll hand it over to the Council like a good boy, so stop micromanaging already.”

Nanami rolled his eyes and looked back at the rescue workers and flashing ambulances. “We’ll have a better picture of what happened in the coming days. For now best keep an eye on Hannah and be on your guard. It seems whoever is behind this is hiring non-sorcerers to appear less conspicuous.”

Satoru blinked at him. “Non-sorcerers? That’s weird. What makes you think that?”

“The grunts used no cursed weapons or spells that I could think of. Plus, one of them was carrying ¥250,000 in his coat pocket.” Nanami let out a detestable snort. “A sheer pittance, if you ask me. Who keeps hit money where someone else could easily steal it?”

Satoru felt like he’d been kicked in the groin. The memory of Hannah slipping that exact amount in a random waiter's breast pocket resurfaced in his mind. They had gotten a good look at her. And he had let them.

“Tell me everything you saw, Kento.”

Hannah sat anxiously in the cab of the ambulance, watching Satoru converse with a serious looking man with ash-blond hair, holding a bloodied cleaver knife. Unlike Satoru, however, he was still wearing his tails, and his bow-tie and shirt were clean as swan feathers, like he had stepped out of the party for a casual smoke and found the bloody butcher knife lying there by happenstance. They had been talking for over twenty minutes, her husband’s facial expressions eclipsing from joking, to confused, to…worried?

The Yamazaki siblings were curled in a blanket on either side of her. Kenta regained consciousness long enough for a nurse to hook an IV in him, but had fallen asleep on Hannah’s arm, peacefully sucking his thumb. Meanwhile Hiro hadn’t touched the carton of juice and apple slices the nurses had given him. He lied awake, eagerly waiting for news of his parents who had yet to turn up. They had been watching first responders carry the loaded body bags to-and-fro, having lost count after the number reached thirty.

“Those are dead people, aren’t they?” Hiro whispered. “In those bags?”

“Yes,” Hannah said. Another body was being brought out from the wreckage. “They are.”

“Do you think my Mama and Papa are in there?”

“I don’t know, Hiro.” She reached for his hand and squeezed. “Let’s hope not.”

A woman wearing a long white coat over her gown was moving from ambulance to ambulance. Her satin gloves were replaced with yellow latex and her chocolate brown hair was kept from her face in a messy bun. The makeup couldn’t hide the heavy dark circles under her eyes which looked more pronounced as she worked. It was Shoko. She was collecting vials of patients’ blood and offering her sympathies to the victims. It had been a stressful six hours.

“Your turn,” she said rather cheerily, her eyes emoting something like relief upon finding Hannah with the boys. She held up an unused syringe and rattled three empty vials.

“What is this for?” Hannah asked.

“Safety protocol,” Shoko replied. “Everyone’s blood will be collected and sent off for testing. It helps us know whether your body is experiencing any long lasting side effects from the cursed energy. It’s standard procedure. No biggie.”

Hiro squirmed and hugged himself closer to Hannah. “I don’t like needles,” he whined.

Hannah stretched out the crook of her elbow for Shoko to draw blood first and smiled. “Surely after all that you can’t be afraid of a little needle.”

This harmless ribbing seemed to work. The six year old pouted but eventually outstretched his arm once Shoko was finished with Hannah. It didn’t hurt so bad. The doctor was careful where she stuck the needle and gave him a green colored band-aid when he voiced it was his favorite color. She quietly did the same with Kenta, who was still asleep on Hannah’s arm, and removed the empty IV on him shortly afterwards. At some point Satoru approached the group.

“We good over here?”

Hannah looked up. Her husband’s hair had returned to its normal, unruly self; the gel no longer keeping it parted to one side. His dress shirt was untucked and his sleeves were still rolled, making him give off a haggard appearance while still being handsome. She had to revert her eyes elsewhere when she felt blood rush to her face.

“Sugoi.” Hiro whispered in admiration, craning his neck to peer up at the sorcerer like he did earlier, except he had a better view of him now. “How are you so tall?”

Satoru smirked. He couldn't say he was a huge fan of children, but they were almost always fans of him (except darling little Megumi-chan). He patted Hiro’s head and slipped him a sly-eyed wink.

“Thanks for looking after Hannah for me, squirt. I owe ya.”

Hiro couldn’t believe a real life superhero was holding a conversation with him.

“That’s nothing,” he said modestly as any six year old would and looked back to the sorcerer’s wife for reassurance. “You should've seen what shedid.” He didn’t notice the way the woman froze. “Hannah healed Kenta’s leg.”

Satoru’s eyes narrowed. “Healed?”

“Yeah.” Hiro nodded excitedly, using grand sweeping gestures. “She shot gold light from her hands, vroom, and made the bad, purpley stuff go away, and then Kenta woke up, but now he’s sleeping again. You should’ve been there. It was so cool.”

Brow raised, Satoru glanced over to Hannah for more context. She dismissively waved her hand.

“Children. They have quite the imagination. Really, Hiro, whatever gave you that idea? You must’ve hit your head.”

“Huh?” The accusation of treachery on Hiro’s face was heart shattering. “But you…”

Hannah shook her head. “Kenta’s leg was never injured, remember? We just thought it was because his pants were torn.”

He dropped his arms. “But…what about the gold light?”

“Gold light?” Hannah chuckled. “Silly goose, there was never any gold light. Maybe we should have Shoko check you for a concussion. I’m growing concerned.”

The boy felt as though he had missed a step going down the stairs. Hannah, who he regarded as his friend, was lying. He knew very well he had not hit his head and was not con-cursed (or whatever she said), but also knew no one would believe him. Hannah was a grown up. He wasn’t. Her word would be taken more seriously than his. She had swept him under the bus. How come?

“Hiro! Kenta!!!”

The group turned to see an exasperated man and woman push through the throngs of rescue personnel. Together, they shoved Shoko and Satoru aside like revolving doors and pulled Hiro into a bone-crushing hug. Hannah too evaded these newcomers. No question they were Mr. and Mrs. Yamazaki. Hiro and Kenta’s raven black hair was the same as their mother’s, and their brown eyes must’ve come from their father. She also noted the scrapes and bruises marking the parents’ faces, along with their hand bandages, but thankfully the two of them looked healthy.

“My babies!” Mrs Yamazaki sobbed while her husband stood watch, tears welling his eyes. It was apparent to everyone how relieved they both were for having founded their children alive. Kenta had awoken from his slumber, confused as to what was going on, mumbling about how hungry he was when his mother hugged him; The two year old wouldn’t remember a thing from tonight. Hiro was crying as well. His parents were okay. He and his brother would not be left orphans. They were a family again.

“Thank you!” both parents cried, kneeling before Hannah and Satoru, foreheads touching the ground to pay them homage. Hiro had relayed to them all that had happened. “Thank you for everything you’ve done. How can we ever repay you?”

Hannah was rendered speechless to the point it felt awkward. She had never been thanked to such a degree and was fumbling on how to express her gratitude. Satoru pulled through for her.

“No payment necessary. We’re just glad you folks made it out in one piece. That right, Hannah?”

“Um, yes,” Hannah coughed. “Please, there’s no need to thank us. Really.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Yamazaki,” Shoko politely interrupted. “My name is Dr. Ieiri. Real quick, do you mind coming with me for a moment? I have some papers you’ll need to sign before we can let you go.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” they said in unison and shuffled behind the jujutsu doctor to another ambulance. Mrs. Yamazaki still had Kenta in her arms, leaving her eldest son with Hannah for a while longer. Satoru left to reconvene with Utahime who was newly accessorized in a workers helmet and construction gloves, busily helping volunteers lift debris and guide survivors to one of the nearby medical stations scattered throughout.

Alone with her once more, Hiro looked up at Hannah.

“Why did you lie back there?”

The woman gave him a sad smile. “I wish I could tell you, Hiro, I really do, but I’m afraid I can’t. I’m sorry.”

The six year old peered down at his dress shoes.

“Will I ever see you again?”

Hannah's smile waned. It had dawned on her in the ambulance that the boy was sensitive to cursed energy and would likely become a fine jujutsu sorcerer one day. But that day was not now, so instead she knelt in front of the child, leaned forward, and kissed him sweetly on the cheek.

“Take care of your brother, Hiro.” Goodbye, you brave boy.

Shortly afterwards, Hiro’s parents returned with little Kenta who had yet again fallen asleep, thumb lodged in his mouth. United as a family, the Yamazaki’s bowed one last time and waved farewell to Hannah as they departed with an officer who would escort them safely back home. Hannah watched until they had made it past the street corner and in a few blocks could be seen no more. She felt someone nudge her arm.

“You ready?”

She turned to see Satoru, fists stuffed in his pockets, his turquoise blue eyes shining amidst all the rotating emergency lights. He too had been watching the Yamazaki’s leave. Now feeling a tad bittersweet at their parting, Hannah nodded and followed her husband to the Rolls Royce parked on the side of the road. Mr. Ichiji slid out the driver's seat, peppering them with questions: “Are you alright?” “Do you need anything?” “Have you eaten at all?” Hannah tiredly assured him she was fine and slid inside as he opened the passenger door. Satoru climbed in the opposite seat, just as they had arrived.

Hannah sat all the way back, cushioning her head along the headrest. The medics had given her sandals to walk in and let her keep the blanket from earlier. She draped it over her legs and snuck a glance at Satoru, plugging his now working phone to a charging cord. She felt a pang in her chest.

“I’m sorry for getting angry at you the way I did. I didn’t mean it.”

Mr. Ijichi, ever the eavesdropper, rolled the privacy screen up. Don’t mind me, I’m not here.

“Why? It’s not like you were wrong,” Satoru scoffed, changing his mind unplugging his phone from the charger, slipping the device back into his pocket. “I’m the one who screwed everything up.”

“But you said the act was involuntary. I should’ve listen — ”

“Hannah…” He turned sharply to her. “We both know there is no excuse for what I‘ve done. If I were anyone else I would be facing criminal charges for sexual harassment. End of story.” He looked away and slicked a rough hand through his hair. “Shit, Utahime is right. I really am a terrible person.”

Hannah felt her lips tug. “The worst.”

He peaked over his shoulder. “Worse than a cancer diagnosis?”

“No,” she giggled. “I wouldn’t say you’re that bad.”

A low laugh escaped him. “Phew, good to know,” and he reached across the aisle to fasten her seatbelt, pulling the blanket over her arms to keep her nice and warm. “Cancer really sucks.”

Her eyes began to droop. “Yeah, it does.”

“But you don't think I suck?”

“No,” she yawned contentedly. “I don’t think you suck.”

“Even when I’m being an asshat?”

“Yes,” she murmured. “Even when you’re being an asshat.”

Mr. Ijichi put the Phantom in drive and sped up the empty street, heading for the exit that would return them to the Gojo estate. Hannah fully closed her eyes and as she drifted off to blissful sleep, she suddenly had the most peculiar thought. How strange. Last she had fallen asleep in the backseat of a car, she had been by herself, newly married and dejected by an unwilling husband who had since turned a new leaf and had kindly buckled her seatbelt and tucked her in. He was there with her.

They were going home.

#Gojo Takes a Wife #Jujutsu Kaisen #Satoru Gojo x female oc #Gojo x fem #satoru x oc #gojo x oc #jjk fanfic #arranged marriage #romance

[purplesurveys]

1590

What color are your eyes? They’re dark brown.

Is anyone you work with currently on maternity leave or vacation? Yeah, this girl I work with for the same client but is from a different agency. Come to think of it she’s been out since around May or June.

Favorite boy’s name? I’ve taken a liking to the names Liam, Noah, Jacob, and Seth.

Baked macaroni and cheese or regular? Ooh, I love me some good baked mac.

What’s the first thing you learned how to draw? It had to have been either a stick figure or a house.

Name one of your friends’ children: None of my friends have kids, but I’m already ready to be the best aunt lol.

What was the name of your 5th grade teacher? Her name is Victoria. I remember her coming off as intimidating since she’s a little older than the rest of the other teachers in the level, but is actually quite nice (and funny) if you get to know her better. I wonder how she’s doing; I hope she’s been healthy.

Sterling silver or titanium? Uhhhh don’t really have a preference on this one.

How many hours do you work in a day? It can range anywhere from 8 to like 15 on a bad day.

Have you ever been to a casino? I’ve been in one, but I only walked past the different slots(?) and roulettes since I had been a few days shy of turning 18 at the time. Now that I’m 24 I think I would still steer clear since I don’t want to fall into that trap.

Who wrote the last book you read? No clue.

What’s the middle name of your bestfriend? Not sharing that.

What’s your favorite food? These days, it’s fried chicken and waffles.

How far away do you live from the closest aquarium? An hour and a half away.

Favorite girls name? Mia, Charlotte, Elizabeth. Wyatt and Elliott are also growing on me.

Name one of your candle scents: I like scents that are supposed to remind you of the sea.

What’s the name of your favorite restaurant? This local Korean restaurant that’s a 15 minute drive away. Owner’s Korean, so every single meal is as Korean as it gets. My only wish is that they start serving miyeokguk since I’m sure many people go there for birthday feasts and such.

Are you in a relationship? If so, how long? I haven’t been in a relationship in like two years, and am not interested in getting in one any time soon.

Who in your family has a birthday in January? My dad, on the last day of the month.

When was the last time you lost power? How long was it out and the cause? September. There was a typhoon at the time so our area and the neighboring cities lost electricity then; it was out for pretty much the entire afternoon, which was a big inconvenience since I had work that day and data wasn’t doing its job very well.

Do you know any twins? I know my sister had a couple of classmates who were sets of twins.

What’s your favorite flower? Peonies. Pick 3 random colors: Olive, pastel pink, purple.

Would you ever dye your hair that color? My hair is already purple; I’ve also been meaning to dye my hair olive someday. I’m not a fan of pink hair on me, though; too bright for my liking.

Do you own any underwear that color? Just in pink.

Can this be used as a last name? Everyone in this country has Hispanic surnames so if you encounter people with colors as their last name, they are most likely expatriates lol.

What’s your favorite country song? Not a fan of country.

Do you drink alcohol? Yeah, largely in social settings. I try to cut back on drinking on my own as I don’t want to form a habit.

Do you use any food delivery services such as UberEats, DoorDash, etc? Yeah, I get Grab like 1-2 times a week.

What color is your mailbox? We don’t have one.

What age did you lose your virginity? I was 18.

Dogs or cats? Dogs.

Do you know anyone who’s been to prison? I do. What’s one thing on your shopping list? I wanna restock on Bibimmyeon noodles so bad. The first time I bought it I only got one pack in case I ended up not liking it, but it was SO good and my tastebuds have been looking for it ever since lol.

Freeze tag or musical chairs? Musical chairs, because I was good at it.

Where did you go on your last vacation? Batangas. Have you ever been stuck in the mud? I don’t think I have.

What was the last thing you took a picture of? My ticket to Seonho’s fanmeet! I can’t believe I’m seeing him :’) He was my first post-breakup fixation, so my relationship with him holds so a lot more meaning and significance than my other fandoms. Start-Up gave me something to sink my teeth into during my major depression days; from there I started watching 2 Days 1 Night too and Seonho had always been my favorite. I’m really excited and I’m gonna have to try not cry when I see him lol

Name someone you work with: Bea. How far away is the closest Walmart? Idk...978937438483433 miles maybe.

Chick-fil-A, Taco Bell or McDonald’s? McDonald’s only because it’s the most accessible. Taco Bell is GREAT but we only have like 4 branches and all of them are too far for me to be willing to travel. No Chick-Fil-As here and besides, I’ve heard they’re quite problematic too? I think it’s anti-LGBT sentiments, if I remember correctly.

Did you ever get an allowance as a child? It was starting in high school. I had packed food throughout grade school.

What food do you see the most of at baby showers? I’ve never even been to one.

Do you know the capital of your state? We don’t have states but yeah I know the capital of what our equivalent is.

Have you ever rode on a motorcycle? Just a scooter, never a motorcycle.

When’s the last time you ate any type of sweet? Yesterday when I had these Milo bites that tasted a lot like Maltesers.

Pizza rolls or bagel bites? PIZZA ROLLS

What kind of flooring is in the room you’re in? Concrete.

Is the internet connection good where you live at? Yeah. I’m at the rooftop and I am right in front of our giant wifi antenna lol so I’d be pretty shocked if the connection is bad here. Do you need to do laundry? Nope.

What’s your favorite scent? The sea, bakeries, and freshly-brewed coffee.

Have you ever lived in a hotel before? Nope.

What kind of pets does your grandmother have? My paternal grandma has like 5 dogs; she has always been a huge dog lover; and actually, Kimi was a gift from her. She was always so amazed that Kimi outlived the rest of his family and lived for as long as he did :)

Do you follow any type of trials? Like...subscription trials? I have no ongoing ones.

What’s the last show you really got into that you have to wait for the next season of? The only ongoing series I enjoy is The Crown. Otherwise, I’m not a fan of following shows that are currently on air because I haaaaaate waiting.

SpongeBob or Patrick? Spongebob. Patrick is hilarious but his stupidity can annoy me at times hahaha.

When’s the last time you saw fireworks? During the now-trauma-inducing PR event I handled last June. The event I lost so much sleep for, lost a part of myself for, and the event that forced me to put my grief for Kimi aside. Fuck that client forever.

Have you ever witnessed a car accident? Not as it happened, but I have seen hundreds of accident aftermaths.

Do you own a pair of fuzzy socks? No.

What kind of ice cream is your favorite? Those that have hard chocolate shells YUM

Have you ever been skinny dipping? Nooooo, not a fan of the idea. I could never do that, even around close friends.

Sprinkles or frosting? Frosting.

Do you like mushrooms? Love them. I had the most amazing mushroom soup at our company Christmas party last Friday and this question just made me crave it all over again.

How many tattoos do you have? Zero. Do you own any type of hand sanitizers? Yeah I have a BT21 one hahaha.

Have you ever worked in a grocery store? I haven’t.

What’s your Subway order? I never order Subway. I don’t dislike it, but it’s just never been a go-to choice.

When was the last time you used the bathroom? An hour ago.

Do you know how to roller skate? I mean I can’t do tricks, but I can keep my balance and glide. I used to own a pair as a kid and would practice nonstop around the house.

Can you read sheet music? No.

How old is your youngest sibling? 19.

Do you have an Amazon account? No.

What day is payday? I’d rather not share that.

What’s one food your family has at Thanksgiving? At what?

Do you like painting? I love looking at paintings, but I rarely do it myself. When I do, it’s through paint by number kits; I’ve never actually crafted a portrait on my own.

Have you ever been swimming with dolphins? I haven’t. I’d rather watch them from a distance.

What’s your favorite snack food? Mozzarella sticks.

You’re watching Law & Order, is it the regular or SVU? I’ve never been into that. Not a big fan of crime series in general, actually.

What were you doing last time it snowed? I’ve never seen snow.

Do you have to sleep with a fan on? Only during the summer. I can usually go through nights with the fan turned off as long as the aircon is on.

Chapstick or lip gloss? I don’t use either.

When was the last time you took a shower? This morning before I headed to the mall to pick up my ticket.

Do you know how to play basketball? No, I’ve never understood the more specific rules; and am even more awful at the court in the handful of times I was forced to play basketball.

Name one thing you put on a salad: I just like spicy tuna salad; and that has lettuce, tuna sashimi, spicy mayo, and sometimes panko. Do you own anything that’s your favorite color? Yeah my wallet is pink.

What’s the last thing you ordered from a Mexican restaurant? Nachos and grilled chicken.

Do you carry a purse or a backpack? I always use shoulder bags.

What kind of soda is your favorite? I don’t enjoy soda but in the times I’m too shy to decline, I just go for Sprite.

Have you ever cut yourself shaving? Sure, but for the most part I shave carefully and very gingerly because seeing blood come out of me makes my entire body turn into jelly lol 

Penguins or pandas? That’s so tough! But I think I’ll go with pandas heheh.

Do you like your in-laws? I love the one in-law I have (cousin-in-law) and wish I can hang out with her more! That’s probably more possible now that my cousin and she are engaged; should make that a goal this 2023 :)

What do you usually do for Christmas? We usually hop around our relatives and their houses so we can celebrate Christmas with them. Within our immediate family, we open gifts on the 24th.

Have you ever used any type of Aromatherapy? Yeah, we have an essential oil diffuser that I’d use from time to time.

Toe socks or ankle socks? Ankle.

Who’s your favorite Pokémon character? Ho-Oh.

What’s the temperature range in your area? 27ºC to 5,000,000ºC.

Does your trash need to be taken out? Not anymore; we take it out every evening and I think that’s been done already.

Nachos or chips and salsa? Nachos; the more customizable the better.

What’s the name of your pets? Cooper and Agi.

Have you been around anyone that creeped you out? I guess, but thankfully it’s always just been people I encounter in passing.

What’s your Chick-fil-A order? I’ve never had Chick-Fil-A.

Regular or pink lemonade? Regular, I guess. I’m not familiar with pink lemonade and idk what it’s in it.

Do you know anyone who’s lost their house in a natural disaster? No, but living in a typhoon-prone country there is usually always someone I know - relatives, friends - who have had to deal with major flooding and damages to their furniture after a typhoon.

What’s your favorite candy? Gummy candies.

Chinese or Japanese cuisine? Japanese. Chinese culture is so deeply ingrained in ours that their cuisine might as well be considered pseudo-Filipino at this point hahaha, and I’d rather explore other cuisines.

Colored pencils or sharpies? It depends what I’m using them for.

Do you own a pair of Crocs? Nah but I’m badly considering getting a pair just for the Jibbitz.

Have you ever been to DisneyWorld? Nope.

Does anyone in your family have a birthday in February? Yes, one of my uncles (mom’s brother).

How long does it take for your phone to fully charge? 45 minutes to an hour.

What color is your hairbrush? Purple.

Is there any movies out that you want to see? No.

Do you know how to run a cash register? I don’t.

Chicken or beef noodles? Uh, pork belly hahaha. What year did you get your drivers license? 2016.

Do you have any piercings? I do but I haven’t put earrings on them in years. Amazingly enough neither has closed up this entire time.

What kind of makeup do you wear? In the times I have to put my PR personality on for events and (begrudgingly) put on makeup, I head towards my sister’s foundation, eyeshadow, concealer, and highlighter; and if I have enough energy for it, eyeliner.

What’s your Taco Bell order? I just get one of their burritos. Idk what they call it.

Do you wear any type of shimmer spray or glitter? No.

Have you ever lived in a trailer/doublewide? Nopes.

What’s your boyfriends/girlfriends middle name? I don’t have one.

Are you into anime? Mm, not really. I watched Pokemon and Slam Dunk as a kid but that’s it. As an adult, the only anime thing I’ve watched and enjoyed is Kimi no Na wa.

Pizza or nacho lunchables? Idk what Lunchables are.

Have you ever been to a strip club? I’ve never been but that’s long been on my bucket list to experience entering one even just once haha.

Do you know how to play any instruments? Nope.

Have you ever been inside of a courtroom? Not the smaller ones. I’ve been to the House of Representatives though - once, for a journalism assignment.

What kind of restaurants do you eat at while you’re on vacation? We definitely try the local cuisines/delicacies. Places like McDonald’s and other fast food options are a big no-no in our family when we’re traveling.

Did you ever participate in any pageants when you were younger? No, and I’m glad my family never put me in them.

What kind of cheese is your favorite? Mozzarella, burrata, and feta.

Does your phone have any cracks or scuffs? MIRACULOUSLY enough it doesn’t. It’s been 10 months and it looks the same as the day I bought it.

Have you ever had a professional massage? Just once. But I didn’t like how you have to strip down to your underwear; it made me really uncomfortable so I haven’t booked another appointment since then. Masseuse was amazing at her job though.

Which would you rather have, twins or triplets? Oof, just one kid at a time please.

Do you drink energy drinks? No, I’m scared of them and their possible effects on my body lol.

Can you swim? I mean, I honestly don’t think I’d last long if I found myself in like a shipwreck and had to tread for hours on end. But if by ‘swimming’ you meant if I knew strokes, then yeah I know a number of them. I took swimming classes as a child and also had PE classes where swimming was mandatory.

Make the perfect taco salad: I don’t eat taco salads.

Have you ever lived with friends or a roommate? Never have.

Who in your family has a birthday in March? Two of my cousins and my late maternal grandpa.

What kind of pasta do you like? Spaghetti and fettuccine.

Do you know how to play volleyball? Sure. It’s a lot easier to understand than basketball, for sure.

How much decorating do you do around the holidays? Not much. We just put a tree up and have that decorated as fuck with a million trinkets and that’s it.

Have you ever been on a cruise? I have.

At what age did you learn how to tie your shoes? I was around 5 and had to learn since we had an ‘exam’ on it in kindergarten. Basically you had to demonstrate that you know how to tie your own shoelaces.

Oreos or chocolate chip cookies? Chocolate chip cookies. Oreo biscuits themselves taste too manufactured for me and I prefer it incorporated in other sweets, like cheesecake and ice cream.

What did you dress up for Halloween as a child? I didn’t go trick or treating all that much and the one notable costume I remember putting on was Tinkerbell.

Can you count to ten in Spanish? Yes, thanks to all the hours spent watching Dora.

Name a character from your favorite TV show: Gus Fring, absolute badass of a man.

Do you like going to arcades? They’re okay, but they aren’t my main idea for a fun time with friends as for the most part I find them pretty crowded. I also feel too old for them sometimes lol.

What was the last personal care item you bought from the store? A razor.

Airplanes or helicopters? Airplanes. 

Have you ever been camping for more than a week? Nopes.

What kind of meat do you like the most? Pork belly.

Do you actually stop and pet dogs you actually see? Stray dogs, yes. I feel that they need so much more of the world’s kindness. But if it’s a pet dog, I typically would just say hi from a distance; I’ll only pet if the owner goes first and gives me a go-signal to do so, and if the dog does not look stressed.

Have you ever been in an ambulance? No. What’s the craziest thing you’ve found at a hotel before? In Singapore our room had switches that would draw the curtains open and close. It was such a simple piece of technology that I’m sure first-world countries have anyway, but as someone from the Philippines I was so amazed haha.

How far is the closest Target? Refer to my answer for Wal-Mart.

Snakes or spiders? Snakes.

What’s your Panera Bread order? What?

Do you have any cool keychains? My Tata ones :)

How old is your oldest living grandparent? My maternal grandma turned 76 yesterday.

Do you watch movies? Yes, but not nearly as often as I used to.

Who in your family has a birthday in April? Me and my brother.

Have you ever had your nails done professionally? I don’t think so.

What color Christmas tree do you use? Green.

What’s your go to dipping sauces? Spicy mayo, mayo + ketchup, soy sauce, sesame oil, gochujang sauce.

Do you know how to properly pack a U-Haul truck? No...I’m not sure I know what that is, either.

What was your least favorite math? Calculus and trig were so pointless and useless to me. I HAAATED taking those classes in senior year knowing I was headed towards a journalism course lol.

Have you ever been published in a magazine? Possibly.

What color is your snow gloves? I don’t own a pair of those.

How old were you when you last went to the dentist? 24. I went a few times a couple of months ago to get my teeth cleaned, get x-rays done, and have a wisdom tooth pulled out. Do you own a printer? We don’t. My family just doesn’t print that often enough to get a printer altogether.

What’s your Applebees order? I’ve never eaten at the one Applebees branch that we have in the country.

Do you bring home seashells from the beach? I would never do that.

What kind of video games do you play? I don’t really play video games. My skillset is largely limited to phone app games, hahaha.

Is anyone in your family in law enforcement? No. I remember one of my uncles (dad’s brother) enrolling at I think it was a police academy??? but nothing came out of that I believe and he ended up just switching career fields.

How long ago was the last funeral you attended? The last wake I attended was Nacho’s in 2019. I’ve never been to a funeral.

What color is the blanket on your bed? Pink.

Where did you get your name from? First name was from my dad; my second name was picked by my mom.

Do you wear lipstick? Nope.

What’s a fruit you dislike? Mangoes.

What kind of donuts do you like? Ones with a chocolate glaze.

Do you know how to braid hair? I never learned how to.

What’s one accessory you wear? I don’t really. I always have a black hairtie on my wrist but I know that barely counts lol.

How many hoodies/jackets do you own? Less than ten, I know that much.

What was the last name of the road you lived on? Wow, I’m not sharing that.

What brand of chocolate do you prefer? Reese’s.

Nike or Adidas? Nikeeeeeeeeee. I might be handling Adidas at work but I’ll always be a Nike girl.

What will your future wedding colors be? Do I even know if I’ll be getting a wedding? Do you have a phone mount in your car? No. I really need one though considering I use Waze every time I drive, even during the times I know where I’m going.

Make the perfect omelet: Cheese, tomatoes, bell peppers, few bits of jalapeño. Sometimes ketchup.

What’s the name of the air freshener closest to you? There isn’t one near me.

[tammyfeabakker]

Had a nice Thanksgiving.... I didn't take pictures damn! I was very stoned and so happy to see my Chloe and DJ. Yes I was happy to see him too! He just needs a little work. He has come along way got a new job! I'm so proud! They seen the house... Chloe is talking bout moving back home. I hope so! We got plenty of room in the back for their camper. My Emily was talking bout moving back to Galloway. But after they seen the scenery here. Changed their minds. Chloe came down through Buena. She said it was like 1999 again. Stores mom n pop she seen a toy store she said reminds here of Christmas. That was Richland. Where we wanted to be but there were no houses available never will be. Probably because the area is beautiful very country. Milmay is hard to come by 2 there was 2 houses. We even walked the hood. It jus makes you wanna get out.. my Katy has been so bitchy. Jus bitches bout everything. There was a puddle of something under the table. DJ seen it. I said what is that? Katy right away had to say something on what I said. I'm so glad she doesn't have kids. Because obviously you can't say anything about anything. Well me anyway. All I said what is that?( It turned into WTF! ) What I can't say anything without a fucking comment coming out her mouth. Then she makes her self look stupid. I'm out in the cold ass rain taking the trash out! I hear someone talking. It's Katy out the window. Now I'm at the end of a ten car drive way. I had to stop wtf I was doing to walk all the way to her. She does it in the house too. I have to stop what I'm doing. To fucking hear her. Don't come talk to me directly no . She also pissed me off yesterday. Hypocrite. Talking bout TJ being petty. I have 6 bowls for 2 cats. Peaches doesn't like her dry food with her wet food. There's 2 for Merlin. I prepare breakfast and dinner for them. I got why is there 6 bowls? Now the fucking water is free. She's like I pay. For the service of cleaning them. I'm like fuck you. A dabble of soap and electric for the hot water what .000001 cent of electricity. Now I feel for TJ even though he hates my guts. Why probably because he thinks she moved out for me or talking shit on him why she left. Couldn't be further from the truth. I'll take it to the grave with me why she moved out. But if I gotta hear this bullshit I know he had to be going out of his fucking mind. I love her but I'm at my wits end. Lillie her dog can't control herself sometimes and pees in the house. According to Katy it's my cats. I only hope she finds someone really fast because there's gonna be a murder suicide. Then she freaks out telling me I have to take Lillie out twice but I have to work more. So how the fuck am I suppose to work more take the dog out at 12 n 2? She really needs to step off. I'm doing something she ask me to do something. I get I ask you to do something for me and I pay everything she needs to stop. She has fucked my life up. My car I blame on her and TJ because they kept taking it back to Brian ripping me off and them. They think I'm in a right and wrong contest. I'm not I was right though he was ripping us off. Jus giving him money. Not fixing my car. We got a 24 dollar electric bill. To much I said Sara n Craig is 500 dollars a month. Well their not taking care of you. Trust me tried to leave since I'm a problem. She hunts me down...Do to her making decisions on my life. Like I don't want you cleaning anymore. Now Katy said it. I ignore her she comes down on me. So I left then bitches bout taking care of my shit. She did to me before. TJ and I will take care of your expenses. I'm like well. No sooner that came out my mouth she's on the phone calling my people that I quit. Her and TJ tell me I gotta get a real job early in our living together. She's like TJ found this for you. I got the job. But it was the fucking worse decision ever!!! But I had a nice day yesterday anyway.

[dzpenumbra]

3/12/23

How to sum up today. Hmm...

I did yoga. I signed up for the community car service, it's going to take a few days for them to approve my application, but it's set up. I got showered and then... I went out and skated. For about half an hour, maybe a bit longer. I went about 2.5 miles. My first time riding my board.

I had a really good time. I wasn't even really that self-conscious. My only difficult moments were... encountering a yelling homeless person and turning around... passing by a guy with a dog at a busy intersection and the dog was jumping around and excited, and I tried to say hi and... the dude seemed a little upset or bothered or flustered or something... and I guess getting stuck behind a group of people for a little bit but that wasn't really a big deal, I just practiced going slow. It was fun. The awkwardness didn't really stick, I just brushed it off. I could see myself doing that every day. There's a gas station up by the highway onramp that I could see myself regularly riding to if I want to pick up impulse buy stuff like ice cream or energy drinks or emergency snacks or whatever. It opens a lot of options for me to get the fuck out of the house, which is awesome. And it can handle the hills surprisingly well. Like... that puppy's got some fuckin legs on her. I got legit speed wobbles today and I didn't even come close to testing the full speed at all. That thing can go like 27 mph, I have no desire to come close to testing that.

So I had a blast doing that. I get home and I clean my board off - it had all kinds of mud and sand all over it from the roads. Then I hopped on my computer and started shopping for opaque fabric pens. I have been meaning to for a while and I just dove right in. Getting the check for my car just really opened up that door for me. I feel less bad about spending like 30 bucks on materials I need for my fucking job. And I just wanted something permanent and opaque to make my hoodie pop. Having opaque paint pens that are specifically designed for fabric should hopefully remedy this limitation I've had for 6 fucking months.

And as I was getting ready to put the markers in the digital cart... my mom called. And I caught her up on my art stuff. And then she brought up wanting to connect with the furniture store she went to, to get me some tables. The thing we had like 10 fucking fights about. And she said she would contact them and see if they would send her the furniture in pieces, then send them up to me. And it upset me. It felt... uninvolved. It felt like... like I could do that in 5 minutes. Like I could call them and say "hey, could you just send me unassembled tables and just ship them to my address." Like it's not even really saving me a step. And how I have so many avenues in my life that I need help with, and this is the kind of help I get. It feels like bare minimum. And it set off a chain reaction in my brain that was very difficult to contain. A lot of frustrations and pains. And I tried very hard to focus on the source. And just express how I really wish there was more involvement. I really wish I was getting more support. We have been going over furniture since fucking OCTOBER. It's mid-March. And, so far, the only furniture help has been paying for a desk and chair as I was in the process of moving in December, then footing the bill for the comfy chair in January. And the bookcase a few weeks ago. And it just. I swear, my lease is going to run out before I fucking move in here. And it just hit some really bad buttons for me. Specifically... being at the bottom of the priority list. Having to fucking wait. It's not even that she's unwilling to pay for stuff, or unwilling to help me. She will not make the time for it, it's like she keeps forgetting or something. But she has plenty of time for a 4+ hour finger-pointing session. When I'm supposed to be streaming. And eating dinner.

And I fucking stayed. I stayed. Like a complete fucking moron. I had no goddamn reason to stay. And I wasn't even that upset! I was just pissed that like... even the hint that we have some semblance of a normal family and she treats me like what I'm hoping for, what I ask for, is like... un-fucking-reasonable. Like... how dare I expect her to even consider coming up and visiting two of her sons and her grandson. How dare I expect her to like... care about why I feel the way I do. Care about why I'm upset.

Just to be crystal clear why I'm upset? Because the hours of gaslighting are making me feel like I'm the asshole here, and I feel I deserve a bit of peace with that. The furniture she was going to follow up on, that is at a store less than 5 minutes away from her house... The last time we talked about that? February 20th. A week shy of a month ago. The plants that I want to put on these tables? Indoor grow kits gifted to me by my older brother for Christmas. In December. They've been sitting on the fucking floor in boxes this whole time.

I swear to God. All. I. Do. Is. Wait. And that was a phrase that... floated around my life for a while. I have no idea if I encountered it, or if I came up with it, but it hit me hard.

"Hell is waiting."

I can sit in a marsh and let mosquitos feast on my blood and not flinch. I can walk barefoot on any terrain - dirt, grass, gravel, asphalt, raw stone. I can eat carolina reaper chocolate pretzels. All of that is fucking child's play compared to watching your life tick away in solitude while you wait for someone to make time for you.

My former "best friend"... when I finally reconnected with her after she... escorted herself off the phone at 2AM when I was going through an emotional traumatic crisis... because she had work the next morning... She, I guess unsurprisingly in hindsight... said she would "love to hang out soon" and tried to pencil me in the next month.

I think a good goal for me moving forward... would be to stop making time and room in my life for people who don't have time or room for me. Fuck. That. I deserve better. Really. And I guess if I don't enforce that I deserve better, then shitty people will decide how much I'm worth.

See... that came out again. That bullshit line - "you're not creating enough value for other people". YOU DO NOT VALUE ME. I am unvalued. Say it like it is. I am smart. I am talented, in a lot of ways. I am virtuous. I am ethical. I work really, really fucking hard, for absolutely nothing. I am honest. I have integrity. I do my very best to be accountable and reliable. I don't cheat. I don't steal. I don't lie. I don't betray. I don't sneak. I love with all my heart. I try as hard as I feel I can. And that's not valuable enough? That's not worth valuing?

I am not appreciated. I am no prodigy. I am no savant. I have plenty of flaws. I have deep scars. I have major shortcomings. And I am working on them gradually, at advisement of my council. And my progress has been vast. And again, I just get treated like... like a chore. Like I'm the trash that needs to be taken out to the street and "god, who's gonna buy this guy a table for his plants this time."

It clearly hit a nerve. A big one. See how much just came pouring out of me just going over this. And instead of being supportive, and listening, and apologizing for it taking so long, and saying "things have been really hectic, but I want to support you with this and I'm sorry you've had to wait so long. Let's make a concrete time right now." Instead of that... she defends herself. And points the finger at me. That my reaction, my frustration, my anger, my upset... that is the mistake. That is the error. That doesn't belong, and needs to be fixed. And to top it off. She should be thanked. I should be grateful.

And the worst part, I do see from her perspective that she brings up the topic of wanting to help with the tables and then suddenly I'm upset. It's... incongruent. It's because my brain is 28 miles away from that within a nanosecond. And I explain it as clearly as I can while trying to manage the emotion and keep it focused and contained. And she just... doesn't fucking listen.

My ex used to do the same thing. It was horrible. And it makes me flashback every time. That feeling of being misunderstood and flipped out on because I'm... voicing a concern. I'm bringing a critical example to the table and they just... lose their shit. They can't find the value in critique, they see it as a personal attack, and then they "return fire"... which is... the first actual shot fired...

If this sounds familiar? I'm really sorry. And not all interactions are this way. Growing up in an environment like the one I did, I didn't learn that until my mid-30's.

I've wasted enough of my energy on this. I have a pretty deep understanding of it now. It started with a mix of trauma and neglect responses. It started an emotional chain reaction, through associations, the way others have treated me, the fact that no one really seems to care whether I live or die right now. Even the people who come to my stream of their own free will barely chat at all and ignore questions asked specifically of them, likely because they're not even paying attention. Free viewers, by the way, they're not paying attention to free entertainment. The opulence of the elite in Ancient Rome had nothing on the middle class of modern America. It's fucking ridiculous. And I had to try to contain these emotions, this chain reaction... internally... alone... with someone who felt threated by my reaction actively pointing their defense systems directly at me. And again... in a moment where I needed kindness, sympathy, compassion, understanding, support... I get a proverbial fucking gun pointed in my face. "In self-defense."

Next time. I have to leave. Even if it means being alone, even if it means pissing her off more. And here's why.

When I went skating today, I skated past the board game cafe place. It looks really cool, actually, I'm really interested in dropping by. I wish I had, honestly. And... here's the crazy part, get ready for it. They're doing a singles mixer... tomorrow. From 1-5PM. And I read that... after over 4 hours of getting the emotional shit beat out of me, being convinced that I am to blame for all of that, treated like a monster. "Jekyll and Hyde" is what my ex used to call me. And my instant reaction is... "I can't go to that thing." Immediate.

I guarantee if that fight didn't happen today, I wouldn't hesitate to go tomorrow. Assuming I can like... get my day started and get out the door before 5. Ugh. Especially with Daylight Savings and all that. But for real. First thought through my head - "it's probably going to be younger people". Second - "I'm just going to sit in a corner or something, am I really ready for this?" Third - "I'm going to upset someone." It goes there really quickly. "I'm going to offend someone", "someone is going to be creeped out or feel uncomfortable because of me", "I'm going to be the odd one out", "I don't belong there." Shit like that. It happens so quickly. It's like wildfire.

And the worst part? I'm the only one fighting that fire. Just me and my therapist, who chats with me for 45 minutes every Wednesday evening. That's it. So it's just me... and myself... in an eternal conflict.

And when you have to choose between you and yourself... it can just get confusing. You can get to a point where you just... don't remember which one is right. You know? Like... I act as though the one saying "you're a nice talented attractive man and any woman would be lucky to have you, and any person would be lucky to have you as a friend" is the correct one... and yet... the one saying "you hurt people around you and you scare people, and it is really in the public's best interest if you avoid them" has all the fucking evidence. That motherfucker has all the evidence. So... I can doubt him. I can push back. I can say "fuck you, I'm a good person, I have a big heart, I just have a lot of feelings and lots of people have hurt and taken advantage of me." And all he has to do is point at the piles of evidence, the broken relationships, the countless fights, the empty friend roster, the phone calls and texts stopped coming in like... 3 years ago. He doesn't even need to talk half the time. He just needs to motion towards the evidence and just... shrug. "What? You think it's everyone else? Ha!"

So yeah. I wish I had the run-of-the-mill social anxiety that I've encountered in others throughout the years. I wish it was just overpowering nervousness before a date or a job interview - "what if I stumble and look stupid? What if they don't give me the job? What if he doesn't like me?" And I'm here with my inner fucking demon showing me a Pepe Silvia diagram of how literally every close friend and family member in my life left on bad terms and explosively, and plenty of newspaper-clipping-quotes from those people on how it is clearly my fault, and... how could I possibly think I wouldn't hurt the next person? Would it really be... ethical to introduce myself? Wouldn't I be... protecting them if I just... didn't go?

I can throw myself down a 6-stair-stairset and land on a piece of smooth PVC and wood and ride away. I can move, alone, to a city where I know no one. I can hike a major thru-hiking trail, alone, barefoot, with an old army surplus rucksack that weighs almost as much as I do with no back support, for 3 days. I can fly alone to a convention in Vegas without booking a hotel room, just all-in that someone there will let me crash with them. And now? Now? Now I can't go to a board game cafe social mixer because I'm afraid that I emit some kind of AOE curse that will ruin the entire event or even severely hurt someone if they happen to be foolish enough to try to get to know me. What the fuck happened.

Trauma.

It's times like these that I really, really, really wish I had... I really hate saying this, I don't even want to type it because of how fucking close this shit came to fucking killing me because I had to detox off of it unsupervised several times. ... I wish I had benzos. I wish I had Xanax. I wish I had Ativan. I wish I had a quick as-needed chill-pill to just... make that asshole shut the fuck up and let me sink into the back seat a bit, get comfy and then just... go. Just go to the event and see how it plays out.

I don't have weed - it makes me freak out and I just... emotionally... don't feel like it's worth the risk. I don't have alcohol - I get really bad heartburn, which makes me not sleep... which fucks everything else in my life up. I don't have cigarettes anymore - least side effects, ironically, but... Covid... yeah... I have zero ways of making this easier. I don't have social reassurance! I don't have a friend to fucking pep-talk me and just go "look dude, you're great, you really are! You've just had some pretty shitty, hurt people in your life, and that wasn't fair to you. You're not going to hurt anyone by just going, you're the one who is hurting! Go have fun! You've earned it!" I have... yoga in the mornings. I have... meditation - which I am very new at and... just... I don't know, I feel ignorant criticizing it.

I don't know what to do. And now it's 5AM due to Daylight Savings. So... yeah. I guess I'll just... figure it out tomorrow. Wing it. Fuck it.

-_-

Desperate need of good vibes right now. Um... okay... I mean, the board is all the good vibes I need. Riding that thing, I didn't give a shit if I looked dumb. I didn't care if I was being stared at. I was only minorly worried about being ticketed by the police for riding an electric skateboard on a sidewalk with no people on it. I was just... cruising. And carving. And listening to music (David Maxim Micic - Bilo IV, my snowskate anthem this winter). And I really enjoyed it. And I plan to do it every day that I can from now on. When it warms up, I'd like to make it a thing to skate over to the lake with a sketchbook and do some sketches or something. Be outside. Do some art. Like the old days, back when things were simple. Before this social media garbage. Before... all of this... It's something to aspire to.

#diary #journal #online journal #stream of consciousness #stream of thoughts

[thejungleline]

What happens to dead blogs?

Tonight as my son gets out of the tub I throw a towel over him. My mother, standing by the door remarks on how he resembles me more as he gets older. I too had large grown up teeth jutting down from the top of my mouth at his age. There is a photo she recalls of me. If it's the one I'm thinking about, it's in Spain, out in the yard. I'm kneeling down and petting a puppy who is rolled over exposing his fuzzy tummy. That dog was a stray we found.

My son has always looked like me in the way that children take after parents but we have very different coloring. I was dark as a child with jet black hair and a life in the sun, skin a coco brown. My son is almost blond with pinkish white palor. He wears thick glasses and they conceal our resemblance. But when they're off it's evident and it brings me joy. Inexplicable joy that I suppose all parents feel when they look in the face of their offspring to see themselves. We see beauty in that youth, we indulge in its familiarity.

I gather my son up in a bundle of towel and carry him to the bed where he struggles to get away as I slather him with lotion. He giggles at our fight. He's strong and longs to run naked around the apartment. But it's 8 degrees out and I want him to put clothes on, even though we are so fortunate to be warm and safe in this often cruel world.

I'm somewhat successful. His surfaces soft and taught. I remember not giving a dam about my skin for most of my life. The aforementioned youth in the sun was spent at the beach amongst tanning topless tourists, at least 4 years of it. In Spain I'd come home with so much sand in my thick hair. Was the sun less harsh then? I never burned like I do now. The atmosphere is thinner, the ozone gone from our aerosols. Now I look at my neck in the mirror before bedtime and notice the wrinkles and lines. The skin under my chin will sag soon. It was always a zone of insecurity for me.

Curious because the girl I loved in high school also had loose skin there. But I found her beautiful even thought I knew that spot would droop down from her skull with age. I see pictures of her on social media and she looks good though. About as good as she should look for our age. The same as myself.

My hair is white now and there's no hiding. I could dye it but I'm too lazy. What would that do for me anyway? I still feel young. I work out. I'm thin now since the divorce. I couldn't eat for a month. It's amazing how much weight is lost in that type of fast. Now I'm not sure if it will come back. I suspect not. This is the beginning of my old lady body. Much like my mom, whose skin sags in all the places I expect mine will. Yet she is spritely in her early 70s, and she is thin. She looks good in XS clothing. She jokes our family has no butt. She's right. My sister has always been thin. My father now as well. We are smallish people. Not skeletal but lean.

What becomes of this space as I come and go? And when I'm really gone? Will my son dig through my online presence, my hard drives and my media? Does this service purge pages that see no updates for many years. Or will they just let it languish until the platform itself withers away?

I am currently uploading photos to a unique Instagram account that will ultimately be a finite series. The pics are from a party back in 1999 we called Valloween. The party took place in a loft on Java street in Greenpoint, Brooklyn. There are many face I don't know in the photos and many I do. I find them beautiful and nostalgic. They are full of kissing, drinking, and some nudity. They are full of youth. I've sequestered them to a unique account so they don't mingle with my personal Instagram. And I wonder why I chose this.

So much of my online activity I have done under pseudonym, much like this blog. There is no obvious way to trace this to my real name. Is that wise?

In my obsession over my therapist (which has only grown since my last blog entry) I have searched her name over and over again. Her name returns myriad results but not like mine. I do not exist online other than in association with Christy&Emily the band. Then I'm there. But now that it's over, that project and that love, perhaps I should set the record straight. What have I been hiding. Of what am I scared?

So here it is. My name is Christine Edwards. I work for Bloomberg QuickTake as a video producer. I've played in many bands over the years including: The Lil' Fighters, The Pill, The Totallys, The Sumerians, Christy&Emily, on occasion with the Nightingales, and in my most recent project called Momsomnia.

I am a somewhat prolific songwriter and still play my early songs today. I will attempt to name every song I've written now.

Lil' Fighters: Bright Tomorrow, Freedom School, Little Mai, Tricky, Better Place, NYC, Teenage Heartbreak, Oheyoheyo

The Pill / Totallys : Jaywalker, Dream, Aurora Borealis, Yes Not No, TV Song, Life is a Drag, Star Song, White Liar, Back in Fashion, Frankenstein, Rock-n-Roll and Bicycles, Ad Naseau, Biology, Crush, Bang Bang Bang, Digital Millennium, Bawdy Party, Biology

C&E: Ghost, Noah, Birds, Chicken Little, Superstition, 105 & Rising, Beast, Firefly, Sundowners, Guava Tree, Idle Hands, Tesseract, Railroad, Airport, Haruki, Rolling Ocean, Something Easy, Florida

Momsomnia: Youth in Asia, Turner, Carousel, Covid Holiday, Transference, Digging For Love, Whole Lot of Nothing, Space Miner

These are songs I've played with ensembles, but I've written others. It is my goal to get the song I've written for my son recorded in some form that I'm happy with. It's a simple song that evokes a Bossa Nova. It is called Affirmation.

Right now my son sleeps and I try to focus on where my creative energies should go. This post is the result. It is futile though. The only difference between this and scribble in a notebook is that this will be public. It occurs to me that most every diary is not public. Once upon a time stores sold diaries with locks on them, so little girls could bear their souls in those pages without fear of being found out or understood. But now people live out their every thought in public forums online. Is there any desire for privacy or anonymity? I who have just decided to break mine has come to the conclusion that there is not.

This is a lyric in my song Youth in Asia. I write: They're not like we are, lulled into complacency. Taking comfort in the vast digital anonymity. They're not like we are. Where will it lead? Chaos and anarchy, gas on the streets under the cloud of Beijing. I wrote this song for the Hong Kong protestors back in 2018. I can't believe it's so old now. But this subject is still relevant. It is a movement of our time, of the current youth to rally and feel pathos for. At least I hope.

[sunmoonandeddie]

and he kissed me right here

pairing: modern!bucky barnes x reader

word count: 6,100

summary: I've always been sure that all I ever wanted was a glamorous life.

warnings: Cuss words, mentions of the Afghanistan war (Bucky is a veteran), angst, happy ending, cheesy romantic confessions, age gap

a/n:  This is based on the song 'Stars and the Moon' from Songs for a New World! It's the first one shot in my musical series! This is written in first perspective, but there is no physical description or use of a name in this!

Twenty-Two

I sighed as I tossed a few more dirty plates into the dish window, wiping my brow. After a shitty dinner rush and an even shittier rush around two in the morning consisting only of drunk ass college kids looking for some sort of carb to suck up all the alcohol in their systems, I was ready to go the fuck home.

“Sweetheart, you head on home now,” the head chef insisted as he watched my head nod slightly as I tried my best to fight off sleep. “Ain’t nobody comin’ in before Melissa gets here. No point in you staying on your feet any longer.”

Louis was a godsend. At sixty-seven years old, you’d think he would rather be anywhere but a diner at almost four in the morning.

“Nah,” he had said when I’d asked him a few months after I’d first started. “My Ginny died a few years back, and since she’s been gone, I don’t really have the stomach to sit around that house all alone.” He had laughed, but there’d been a deep sorrow that had come over his deep brown eyes. “Kids are worried, but… Sleeping the day away is better than laying up at night staring at her side of the bed…”

“You sure, Lou?” I asked even as I headed for the back room where all the employees clocked in and kept their possessions in their own little cubbies. I did my checkout in view of the security camera, just like always. I didn’t want anyone to be able to say I stole anything.

Everyone who knew me knew that I wouldn’t, but I’d worked at two many places where the girls tried backstabbing each other and sabotaging everyone else to get them fired.

Though people were a lot nicer in Louisiana than any of the other places I’d lived.

Louis chuckled as he set a to-go box in the window, nodding towards it. “Mmhm. Long as Buck is getting you home safe.”

I gave him a joking eye roll as I took the to-go box gratefully, grinning at my name written in all caps with green Sharpie on top. “You know you don’t have to make me dinner every night.”

“Yes, I do,” he said, shooting me a look. “How else do I know you’re getting enough food in you, huh?” He pointed his rag at me. “Now you go ask him to get you home. Tell him I said he can clock out, and that he’s supposed to text me when he sees you safe inside. You better not say you’re gonna ask him again just to walk yourself home.” The old man shook his head as I headed for the back door, muttering to himself, “Damn girl thinks I’m gonna believe she’s feeding herself good enough when she’s risking her damn ass walking home alone.”

Despite the fact that I’d put off asking for Bucky Barnes’s service, I really did appreciate how fiercely Louis cared about me.

It had been a real long time since anyone had cared so much.

I hesitated at the back door of the diner, my hand resting against the cool metal.

What if he said no?

Granted, he most likely wouldn’t. But what if he said yes, and he secretly thought me some dumb little girl that couldn’t take care of herself?

What did I care if he thought that?

“I don’t care what he thinks of me,” I huffed as I straightened my shoulders, holding my chin a little higher.

“Stop talking to yourself and get going!”

I jumped in surprise, before shooting a glare in the direction of the kitchen. “Stop listening in on my private conversations!” I demanded before storming outside with new found vigor.

Only to freeze when Bucky looked up from where he was sitting on the curb, smoking a cigarette.

God, he was handsome.

“You okay, doll face?” He asked, his New York accent a sharp contrast to the southern drawls you were used to.

“Um… Y-Yeah,” I said faintly, glancing back at the door that I’d come in from. “Um… L-Louis wants me to ask you… Can you walk me home? Or give me a ride? I don’t… I don’t know if you drive…”

“I do drive.”

“O-Oh. Okay. Great.”

“But I don’t have my car on me.”

I peered at him curiously. “Oh. Um… I can just walk by myself. I don’t wanna… I don’t wanna be a nuisance…”

He stood up, tossing his cigarette to the ground and stomping it out. “Don’t be ridiculous, darlin.’ Come on. I’ll walk you.” He shoved his hands in his pockets as he began to head for the street. “Besides… It’s a real nice night.”

“Oh…,” I said in surprise at how ready he was to be of service. “Okay. But only if you’re sure.”

A faint smile graced his lips as he glanced at the ground, letting out a faint chuckle that rumbled deep in his chest. “I’m sure, darlin.’ But you gotta lead the way.”

I was surprised by the rapid pitter patter of my heart beat as we walked side by side down the street, the chorus of ‘Yellow Brick Road’ getting stuck in my head on a loop.

Bucky was an enigma that I found myself wondering about more often than not, but I always ended up talking myself out of going there. After all, he was an older man. A much older man. At least fifteen years older than my own twenty-two years, or something along those lines, not that he looked it. The man looked like some kind of rugged Greek god. Like Hades if Hades was born in the eighties. His dog tags clinked together under his shirt as we walked, his metal prosthetic glinting in the moon.

“So how did you end up in NOLA?”

It took me a moment to even realize that he was talking to me, my heart skipping a beat and my face going hot in embarrassment. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” I asked.

His bright blue eyes flickered over to look me over. “How’d you end up in New Orleans?”

“I actually don’t know,” I snorted, avoiding his eyes as I kicked at a few broken up pieces of asphalt. “I just… Picked a bus ticket and ended up in one of the Carolinas. Then I picked another bus ticket and ended up in Minnesota. And then I picked another, and another, and another, and then I actually just… ended up here.” The months I’d spent alone on those Greyhounds felt both so long ago and also like it was just yesterday. “The diner was the first place someone recommended for food that’s good but cheap, and as I was eating my mountain of cheese fries, I saw the flyer that said they were hiring. So here I am now…”

“Huh,” he said, his brows furrowed. “I didn’t take you for the type of person to run off on your own… riding buses all over the country…”

Head tilting to the side, I gave him a long look. “You didn’t? What kind of type did you peg me for?”

Bucky gave me a long look, a single brow raised as though silently telling me that I jumped to conclusions. “Just that jumping from place to place can take a lot outta someone,” he said slowly, his voice low and soothing. “Hell, if you were my girl—” He broke off as his cheeks flushed a pretty shade of pink, his long hair falling in his face.

I swore my heart had stopped inside of my chest, and I swallowed thickly around the lump in my throat. “Oh?”

He rushed to try to correct his wording. “I-I just mean, a lady should be comfortable. And if I had a g-girl like you, well… You’d never want for anything,” he stammered, stumbling over his words like a flustered school boy. “Hell, I… I’d give you the stars and the moon…”

I was shocked into silence, staring up at him like he was the sun itself. “Bucky…”

“No, no, don’t say anything. I… I know that was a lot,” he insisted quietly, unable to meet your eyes as he stared up at the shitty apartment building you called home. “Hell, you probably don’t want a gross old man hitting on you.” His metal hand, glinting in the low light of the street lamp, reached up to brush against my cheek for just a moment before it quickly dropped. “Just let me walk you home each night so I can make sure you’re safe, yeah?”

“Yeah,” I breathed out, unable to take my eyes off of him as he took a few steps back.

There’s a somewhat playful smirk on his lips as he watched me stumble up the steps, continuously glancing back at him. “Goodnight, baby doll.”

“Goodnight,” I said, barely audible before I finally headed inside.

Bucky kept his word. He walked me home every night, and honestly, there wasn’t a moment that I wasn’t thinking about what he had said, about if I was his girl.

What if I was his girl?

But… with that meant I’d have to give up the life I’d dreamed for myself. I wanted luxury, to never worry about bills or where I was gonna get my next meal or if I could afford to buy the nice work shoes or if I could only get the cheap ones that would fall apart in three months and then I’d just be right back where I started.

I wanted the life that celebrities lived. Hell, I wanted to go to parties on the same yachts the Kardashian-Jenners did, even if I couldn’t fucking stand them.

And with Bucky… I wouldn’t have that.

“So why’d you go on the run anyway?” Bucky asked one night as we sat on the curb, eating ice cream in the Louisiana heat. “I know you told me how you got here, but you’ve never told me why.”

“You’ve never told me how you ended up here or why either,” I shot back, nudging his shoulder with my own.

Somehow the age difference seemed non-existent as we sat there. Honestly, I felt like we were just a bunch of dumb teenagers, shooting the shit and enjoying each other’s company.

Bucky took in a deep breath, his shoulders sinking in a way that made it look like he had all the weight of the world on his shoulders. “I was over in Afghanistan for a long time,” he admitted quietly. “When the war first started, I was 19. I had no idea where my life was going and I had no options except my dad’s mechanic shop. So I enlisted with my best friend, Steve. The one I told you about.”

It’s completely silent except for the sound of an occasional car horn off in the distance.

“Neither one of us knew what we were doing. We realized very quickly that we had no reason being over there, but… but there was nothing else,” he said, swallowing around the lump in his throat. The ice cream he was holding was melting in his trembling hands. “I didn’t know how to do anything else, so I stayed. Steve moved up in the ranks, but I stayed pretty low… I didn’t mind. Kinda liked being the older guy all those young kids could talk to, could rely on… Because they were just like me, getting into a fight that wasn’t theirs because they had nothing else.”

My heart was shattering inside my chest as I scooted a little closer, my knee knocking against his as I tried to give him some sort of silent comfort. He’d been through Hell and made it through.

Bucky let his head rest against mine, his eyes closing as he breathed in the scent of my perfume. “They eventually moved me to some kind of specialized team… Called us the Howling Commandos. I found out that Steve was heading it and he picked me to be part of it. That’s how I met Sam, because he was on some sort of similar team with the Air Force, except it was just him and his friend, Riley,” he continued, taking a bite of his chocolate fudge brownie ice cream. “I am proud to say that I didn’t kill a single person while I was over there. I just couldn’t. Hell, they’re people just like me, terrified and unsure of what’s going to happen.” His lips pressed against my forehead, letting it linger. “But then about five years ago, I was on a mission with the Commandos, Sam, and Riley, and… this bomb went off while we were playing a game of soccer. I wasn’t even in a fight. That thing took my arm and it took Riley.”

Tentatively, I let my fingers find his, holding his hand and squeezing reassuringly.

“Sam decided to come home with me.” There was a forlorn look in his eyes, as though he was right back at that game of pick-up soccer. “After losing Riley… he couldn’t find a reason to be over there. And then Steve decided to stay, and hell, he’s still over there, leading that fucking team…” Glassy baby blue eyes finally found mine, the both of us doing our best to not cry. “I couldn’t face my family for a long time, so Sam asked me to come stay in Louisiana with him and his family, and I haven’t left since.”

“Have you gone to see your family?” I asked slowly, almost like I was scared I’d frighten him if I spoke too loudly, like a wild animal. “Let them know where you are? That you’re safe?”

He turned to look at me, his baby blues shining. “You worried about me, baby doll?”

“I can’t help it,” I said honestly, unable to tear my eyes away. I hadn’t opened up to someone like that in so damn long. “I can’t help but worry about you.”

The way that I felt about Bucky absolutely terrified me, but there was nothing I could do to stop it. It snuck up on me, like a train coming around a bend.

I hated it.

“What do you want out of this life?” Bucky asked on one walk home, his arm linked in mine. He’d become so much more… tactile. If anyone took a moment to look at us, they’d think we were a couple on a romantic stroll.

Perhaps we were.

But I couldn’t help but grin as I looked up at the sky, taking in the warm air. “I wanna live like how the movie stars do… I want a big house on the beach and twenty cars and a yacht and… and…”

He looked at me long and hard. “And you never wanna have to worry about where your next meal is coming from, if you’re gonna have a place to sleep at night…”

For some reason, I’d felt a bolt of panic over whether or not he’d understand. Whether or not he’d think differently of me, but I should’ve known that he wouldn’t. Hell, he knew me better than anyone else.

“You understand,” I said quietly, my hand squeezing his bicep gratefully. “I want to live how the other half lives for once. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that.”

A small smile graced his features as we shuffled along. “There isn’t. But… What about love?” He asked.

“Love?”

“Love.”

Love.

Could I even have love? Did I want it?

“I don’t know if there’s a lot of room for love in my plans,” I admitted after a long moment. “In my experience, love has always just been a lie. A word used to manipulate and eventually abuse.”

Letting out a snort, he let his fingers tickle down my tricep until his fingers intertwined with mine. “I’d show you it’s not… I’d show you what real love is,” he said. “I’d give you every part of me, give you all my strength to help you grow into who you wanna be, even if I don’t particularly care about being famous or rich…” He brought my hand to his lips, kissing my knuckles. “I’ll give you a love story, a life, that’s a million times better than any recycled Hollywood plot… I’ll give you the stars and the moon, if you would just let me.”

I hated the way that he made my heart beat faster, the way my breath hitched. “Jamie,” I breathed out quietly, the two of us having stopped in our tracks to just… take each other in. Live in each other’s presence for a moment. “I…”

“You want a big life… one a lot bigger than little old me,” he said simply, shrugging. His blue eyes were so honest, so loving. So warm. A warmth I hadn’t ever experienced before. “I know. But that doesn’t change that I’m in love with you. And if you ever change your mind…” Bucky reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card, pressing it into my free hand. “This is where you can find me. I figure it’s time for me to go home.”

We’d come to a stop in front of my building, and I was shocked at how tight my chest felt. My eyes watered as I stared at him long and hard. “Jamie, please… I⏤”

“Don’t say it. It’s okay,” he insisted as he cupped my cheek, letting his thumb run over my skin as though he was memorizing it. “I just want you to be happy, darling. You got that?” His lips pressed to my forehead, letting it linger. “Go get that life you’ve been dreaming of.”

Twenty-Three

I left New Orleans the next day, grabbing a bus ticket after throwing all of my belongings into my old duffel bag. It was time to move on.

But God, did it hurt.

I didn’t stop crying for weeks, fighting the urge to go right back to Louisiana and tell Bucky to take it back, to get him to beg me to stay with him.

But what kind of life would that leave me with? Working in the diner day after day? Never getting anywhere?

But you’d have James, a voice inside my head reminded me snarkily.

Then again, he most likely wasn’t even in New Orleans anymore, if what he said was true when he gave me the business card of his father’s mechanic shop. Was he really planning on going home to New York City?

A few months later, and I’d worked my way all through the southwest to Santa Fe, where I met Pietro.

My heart was pounding as I pressed in the familiar numbers, having memorized them from the business card now soft and faded from how often I held it in my hands like a lifeline. “Come on… Pick up… Pick up…”

“Barnes Tires and Motors, this is George,” a man said in a gruff voice when he finally picked up. “How can I help you?”

“H-Hi, is James there? James Barnes? Bucky?” I stammered out, hands trembling so bad that the old payphone was almost rattling.

There was a pause, and then muffled talking away from the phone.

And then I heard it being picked up. “This is Bucky,” he said.

It felt like the wind had been knocked right out of my lungs. How had I gone so long without hearing his voice?

Breathing in sharply, I tried to figure out the words to say. But my throat was dry and it was like I’d suddenly forgotten the entire English language.

That was all that it took for Bucky to realize it was me. “Baby doll? Baby doll, is that you?” He asked quietly. “I…” He took in a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. “You don’t gotta say a thing, sweetheart… But just know that if you’re in trouble or you need help or… or anything at all, you better call me…” His voice wavered, as though he was fighting tears just like I was. “God, I miss you so much, baby doll. I love you.”

I love you, too.

I hung up before I could actually say the words. “God, I’m so fucking stupid,” I whispered as I leaned back against the wall of the gas station I’d found myself at, rubbing the heels of my hands into my eyes.

My dumb ass had decided to wander from the bus station, and I’d walked over a mile away. Unless I was staying in Santa Fe for a bit, I’d need to start making my way back.

“You okay?”

In my distress, I hadn’t even heard the rumbling of the motorcycle or noticed the handsome man making his way to me. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” I said even as I wiped my nose with a pathetic sniffle.

He eyed me for a long moment, his eyes roaming over my figure. “You hungry? I know a great little place nearby. My treat.”

And well, I was never one to turn down free food.

Even if that ‘little place’ ended up being a food truck.

“You know, when you said it was a little place, I didn’t picture it having wheels,” I said teasingly, licking salsa off of my lower lip. “Though, it is the best food I’ve ever gotten from a food truck before.”

“Oh, come on. This is the best food of all time!” He laughed, shaking his head.

“I don’t know if I’d go that far,” I snorted, finishing off my flautas.

Pietro looked at me long and hard. “So, are you gonna tell me what the hell was going on to have a pretty girl like you all teary eyed?” He asked, his head tilting to the side.

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. “Was this your plan all along?” I asked. Wiping my hands off on a napkin, I did everything I could to avoid his eyes. “Get me all fed and then question me?” But at the same time, the thought of being able to finally talk to someone about it was so appealing… After a long moment of hesitation, I finally gave in. “I fell in love with a man, and he let me go because he knew that I want a life he can’t give me,” I said. “And I was a bitch who didn’t even tell him I love him back when he said it to me.”

Pietro took in a deep breath, slowly letting it out. “Damn. You really are a stone cold bitch, aren’t you?”

“Hey!” I indignantly threw a chunk of tomato at him, glaring. “I just opened up my heart, you dickwad.”

“Dickwad?!” He said, blinking at me in shock. “No one’s ever called me a dickwad before.”

I raised a single eyebrow at him. “Maybe not to your face, but they definitely have.” He gave off the vibe of a fuckboy, of a really, really bad fuckboy.

“Well, since you’re running away from your feelings, how about you spend a week or two with me on the road?” He asked with a grin.

I couldn’t help but blink at him in shock. “What?” I let out a laugh, pulling one of my legs up to my chest. “Do you throw that line out to every girl you meet? Or am I just special?”

Pietro threw a chip at me, and I barely managed to dodge it. “No, I don’t. But… You remind me of me. Needing adventure. A life bigger than four walls and a fence.”

Instinctively, I wanted to snap back that sometimes, four walls and a fence could be an adventure, could be the biggest life there was, as Bucky’s face flashed across my mind.

But I couldn’t do that. Not when I wasn’t ready to face the truth myself.

“Come on, sweet cheeks,” he teased as his foot hooked around mine. “Just think of it. The open highway, a rhythm beneath your feet… Nights full of passion and days of adventure…” Pietro’s voice was deep and husky, as though he was trying to lure me in. “No strings… just warm summer rain soaking us to the bone before we find some cheap motel to huddle down in…”

Plastering on a smile, I stood up and brushed myself on. “Thanks, but… I’d rather be drinking champagne, and the quicker I get to LA, the sooner I will be.”

He let me go with a kiss on the cheek and his cell number pressed into my hand, with a promise to come and pick me up the second I rang.

And despite how sweet he was, how wild and funny and charismatic, there was only one man I wanted to call.

Twenty-Four

I sipped at my martini as I sat at the rooftop bar, absentmindedly watching the television that was mounted on the wall as people droned around me. I’d been in Los Angeles for a year, and I’d spent my time finding the best places to find a husband who could give me the life I dreamed of.

As much as I didn’t want to admit it, it took connections to build a career, and the best way to get a foot in the door when nepotism was so rampant was by marrying someone in the industry.

My silk dress was the most expensive thing I owned, something I’d saved up for months for, had skipped meals for. And fuck, was it worth it. I could feel the stares, the lingering gazes on the little bit of thigh that was exposed by the slit in the dress.

I’d already turned away several men, able to tell just from their expensive watches and cheap suits and shoes.

It was amazing how all the up and coming finance bros thought they fit in with the truly big dogs.

“Well, hello, gorgeous.”

I turned to see who was speaking, my heart skipping a beat when I realized who I was speaking to.

The world famous (or infamous) director, Tony Stark.

“Hello, handsome,” I said smoothly, my lashes fluttering innocently as I took a sip of my horrible drink.

I fucking hated martinis. Always had.

But ordering a martini was more sophisticated than ordering a frozen strawberry margarita.

“Is this seat taken?” He asked as he motioned to the empty bar stool right next to me, even as he was already sitting down. “Let me buy your next round.”

“I can’t think of anything better,” I said, feeling as though my dream life was already in reach.

Twenty-Eight

“Tony, where are you taking me?” I laughed as I let my boyfriend lead me to the private dock at our Malibu mansion.

Well, his mansion. I just happened to also live there.

It had been a whirlwind of a year since I had met Tony, and he’d bought me that second round. He’d taken me all over the globe, anywhere my heart desired.

But I made sure to avoid New York City, though he never understood why. I would never tell him.

Not when I was so close to my dream. I could practically taste it.

“Come on, come on. I have a surprise for you,” he said, keeping his hands over my eyes. He was sure to keep me from tripping and busting my ass, thank god.

The ocean waves were so comforting as they hit the shore, a sound I’d gotten used to over the past year.

He finally brought me to a stop, quietly telling me to keep my eyes closed. “Okay,” he said finally. “Open them.”

My eyes slowly opened, adjusting to the bright light of the California sun. But I was more shocked by the sight of Tony on one knee in front of me, holding out a box with a sparkling diamond ring in it. “Tony?”

The ring was the size of a fucking meteor. It was easily the biggest ring I’d ever seen.

“You know, I never thought I’d meet someone like you,” he said quietly, his dark eyes shining. But his voice was steady. “Someone who understands me, who doesn’t expect me to change into someone I’m not. You accept me as I am, and that’s why I want to give you the world.” He couldn’t help but grin as he nodded to the right. “Starting with that yacht you’ve always dreamed of.”

I hadn’t even noticed that there were two yachts at his private docks instead of just the one. The new one had SS Princess emblazoned on the side, and I couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh… Tony…”

“So, what do you say?” He asked, bringing my attention back to him. “Will you be my wife?”

“Yes.”

Thirty-Two

Swallowing nervously, I looked down at the business card in my hand for the millionth time, the stock paper soft from how often I’d looked at it in the past ten years.

Hell, just how often I’d looked at it in the past six should’ve made it fall apart by now. Not that I didn’t have it memorized.

I’d finally ended my marriage after being miserable for so long. I’d gotten my yacht, my fancy houses, my career, all the jewelry that I could dream of, and none of it made me happy. Tony and I… never grew. And I never dreamed. Every day was the same, and every day was torture as I realized that I didn’t have the one thing that actually mattered.

The garage in front of me was busy, music blasting and the sound of men shouting to each other as they worked.

Suddenly I felt absolutely ridiculous wearing a Chanel dress and Gucci heels, an Hermés bag on my arm.

BARNES TIRES AND MOTORS was lit up along the top of the shop in bright red letters, though the lights in the ‘r’ of ‘motors’ were out.

I felt like a fool. I had wanted the life I had so desperately that I gave up everything for it. I got the movie star life, my name on billboards and my face on magazines.

But it wasn’t ever enough.

My heels clicked against the blacktop as I slowly made my way towards the front area of the shop, bells clinging above my head to let them know someone was there.

“Can I help you, ma’am?” A man asked as he came around the corner.

He looked so much like Bucky, it punched the air straight from my lungs.

“H-Hi. I’m looking for James Barnes. Is he here?” I asked after a long moment of hesitation. There was no way that the man was Bucky, but I didn’t doubt he was related.

The man raised his brows, wiping his hands on a rag. “My son’s in the shop. I’ll take you to him.” His full head of hair was white, his thick facial hair matching. Even with all the wrinkles on his face, he was a handsome man. Holding open the door for me, he led me into the loud shop, some eighties rock song blasting over the speakers.

I couldn’t help but smile as ‘Rock You Like a Hurricane’ by Scorpions came on. It was one of Bucky’s favorites back when we worked in the diner together.

“BUCK! YOU GOT A VISITOR!” The man shouted, causing several people to look our way.

My cheeks felt hot as I avoided their gaze, hoping they wouldn’t recognize me. I didn’t want to be a famous movie star anymore, a celebrity that had to beg for scraps of privacy.

My mind went numb, my heart stopping inside my chest as he stepped around a gray Ford Escape another man was working on.

He was even more handsome than he was the last time I saw him.

“Can I help y—” He broke off, his blue eyes going wide when he realized that it was me. “Hi.”

All of a sudden, everything I’d planned to say flew out of my head. All of the eloquent words I’d strung together were gone. And I just proceeded to word vomit.

“Did you know that, uh, when you marry someone you’re not in love with, you won’t… you won’t grow into it?” I asked, my voice shaking. “Um… I married a man who could give me a life I thought I always wanted, and he just… sucked.” Eyes stinging, I fought back against tears. “And I thought that all I ever wanted was the life I have now, was the life movie stars and the Kardashians lived. But… But I hate it. I hated every second I was away from you.” I let out a weak laugh, unable to stop the tears. “I wanted to turn around the second I got on the bus in New Orleans, but my stupid stubborn ass didn’t. I should have. I should’ve gotten off and just run right back to you because I… I love you, James. I always have.”

The garage had gone almost deadly quiet, and my heart sank when I realized Bucky looked almost frozen in shock.

“I know that I shouldn’t have showed up like this,” I scrambled to say. “But I… I’ve been trying to get my divorce finalized for two years and I finally did, and I kept telling myself that once it was done, I’d never hold myself back from what I really want ever again. From who I want. If… If you want me.” My face felt like it was on fire, my hands shaking. I shook my head as I took a step backwards. “What am I thinking? There’s no way you’re not married. I… I’m so so—”

Before I could finish the word ‘sorry,’ Bucky had closed the distance between us, his hands cradling my face so gently. He held me like I was made of fine crystal as he kissed me. He kissed me like his life depended on it, like I was the one source of oxygen.

And I kissed him back just as fiercely. “I love you. I love you so much,” I breathed out in between kisses, unwilling to let him go as my Hermés bag fell into the dust and oil on the concrete below.

Bucky smiled into the kiss, his arm wrapping around my waist to keep me pressed to his chest. “I love you so much, darlin.’ God, I’ve missed you…” His nose nudged against mine as we finally broke for air, both of us breathing heavily.

My knees felt like Jell-O as I held onto him. His grip was the only reason I hadn’t fallen to the ground already.

“I’m sorry I was a dumb twenty-two year old,” I said, snorting as he stole another kiss.

“No… Don’t be sorry,” he insisted, his fingers massaging my scalp as our foreheads pressed together. It was like he was scared to stop touching me, like I would disappear at any second. “You were young… You had to go out and make your own mistakes… I’ve just been waiting for the day you were ready.”

All the years apart melted away and all that remained was the two of us, two souls so intertwined that there was no way to truly separate us.

Our lips were half molded together as I said, “I’m never leaving you again. I promise I swear on everything…”

My heart almost stopped inside my chest as I heard someone clearing their throat, looking to see Bucky’s father staring at us with his arms crossed over his chest. “M-Mr. Barnes, sir…”

He gave a crooked smile that was so reminiscent of Bucky that I couldn’t help but grin back. “The Mrs. will wanna know if you’re staying for dinner.”

“Yeah,” I said as I looked up at Bucky, toying with a strand of his hair. “That sounds perfect.”

Later that night, Bucky and I laid in his bed, a mess of bare limbs as his fingers ran up and down my back soothingly. “What do you want from this life, baby girl?” He asked absentmindedly.

Humming, I traced shapes on his bare chest, sometimes pressing a kiss to where his prosthetic met his shoulder, on the tender scar tissue. “You.”

A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, despite the already mischievous look on his face. “Really? Not even the stars and the moon?” He asked teasingly.

I knew he’d give it to me anyway, give me all that he could. But I was sure now that the only thing I wanted from this life was his love. “Not even the stars and the moon.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes reader insert

[subpar-ghoulfriend]

Let’s have a baby

yandere!EraserMicx PREGNANT!Reader 

A terrible mix up leading to an accidental pregnancy? Or something more intentional? Either way now you were pregnant with (none other than the beloved power couple heroes) Eraserhead and Present Mic’s child. Time to discuss how co parenting is going to work. 

TW: pregnancy, artificial insemination, yandere elements, mentions of stalking, alludes to potential custody battle

You had been avoiding the two men for the past week, which was challenging seeing as they managed to find your phone number, address, and place of work. Any time you blocked their calls they got a new number. Two Pro Heroes versus a twenty something civilian, it was only a matter of time until you were cornered.

Now the couple stood between you and your apartment. You had a long shift at your job as a pet groomer and just wanted to get some rest.

Present Mic was the first to speak. "Hey lil momma, we heard you had work today so we brought you some dinner. We thought we could talk over a nice meal."

You had no response. You were tired, both physically and emotionally. You had been put through the ringer ever since meeting them at your doctors office. It was a total Jane the Virgin situation. You went in for an assessment about some supposed ovarian cysts and unknowing left artificially inseminated. There was a supposed mix up, a digital glitch that somehow merged your chart with the surrogates - apparently your names were super similar. Two weeks later you were called back into the doctor's office and informed of what took place. And now you were in this living nightmare.

And the two heroes had nothing to do with the error. There was totally a surrogate. They hadn't paid off your provider. And why would they? You had never met them - although given their patrols they may have seen you once or twice...

They were tearful when they were informed of the mix up, they had been waiting patiently through the whole process and now everything was thrown in chaos. They offered to compensate you for your service which sent you into a blind rage. They just assumed you would carry a child, a child with half of your DNA, and then give YOUR baby away. Rationally you understood that they had planned to be be the only parents to the child, but that was with a professional surrogate who understood the process, who didn't want the child in their life, just happy to help out a loving couple. But that wasn't you, you grew up wanting to be a mom, and now they would take that from you.

What if they tried to legally take sole custody of the baby? Surely they had some pull in the judicial system. Besides, they were a solid couple with money, while you were alone with no family and working two jobs. The thought made you sick to your stomach.

You were shaking as you tried to push past them. Maybe they would just disappear if you ignored them, a girl could dream. But instead they tagged along inside. Albeit you weren’t fighting them on it, you knew this had to happen eventually.

Aizawa easily found the cluttered dining table in your small apartment. You flinched when the loud one tried to help you shrug off your backpack. Taking a seat on the couch you waited for them to start berating you.

"Come sit at the table, dinner is getting cold," Eraser spoke for the first time.

"I'll eat later, I'm not hungry."

"You may not be, but the baby needs to eat."

You glared, how dare they insinuate you didn't know what your child needed. If your body was hungry, you ate. If you were full the baby was full too.

But, you complied, not wanting to argue, "Fine, but I ate a snack not too long ago."

As you ate, Mic kept you company, picking at some left overs, they clearly ate before their visit. Aizawa was rummaging through your place but you managed to hold your tongue until he began throwing things out of your fridge.

"What are you doing?" You hissed, getting up out of your seat.

"Mic and I will bring you groceries tomorrow. The food you have is barely safe for an adult, let alone a fetus."

"Are you kidding me? It's not like I'm chugging alcohol and living off Twinkies. Hey! I just bought those turkey slices. How is turkey bad?" You whined.

To make sure you wouldn't dig the food out trash he dumped it out of his container.

"Zashi, don't let me forget to empty the trash on our way out. Do you know how much salt is in deli meat? And there's no way you can drink any of this while you're pregnant." He gestures to the cans of soda.

As the frustration built you had to fight back tears. They couldn't come in to your home and start throwing out your things.

"Some of us don't make ridiculous money, I'm buying what I can afford and the doctor never had any problem with my health." You hissed.

Hizashi felt the tension thickening, "Hey hey hey, it's okay. Sho and I will go get you some good stuff. We just gotta watch out for you and baby."

And that was the end of your resolve, you stomped past the Hero and locked yourself in your bedroom. Finally tears began to drip down your cheeks.

Back in your kitchen Mic was chiding his boyfriend for being so tough on you.

"So I should just back down while she stuffs herself with junk food?"

Mic gave him a shrug, showing him a bottle on your counter, "At lest she's taking her prenatal vitamins?"

Grabbing the keys to your apartment Aizawa instructed Mic to wait with you while he got you better groceries. He would make copies of your keys on his was back.

You prayed they would leave soon. You were laying in your bed having cried yourself out. Barely into your second month of pregnancy. You still had to endure this for at least seven more months, but most likely much longer.

Next thing you knew you were opening your eyes and the clock read seven AM. By now your uninvited guests must be gone. Nervously you sat up, praying that you'd skip the morning sickness just once this week. You had always had a weak stomach and even the doctor was surprised you were already experiencing the symptom. Unfortunately the minute your feet touched the floor you knew what was coming. You sprinted to the restroom, not even checking to see if the duo had left.

God this was terrible, you didn't just hate throwing up, you were terrified of it. What if you started and never stopped? But it did come to an end. You wiped the water from your eyes and took a moment before standing from the floor. You screamed when a hand slid under your arm, helping you up. Another set of feet rushed to the bathroom.

" What's wrong?" Hizashi huffed as he skid to a stop.

You pulled arm free from Aizawa's grasp. "What are you two still doing here?"

You turned in the faucet to rinse your mouth. Trying to calm your stress, the nausea was trying to return.

Undeterred the scruff pulled your hair into a bun before rubbing your back. You debated returning to bed but that wouldn't get them out of your apartment. You told them you need to sit down, both of them nodding, still wearing their concerned expressions. They got you a glass of water before joining you on the couch. Stubborn men, you sat at the end of the couch so they couldn't both sit, but Mic decided to perch himself on the armrest.

He started petting your hair, "You feelin better little listener?" You nodded in response.

"I got you more food, let us know if your hungry."

You sighed in defeat, "I'm barely two months pregnant, I can fend for myself. What did you all want to talk about?"

You anxiously placed a hand on your stomach. Both men felt their hearts flutter recognizing your maternal instincts kicking in.

Aizawa let Mic begin, he was the more gentle of the two.

"Well, we figured we got off to a rough start. You got put in a tough situation. We shouldn't have assumed you didn't want a child so we're not mad at how you stormed out. But either way we expect to be in our baby's life. The two of us talked it over and we don't want to fight you if you want to be in their life too. So if you wanna be the mommy we're cool with it."

You could blame your reaction on your hormones for your response but you didn't, "Geez thank you so much for allowing me to be in MY child's life."

Aizawa placed a hand on the back of your neck, giving you a gentle massage. "Okay then, the three of us are gonna have a baby. That means you have to stop ignoring us. We can raise the baby together, without involving anyone else. But if we have to, we can always go the legal route for the baby's best interest." 

He knew it was a low blow, but the couple needed you to stop fighting them. Your eyes snapped to his and you shook your head in protest.

"Okay then we're all the same page," Aizawa reassured you.

Mic cheered, "Now we can focus on the fun stuff."

"Hun," Eraserhead caught his attention. "There's still a few more important things to figure out. We don't want you going back to that doctor. They're incompetent. We scheduled you an appointment with another's clinic for next week. Okay?"

You couldn't find your voice after how easily he threatened to take your baby. So you just nodded. Half listening.

"Good. We also went ahead and programmed our numbers into your phone. We need to be able to check in with you."

"Okay, but I can't use my phone at one of my jobs."

"About that lil momma," Mic started. "You work a lot, which is totally bad ass, but we don't think you leave enough time to rest and take care of yourself."

You tried to protest but Aizawa cut you off, "You also shouldn't be working around so many animals. Even though we love animals, they can be unpredictable and one dog can trigger all the rest into a frenzy."

You were dumbfounded, "I've never heard of anything like that happening. One of my coworkers was pregnant last year, she worked until her maternity leave. Plus I need to be able to pay my bills. And don't offer to compensate me again."

"Why do you have to view it as compensation? We just want to take care of the mother of our child. Just think about it. Mic and I have to go take care of some business but we'll be back later this week."

---

Back at their home Hizashi was dramatically splayed on their bed.

"Babe why are you pouting?" Aizawa asked.

"Why can't we just bring her home already?"

Aizawa sympathized with his better half, but they needed to be methodical. He reminded Hizashi that they didn't need to cause her even more stress, especially so early into the pregnancy. If they played their cards right they would have their happy little family soon enough.

If they could ease you in to the relationship everything would be easier in the long run. They had been managing just fine until now, they could wait a few more months.

He joined Hizashi on the couch. Mic was comforting himself the way he usually did when he felt like this. He was scrolling through the countless photos they had collected since their chance encounter with you over a year ago. 

#bnha yandere #yandere erasermic #yandere x reader #yandere present mic #yandere aizawa

[misfit-fics]

Demon Rehab For Dummies

Summary: (Y/N) started seeing seven demons when she was 10. Through the years they all disappeared, all but one. Namjoon. A demon who has not so creepily, creepily, very creepily been in love with her for years.

Genre: fluff, crack, extremely minimal angst, idiots to lovers, romantic-comedy

Word count: 7384

Rating: Teen

Warnings: mentions of suggestive & kinky themes, a handful of cursing, a story with a plot but not doesn’t exactly have a plot, a stubborn (Y/N) who dismisses love confessions & genuine flirting, an unspoken confession

A/N: Hey! we're back, it's been a while. We're starting school in a while but it will be gamble if we'll be more active or not. Well... we ARE active but just not posting? Yeah, you know what I mean. This has been sitting in our drafts for a while now and we're posting it now... although it's pretty unedited, feel free to address any oopsies. Hope who ever finds this enjoys reading!

At the ripe young age of ten (Y/N) began seeing seven men. Which- would’ve (should’ve) freaked any kid out but you know (Y/N) is just kinda quirky like that so she didn't really mind much. The men were nice and played with her anyway, and the only weird thing was that sometimes they would bring her dead birds.

At age eleven (Y/N) noticed that one of the men was missing.It didn’t affect her much except for the fact that this particular one would help her find things and she’d lost almost all of her socks since he disappeared. Not to mention the increase of bug bites after he left. The darn things seemed like they multiplied exponentially after a month.

By twelve only two of the men had disappeared, at this point (Y/N) not only lived in sandals (she still couldn’t find her socks) but she also couldn’t explain why her hair was burning off every time she tried to straighten it (her lil demon friends didn’t want her to, you’d think after almost 3 years of having men following her around and telling her what to do she’d get with the program already.) Her dog her parents had given her when she was 9 started disappearing quite often after he left. He always came back with a single sock that would disappear the next morning.

By thirteen (Y/N) had developed a crush (more like unhealthy obsession) on one of the men, Namjoon. The third year was also the year when Jimin disappeared, taking all of her favorite shoes with him. That year she had prayed to whoever was listening because her parents really couldn’t afford to keep buying her socks and shoes, and because she definitely couldn’t afford to shave her head.

By fourteen, Hoseok, the man who had cheered her up whenever she needed it, had gone, leaving a tidal wave of bad luck in his wake. He had a great deal in keeping (Y/N) happy, although some of his antics made her want to punch him, it never turned out that way.

When she was fifteen no one left… except for the dog. Aside from that, the only thing that left was her social life (It wasn’t like she had one before but you know it was still a little rough). (Y/N) began to depend more and more on her demons. She had become great friends with the oldest, Seokjin, who cooked for her when her parents went on trips.

At sixteen Yoongi left and the nightmares began. And with the nightmares came the growth of (Y/N)’s relationship with Namjoon. Namjoon became her protector, along with sometimes Seokjin, who still cooked for her and cared for her altogether when she couldn’t.

At seventeen, (Y/N) was informed that when she turned eighteen Seokjin would be leaving, on account that they didn’t need each other anymore. (Y/N) had been torn up when he told her and even more when he left. He didn’t take anything when he left other than a piece of (Y/N)’s heart.

At eighteen, (Y/N) moved away from her parents house with Namjoon trailing behind her (He even had lil demon suitcases and everything,) following her every move.

“I really don’t understand why you had to follow me out of my parents house. I thought spirits are supposed to be attached to a general area…” (Y/N) took to unpacking a box in the small apartment she now lived in.

“(Y/N) how many times do we have to go over this, I'm a demon, DE-MON.” Namjoon clapped his hands with each syllable. (Y/N) rolled her eyes and flicked her wrist at the self-proclaimed demon.

“Demon, ghost, same thing.” She shrugged her shoulders, “same thing as to-may-to, to-mah-to.”

“It is not the same thing!” Namjoon looked at (Y/N) like it was obvious.

(Y/N) snorted, “Okay Casper.” She continued pulling out the items in the box.

Namjoon looked flabbergasted, “CASPER!?” Namjoon put a hand over his chest and widened his eyes. (Y/N) looked up at the demon with a raised brow,

“Geez Casper, why are you so offended? I’ve called you Casper before, Casper.” (Y/N) struggled to keep in her laughter, trying to keep a straight face as she looked at Namjoon.

Namjoon looked at (Y/N), “I think I shall simply cease to exist in your realm.”

(Y/N) looked back down at the almost empty box, “You wouldn’t do that, you love me too much, my dearest Casper.” She said in a singsong voice, “Oh hey I found a sock.” She pulled out said sock from the box, it had yellow stripes. :]

“I think Jungkook took the mate to that when he left.” (Y/N) threw the sock at Namjoon with a loud ‘FUCK!’

“I mean we could try and summon him to see if he’ll return your socks.” Namjoon shrugged.

“I wouldn’t even try.” She started putting the random items in their new places.

“You should put Juno on the window sill rather than the coffee table, I mean cacti do need sun.” Namjoon looked at the little green prickle plant.

“I’m sure if i didn’t tell you how to parent your child, it would’ve been confiscated by child protective services.” Namjoon crossed his arms and looked at Juno who had been (rightfully so) moved to the window sill.

“Casper- Juno is a cactus. There is no CPS (Cactus Protective Services).” (Y/N) looked at Namjoon with her own arms crossed over her chest and an eyebrow raised, “Now if you could- Can you please go unpack a few boxes?” (Y/N) shooed Namjoon away before her eyes widened and she added in, “NOTHING LABELED FRAGILE!”

“You know if we painted a wall or two in here, it would liven up the place so much…” Namjoon looked around the bland apartment, “Maybe an accent wall over here. A floor lamp over there. A new plant in the kitchen. It wouldn’t hurt you to give Juno some siblings.”

(Y/N) looked flabbergasted, “You want me to pop out another child?!”

“No I mean-” Namjoon’s eyes widened.

“-OUT OF MY WALLET?!? MY BARELY 21 DOLLARS!?” (Y/N) got her wallet out and zipped it open. She shook it in the demon’s face, about 26 pennies, 2 nickels, 1 dime, and a quarter fell out. It was followed by a single, folded, 5 dollar bill.

“I don’t think that’s 21 dollars, (Y/N)” Namjoon looked down at the floor, where one or more of the coins had caught onto his feet.

“I have a gift card.” She pulled out the cheap plastic, silver, $25 visa gift card (that didn’t have 25 dollars) with a bit of a struggle.

“How much exactly is on that gift card (Y/N)?” Namjoon eyed the flimsy silver object.

“You expect me to know- I mean probably more than 10 dollars!” Namjoon raised a brow at the statement. “Okay, maybe about 3.69.” Namjoon sighed, massaging his temples. (Y/N) bent down to put the money back into her wallet like a pigeon eating bread crumbs the old lady on the bench threw onto the floor.

Namjoon walked away from the pigeon-girl and grabbed a notepad and pen that was left on the kitchen counter. “We’re making you a to-do list.” He stated, clicking the pen.

“WE haven’t even unpacked all the boxes yet.” (Y/N) whined, pointing at the last large box in the middle of the hallway. Namjoon looked to where she pointed and shrugged.

“It says Christmas decorations.”

“EXACTLY! VERY. IMPORTANT.” she clapped her hands in between each word.

“It’s February.” He said.

“It’s still winter.” (Y/N) reasoned, finally done picking up the money. She plopped herself down onto the small brown couch.

“Okay so first off you need a job.” He wrote it down onto the notepad, the pen scratching being overlapped by a loud gasp from the human in the room.

“You dare ignore me?!” She yelled offendedly at the demon who glanced at her before looking back down at what he was writing.

“You also need to go to the supermarket.”

“I told you I barely have any money.”

“Your parents gave you some money.”

“Oh, you’re right.”

“And also, you should walk to the school and find a short route to get there.” Namjoon pulled out a literal map.

(Y/N) pouted, “I thought you were gonna walk me to all my classes to deter all the frat boys from coming my way…”

“I did say that,” he confirmed before continuing. “But I mean to get to the actual school grounds.”

“But we have a car.” She had drawnout the ‘but,’ trying to make her point that she didn’t need to walk.

“But you need exercise.” He reasoned, mimicking the way she had said her words.

“Are you calling me fat?”

“No.”

“Yes you are.”

“(Y/N) i’m not.”

“Yeah you ARE, Casper.”

“Would you PLEASE call me by my actual name for once?”

“Sure thing. Rap Monster.” She teased, the ground started shaking. (Y/N) let out a loud screech looking up at the demon who’s eyes were rolled back. “OH FUCK YOU!”

The shaking died down, Namjoon staring down at the girl who was now underneath the coffee table. “This is why you’re still here!” she cried.

“You want me gone?” Namjoon questioned, offendedly. (Y/N) army crawled her way from her ‘safe spot.’

“I DIDN’T SAY THAT!” She yelled, returning the offended tone.

“I’m out,” Namjoon pivoted on his heel, walking to the front door robotically.

“Noooo!”

“Will I ever see my socks again?” (Y/N) looked at Namjoon with hope, “I mean having shoes would be great too though.”

“What’s wrong with living in sandals? Birkenstocks are very comfortable.” Namjoon pivoted around with a candle in his hand.

“It’s winter.” (Y/N) frowned.

“You could always use mine?” He gestured to the shoes at the shoe rack at the front door. The ones that were closed toed…

“Your feet are too big.” (Y/N) looked over at the shoes, then looked down at her own feet, then at the demon.

“Size didn’t matter Last night with your sweaters?”

“That’s different, Namjoon.” (Y/N) rolled her eyes.

“Size.” Namjoon smirked.

“Different.” (Y/N) stood confidently.

“You know, you could always just go buy new socks?” Namjoon looked at her oddly.

“I usually wait to get them for Christmas, you should know this by now.”

“Independence.” He stated.

“You’re a hypocrite.” Namjoon let out a ‘huh?’ and (Y/N) continued, “You said independence when you’re dependent on me.”

“That isn’t my fault.” Namjoon raised his hands in defense.

“It kind of is though…” (Y/N) shrugged, Namjoon opened his mouth to retort but was quickly cut off, “I’m literally a rehab center for you.”

“Apparently you’re not a nicely rated one.” Namjoon shook his head.

“I’ve helped 6 other demons, Namjoon. You’re just being difficult.” (Y/N) poked his chest really hard before retracting her hand.

“Ouch,” he put his hand over his heart where she had poked him, “You shouldn’t be saying these things to your client.”

“I didn’t ask to get a client or even BE a rehab center.”

“The reason why you became a rehab center was because you decided that humans were ugly and disgusting.”

“The reason why you ended up with me was because you did something bad and you just now decided to be a good person and it’s not turning out well for you.”

“For your information, I could have left a long time ago.” Namjoon crossed his arms, with an audible exhale from his nose. He stared down at the rehab center.

“And why didn’t you, hm?” (Y/N) crossed her arms also with a raised brow. Namjoon kept quiet, debating how to answer, keeping eye contact as if it was an olympic staring contest.

“You.” He said. (Y/N) snorted, ready to insult the patient. “-would’ve starved to death by now if I hadn’t stayed with you until now.” He finished, (Y/N) gasped, reaching up and hitting Namjoon on the shoulder.

“You. Jerk. Get. Away. From. Me.” She hit him harder every word before waddling away into the hallway from the chuckling demon.

“No problem,” Namjoon disappeared with a veil of sparkles out of view.

(Y/N) thrusted open the door to her new bedroom. Continuing her waddle to the end of the full size bed. Facing the head board, she plopped the top half of her body onto the bed front first. Namjoon reappeared about 6 feet away from her with a loud poof and a burst of sparkles scattering around the room.

“Go away.” (Y/N)’s face was still shoved into the mattress, “Seriously shoo.” (Y/N) lifted her arm off the bed to wave him off.

“I won’t go. You can’t make me.” Namjoon walked towards the bed hesitantly, scared to get fucking murdered by his prison warden, “Move over. Give me some room.”

“Go sleep in my closet.” (Y/N) flipped the demon off.

“You’d prefer nightmares over your dearest Casper?”

“Yes.” Namjoon sat down on the bed, his knee almost hitting the girl’s head. “I thought I said in the closet.”

“And I prefer the bed.” Namjoon leaned forward and took (Y/N) by her hands and pulled her closer to himself with an annoyed groan from her. She was pulled until her head was laid on his chest, wrapping his arms around her.

“I hate you.” (Y/N) grumbled into her demon-pillow.

“I know.”

“You live because I allow it, and that is it to be my flesh pillow.”

“Okay, now sleep.”

“But why do you have to leave?” (Y/N) looked up at her bunk buddy, her chin was impaling the person’s chest.

“I have to. I'm ready to go.” Yoongi looked crestfallen, “They said I could have one more night. But then, when I leave, I can pass on my role.”

“Could you maybe not steal my socks?” (Y/N) pouted at Yoongi who chuckled in response. “This is a genuine request.” She said with slight seriousness in her tone.

“You don’t have any to steal anyways,” he rolled his eyes with an endearing smirk that replaced his dispirited look just seconds before.

“Ok just- don’t go stealing any of my clothing, I need it.” (Y/N) clicked her tongue, not denying the fact that she was sockless.

“I won’t. I don’t need your clothing.” Yoongi shrugged, “I might take your guinea pig though. Meatloaf is cute.”

“YOU wouldn’t DARE take Meatloaf from me.” She glared

“I can and I will.” Yoongi crossed his arms over his chest and looked towards the cage that housed Meatloaf. (Y/N) groaned, unlatching an arm that was sandwiched between the bed and Yoongi’s back. She planted her palm smack in the middle of the demon’s face, covering his view of the poor guinea pig.

“No.” She patted his face, Yoongi’s eyes now squeezed shut.

“I can lick your hand.” he threatened, his voice muffled and jumpy from the wacky hand.

“You’re gross,” she moved her hand up, now only covering his eyes and revealing a gummy smile from Yoongi.

“It’s sleep time,” he declared. (Y/N) whined in response, “I’ll be here in the morning to say goodbye one more time okay?”

“Promise?”

“Never said that,” he hummed.

“You jerk,” she groaned, laying her head sideways. Her ear over his heart, engraving the sound into her mind.

Like a cliche love story, (Y/N) woke up to no one but herself on the bed. Through groggy eyes, she could see that poor Meatloaf was gone too.

“I tried to stop him from taking Meatloaf I swear.” Namjoon uncrossed his arms from over his chest when he noticed that (Y/N) was awake.

“Did you really?” (Y/N) sat up in bed.

“I did, I swear,” he said immediately, “I have proof.”

“By proof, do you mean you broke something?” Namjoon took a deep breath figuring out whether or not to say yes or no.

“I… never said that.” He decided on dying, his words drifting off in nervousness.

“So… you did?” She concluded, Namjoon nodded slowly, his eyes down on the floor.

“Yea…” (Y/N) sighed, trying to find anger to cover up a tsunami of sadness that was approaching.

“It’ll be okay. We can summon him every once in a while. Maybe while we’re at it we can try to get your socks back.” Namjoon smiled and hoped it would make her feel better while the reality of things had begun to set in for him. All of the boys loved (Y/N) with all of their hearts but he was the only one willing to stay for the long run.

“I don’t think people want to go back to a rehab center, Namjoon.” (Y/N) let the tears begin to pour.

“(Y/N) it’ll be okay…” Namjoon went over to sit on the bed next to (Y/N), “Seriously we’ll get through this.” Namjoon put a hesitant hand onto (Y/N)’s shoulder and began trying to comfort her.

“I know- I know but-” (Y/N) sniffled, “Hold on, my mascara will run.”

“You’re not wearing any?-” Namjoon raised a brow and looked at (Y/N) like ‘bih-’

“Shush.” (Y/N) shushed Namjoon before shaking off his hand and placing her head on his shoulder.

“You know you can’t prevent me from getting a boyfriend forever.” (Y/N) looked at Namjoon before continuing to pack her bag for school.

“I can and I will.” Namjoon slung his own bag over his shoulder. He was definitely a professor.

“You can’t make me be single forever.” (Y/N) rolled her eyes and slung her backpack onto her shoulders.

“Your preferences in men are horrible (Y/N), I'm not trying to prevent you from getting a man.” Namjoon said in a matter of fact voice, moving and opening the front door, letting (Y/N) pass through before he walked out behind her.

She scoffed, “maybe you should hook me up with someone, maybe then you can leave rehab.”

“I miss Meatloaf,” Namjoon said solemnly, changing the subject.

“Why do you always change the subject when I bring up my love life?” (Y/N) complained, stomping her foot as they walked down the hallway of the apartment building toward the elevator.

“Do you think Yoongi will respond if we try to summon him?” He ignored the question.

“Hey Joon? Is your dick ribbed? I heard all the demon dicks were ribbed.”

Namjoon stopped in his tracks, putting his feet together and staring down at the human with a face screaming ‘what-the-fuck?’ (Y/N) had a boxy smile on her face, waiting for a response. “Who the fuck did you hear that from?”

“A fanfic I read, it was a group called DTS,” she shrugged. “Is it right though?” she leaned forward slightly in high expectations.

“Well-” Namjoon paused, “uhhh…” his eyes darted around. “Mine… isn’t.”

“Damn- that’s really disappointing,” (Y/N) frowned, throwing down an imaginary hat onto the ground and continuing walking with Namjoon following behind her.

“Why is it disappointing? You’re a virgin.” Namjoon raised an eyebrow.

“Why would you think I’m a virgin?” (Y/N) looked offended. They stopped in front of the closed silver elevator doors, Namjoon hit the down button before responding.

“You literally had no social life in middle and high school and depended on demons who were attached to you by force in order to not lose your ability to speak in English.” Namjoon raised a finger, “Plus I’ve known you since you were ten and unless it was before that… I would know.” He slipped into the elevator, turning around and walking backwards. A know-it-all smirk plastered on his face while (Y/N) had an annoyed look on her own.

“Can we just- stop before we start arguing about my sex life?” She marched forward into the elevator like a preteen going into their room after an argument with their parents.

“How did you even become a professor?” (Y/N) looked at Namjoon confused. “Couldn’t you have just you know… poofed yourself from people’s view when I go to school?”

“I need something to do while you’re in class. I might as well teach asshole frat boys how to do business math amiright.” Namjoon chuckled.

“I mean… you can just be the ghost you are and haunt me n’ stuff?” (Y/N) suggested, “I mean you already do that, Casper.”

“That’s Professor Casper to you.” Namjoon laughed too hard at his own joke.

“Ew,” (Y/N) cringed. “I’d rather call you Daddy Casper.”

“Only in the bedroom.” Namjoon looked at the human.

“Sex doesn’t always have to be private.” (Y/N) stared back at the demon, flipping her hair back. “Wait- are YOU a virgin then?” She asked, bringing back the topic from earlier, but this time about Namjoon.

“Classified.” Namjoon glared.

“So you ARE a virgin?” (Y/N) snorted a laugh, “And you call yourself a demon.”

“Not all demons are incubi or succubi, your demon-racist.” Namjoon accused.

“I am not demon-racist.” (Y/N) looked up at the tall demon, “I’m human.”

“You’re not a human, you’re the personification of the word ‘dumbass.’” He said, poking the proclaimed dumbass on the forehead.

“Rude of you to assume what I am, Casper.” (Y/N) smacked away his hand and pushed Namjoon not so gently on the shoulder.

“Now you’re the hypocrite,” Namjoon glared, “Professor Casper.” (Y/N) rolled her eyes, “Daddy Casper.”

Namjoon frowned, “If you’re so persistent on not calling me Professor, then just Daddy works fine.”

The girl shrugged, “I’d prefer to just call you Daddy Casper, but without the Daddy part.”

“But what if I want to be called Daddy Casper.” Namjoon wiggled his eyebrows suggestively as they walked through the gates of the school, the walk soon enough would be coming to an end.

“Woahhhh down bessie.” (Y/N) lifted her hands and moved them in a downward motion, “Save it for the student who’s gonna try to fuck you for their grade.”

Namjoon laughed again, “You say it as if it won’t be you trying to fuck for an A.”

“I don’t get how an idiot like you got a job as a professor.” (Y/N) punched Professor Namjoon on the shoulder who was still laughing at the insult he pulled out his ass against the girl.

“I don’t know how an idiot like you got into college.” Namjoon rubbed his shoulder and then pushed (Y/N) back with a grin on his face. The bell conveniently rang, ending the conversation and forcing the pair to speed their way over to the classrooms.

“You know I saw one of the sorority girls eyeing you, I think we’ve found our fuck-for-a-grade person.” (Y/N) looked at Namjoon, “You wouldn’t fuck her right?”

“I would never fuck one of my students.” Namjoon looked at (Y/N), “Plus I don’t like cheerleaders, I like depressed freshmen who can see demons and that double time as rehab facilities.”

“I am not a rehab facility. I am a struggling freshman.” (Y/N) clapped at Namjoon.

“No you’re not a rehab facility, you’re my rehab facility.” Namjoon smiled cheekily, “And the way I see it you are not a struggling freshman, you live with a professor that helps you with most of your homework.”

“Eh- The one thing you don’t help with is stress relief.” (Y/N) looked at Namjoon, “The least you could do is let me go out and find a boyfriend.”

“You HAVE a boyfriend.” Namjoon looked at (Y/N) seriously.

“WHERE? WHO?” (Y/N)’s eyes frantically searched the room.

“HERE! ME!” Namjoon pointed at himself and then widened his eyes.(Y/N) looked at Namjoon with a raised brow, her frantic eyes stopping and looking the demon up and down.

“I didn’t know you had a rental-boyfriend service?” (Y/N) said in genuine shock, “I don’t have any money though so-“

“You don’t have to rent me.” Namjoon scoffed, “I’m right here and I cost no money.”

“I don’t take charity work, sorry.” Namjoon groaned and covered his face with a hand.

“You’re literally the most stubborn person I know.”

“I’m trying to keep my single streak here, thank you very much.”

“Wait so we aren’t dating?”

“You thought we were dating?”

“You didn’t think that?”

“You like me?”

“You didn’t know?”

“I mean- you never said it-”

“I literally said it seconds ago, (Y/N).”

“Well yeah, seconds ago I guess but I mean before?”

“I literally confessed to you when we were looking for apartments to move out of your parents house.”

“When?-”

“What about this place then?”

“I like it.”

“More than you like me?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“Are you questioning my love for you?”

“Bitch, maybe I am.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“Why shouldn’t I be questioning it then, hmm?”

“I’m literally helping you look for a home that we both will move into.”

“That proves nothing.”

“Bitch- If that doesn’t say ‘I LOVE YOU’ I don’t know what does.”

“Oh, I don't know. Maybe saying ‘I love you’ straight up?”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

“I love you.”

“Nice.”

“Ohhhhhh.” (Y/N) smiled, “You meant that?”

Namjoon looked at her with a blank face. She stared back waiting for an answer that didn’t come.

“So… you do mean it?” She confirmed it herself. The demon nodded slowly, waiting for her to process it.

“(Y/N)? You good?” Namjoon waved a hand in front of her face.

“You know,” she started, finally having rebooted her system. “There’s a lot of things wrong with this relationship. First of all, you’re a demon and I'm a human.”

“Not the first time I've heard of that type of relationship.”

“Secondly, you’re supposed to leave soon considering you’ve delayed it enough. Even using my personified dreamcatcher as compensation to stay longer.”

“I’m pretty sure at this point, they’ve given up on trying to get me back.”

“Third of all, it’s weird that you’ve literally known me since I was ten.” She held up ten fingers, “How old are you again?”

“Not that old for a demon,” he shrugged.

“Exactly. For a demon, thank you for proving my point.” Namjoon went to retort but (Y/N) continued. “Fourth, teacher and student relationships are weird.”

“People roleplay it in the bedroom?” Namjoon shrugged once again.

“Exactly,” she said again.

“It’s technically not weird since you’re not my student though. You’re definitely not a business major so…” Namjoon weighed the pros and cons of being caught with a student even if said student isn’t even one of his.

“I’m an English Major- BUT that’s besides the point. You’ve still known me since I was ten.” (Y/N) poked Namjoon’s chest.

“Hey it’s not like I was creeping on you when you were a kid…” Namjoon raised his hands in defense.

“No you just started creeping on me when I was around sixteen.”

“It’s more acceptable than pedophiles!”

“You’re like three hundred!” She exclaimed, she threw her hands above her head to

“Add about seven-hundred years to that.” Namjoon added with slight hesitation.

(Y/N) stood there, mouth agape, trying to do the mental math.

“You’re one-thousand?!”

“Give or take some.”

“I- I’m going to remove myself from this situation.” (Y/N) walked away.

[:] I ran out of image things, so we get text from now on. [:]

“Maybe I should start sleeping in the closet.” Namjoon voiced his thoughts as he was grading papers one night.

“You don’t have to sleep in the closet.” (Y/N) looked at the demon from across the kitchen table.

“The closet is comfortable.” Namjoon shrugged before voicing his concerns about the student’s work, “I’m pretty sure this student is gonna try to suck my dick for an A. This work sucks ass. How did she even get x=34? The answer is x=0!”

“I’m bad at math, don't look at me.” (Y/N) jotted a note down on her work before closing her notebook.

“But anyway- Back on track. Why do you want to start sleeping in the closet?” (Y/N) raised a questioning brow.

“Because the bed is awkward now.” Namjoon sighed before writing a bold ‘10/35’ down on the paper and circling it. (Y/N) glanced over at the paper that was marked red at every inch of it.

“You should put ‘see me after class’ on it. Maybe she’ll suck your non-ribbed demon dick.” (Y/N) suggests as she puts away her notebook. Namjoon’s fist hit the table in annoyance with a loud sigh that definitely said ‘i’m not getting some dumb bitch to suck my dick.’ The girl snorted, “Geez, no need to be so rough on the table.”

“Stop bringing up my non-ribbed demon dick.” Namjoon glared across the table.

“You admit that it’s not ribbed? That’s rough, man.” (Y/N) sighed sympathetically. “Some people are into that, you know.” Namjoon facepalmed, a bit too harshly, a loud smack echoing in the cramped apartment. “No need to be so rough, Casper.”

“You’d probably like it rough, and why the hell are you so bent on the fact that my dick isn’t ribbed?” Namjoon glared, moving onto the next student’s paper.

“We’ve taken the god damn BDSM test together, Casper. You KNOW I'd like it rough.” (Y/N) said in a smart-ass tone, knowing for a fact that they’ve done the test before.

“That shit lies,” Namjoon declared, “I’m not a bottom.”

“We know sweetie, we know. The test did you dirty.” (Y/N) weighed her options before ultimately deciding not to cross the room to comfort her demon. “But you know, the test DID have some direct questions-”

“You mean like the golden showers?”

“Ew, why would you even bring that up.”

“You said ‘direct questions.'” Namjoon shrugged.

“That question was traumatic.” (Y/N) shuddered, “But anyway, You can keep sleeping in the bed. It’s only awkward for you. Plus you can’t even be a demon dreamcatcher from a closet.”

“I can and I will. Now go get ready for bed. I'll join you in a bit. I have to email the kids' advisor.”

[:] Oh wow, another spliter [:]

“What’s awkward about this?” (Y/N) asked, ignorant to the fact that it was very awkward. Her legs were wrapped around the demon’s waist, who was laying down as straight as a log uncomfortably.

“Everything is uncomfortable.” Namjoon tried to push (Y/N) off of him.

“This is where you’re wrong,” (Y/N) states. “Your chesticles are very comfortable.” She furthered her point, by moving her head and weirdly nuzzling her cheek into his chest.

“(Y/N) get off of me.” Namjoon was now really uncomfortable.

“No.” (Y/N) pulled Namjoon’s log-body closer.

“Please?” Namjoon wiggled some more, “Seriously (Y/N) get off.”

“No…” (Y/N) held Namjoon tighter, “Imma go sleep now.”

“Ok (Y/N).” With that Namjoon pushed (Y/N) up and off of him and climbed out of bed and into the closet.

(Y/N) whined, “Nooooooo!” She looked at the closet through her eyebrows. “Are you hiding something from me?” She accused the demon.

“Excuse me?” Namjoon opened the closet door a bit.

“Oh my god- are you a closet gay?” She gasped loudly.

“WHAT?” Namjoon looked at (Y/N) from the crack in the doorway.

“It’s okay! You don’t need to use a fake confession to hide it from me.” She comforted the demon, “I will support you 1000 percent.”

“I’M NOT GAY!” Namjoon wiggled around in the closet before emerging from the space.

“Okay okay- but just so you know, there’s nothing wrong with being gay, Casper. Closeted or not.” She hummed, her words being muffled as she slowly put her face into the mattress.

“It’s been awkward since you basically called me a cradle robber, you stubborn piece of shit.” Namjoon blushed at his confession.

“I thought you didn’t care about that earlier.” (Y/N) looked back up, taking a deep breath of air after almost suffocating herself.

“Well I did.” Namjoon huffed out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“Well that sucks,” (Y/N) said blandly, “I was thinking of saying I love you.”

“The fuck- wait,” Namjoon’s eyes widened.

“Night night.”

[:] Cockadoodle-Doo it's morning [:]

The next morning came around quickly for (Y/N), though I wouldn’t say the same for Namjoon. Having him overthinking the “postponed” love confession from (Y/N). Meanwhile, though the night was quick, the morning dragged the girl by the toilet paper stuck at the bottom of her shoe.

Frown plastered on her face, seemingly deep in thought. She was unmoving in her seat aside from her wrist moving to stir the half eaten cereal in front of her. Namjoon sat across from her, “You can stop thinking, you’re going to hurt your head.”

The insult snapped the girl out of her concentration, she looked up and clicked her tongue. “I was just thinking about you. You want me to stop doing that?”

Namjoon raised a brow, “Depends on what you were thinking about.”

“I was wondering if we could summon the boys,” (Y/N) smiled before continuing, “Maybe get my socks back…”

“Are you saying you’d enjoy the company of your socks more than you with me?” Namjoon asked rhetorically with a shocked expression. (Y/N) gagged and rolled her eyes.

“Namjoon…” she said with a honey coated tone. “Are you saying you don’t know that I know you’ve used MY socks before?” The accused had a shocked look on his face that looked like he was on the verge of throwing up.

(Y/N) started snickering, amused by the demon’s expression. “As if I'd use your cheap ass yellow striped socks,” Namjoon aimed his nose at the ceiling. The girl laughed harder, finding the insult to her socks a bit too amusing.

“Okay, back on topic,” she said in between giggles, “We’ll get back to this later.” Namjoon shook his head, unamused unlike the person across from him.

The offended sock insulter cleared his throat, “We should have enough time before we need to go to the school to summon one of them.” He said in a factual voice, (Y/N) nodded as she took a glance at the time that read 7:23 am.

“What did we need again?” She got up from the stool she sat on, abandoning the poor soggy cereal. Namjoon got up also with a hum of thought.

“Candles and a lighter are the main things, obviously,” He says. (Y/N) nodded going into one of the kitchen cabinets for the items. “And if we’re summoning all of them, we’d need offerings…” Namjoon drifted off.

(Y/N) put down the candles onto the marble counter and looked at Namjoon questionably, “So… we need another hamster and dog?” This made the demon pause before nodding slowly, the situation becoming a bit more difficult than it needed to be now.

“And then what about Hobi? What he took wasn’t exactly… a physical object?” She also put it into consideration and clicked her tongue. “I’m still mad at you for sacrificing my literal source of happiness and good luck for yourself.” Namjoon’s jaw dropped.

“I thought we were past this!” He threw his hands up in the air, (Y/N) flipping him off simultaneously.

“Maybe you were,” she sassed, pointing fingers with a half assed glare.

“Technically, it wasn’t a sacrifice, (Y/N).” He said, crossing his arms.

“Well-” She was cut off by the demon.

“Nuh uh, It was just him choosing to leave and wanting to stay,” he snapped, not in a harsh way though.

“But-”

“You know what, let’s just try and summon them another day. I don’t think it’d work anyways.” Namjoon said, dismissing the topic by waving his hand, taking a glance at the tree outside.

[:] Wooshy flash back time I guess [:]

“Why are you still here?” (Y/N) looked at Namjoon, “I mean weren’t you supposed to leave this year?”

“I was supposed to leave instead of Hobi last year. I asked to stay.” Namjoon was sitting nonchalantly in one of the lounge chairs in her parents' living room reading the book she was supposed to be reading for school.

“Why didn’t you leave when you were supposed to?” (Y/N) looked at the demon, a look of confusion evident on her features.

“Who else is supposed to write your book reports for school?” Namjoon smirked while holding up the book before going back to reading said book.

“Then why did Hobi leave? Did he not want to be attached anymore?” (Y/N) began to tear up.

“It’s not that. I asked to stay because I felt I wasn’t ready to leave yet and Hoseok felt he was ready to leave. Most of the time, we leave when our time comes (Y/N). Hobi and mine were at the same time and I wanted to stay so I stayed.” Namjoon smiled at (Y/N).

“But why didn’t Hobi want to stay?” (Y/N)’s tears were flowing freely at this point.

“(Y/N)! Are you crying?” (Y/N)’s mom came rushing downstairs to investigate why her only child was crying.

“I’m fine.” Even (Y/N) wasn’t convincing herself, “Really Mom, I’m just over exhausted. I’m gonna go up to my room.”

[:] And back to the present :) [:]

“Are you almost ready to go?” Namjoon popped his head into the bedroom, “We have to leave soon if you want to be on time for school.”

“I’m almost ready, relax. And don’t you have a class to teach and a non-ribbed dick to get sucked by that one bitch for an A?” (Y/N) scoffed from where she was printing an essay that Namjoon had written the night before.

Namjoon started counting down from five, “Five- You better fucking get your ass in gear or you’re gonna be late. Four- Seriously (Y/N). Three- Professor Howard can’t give you another pass just because he likes you. Two-” Namjoon got cut off by (Y/N).

“I’m ready, asshole.” (Y/N) looked at him, “You better not let that bitch Brianna suck your dick.”

“I won’t let her suck my dick!” Namjoon raised his hands in defense, “What about my toes though?” (Y/N) looked at the demon with a face of disgust and looked at him from head to toe.

“Are you Namjoon or Taehyung?” She squinted, looking at his face.

“It was a joke!” Namjoon smirked, “But I'm sure she’ll do it for an A anyway.”

“I’m done with this conversation Casper.” With that (Y/N) slung her bag over her shoulder and left.

“Hey wait!” Namjoon grabbed his own bag before speed walking after (Y/N).

[:] Professor Casper or Daddy Casper? [:]

“SO.” (Y/N) sat down across from Namjoon in his office, “Rumour has it that you’re dating a cute english-lit major and are up for evaluation. What say you in your defense?”

“I mean I am dating a cute english-lit major. But I’m not up for evaluation, I used my demon charms to get out the punishment.”

Namjoon looked at (Y/N) seriously.

“Did you actually?” (Y/N) gaped at Namjoon.

“No. I explained that dating you is punishment enough.” Namjoon smiled, his dimples popping.

“Bastard.” (Y/N)looked at Namjoon.

“Bitch.” Namjoon smirked at (Y/N) before leaning over the desk and kissing her on the forehead, “I love you.”

“Good.” (Y/N) blushed.

There, through the window of the office, there were 6 peeping toms watching the couple.

“Adadada-uda,” Taehyung stuttered, “THEY’RE SO CUTE!”

“This looks like it’d turn out like a straight porn video on the hub,” Yoongi says bluntly.

Jungkook looked at Yoongi, “Ew straight.”

“Moving on,” Seokjin cleared his throat, “Does anyone remember when (Y/N) said I love you back?”

A series of “No’s” could be heard.

“Maybe we weren’t watching!” Jimin raised his hands, “But when were we not watching?”

“Oh I know!” Hoseok interrupted, “When they split up because of classes earlier. We left Yoongi hyung in charge just in case something happened.”

“I took a nap and must've missed it.” The guilty demon shrugged.

“No, (Y/N) definitely isn’t someone who confesses straight up.” Seokjin said, stroking his chin. The rest nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, that's why she didn’t have a man when we were still there.” Jungkook snorted.

“No JK, we all know the reason why (Y/N) was always single. Was because she was pining after Namjoon.” Jimin stated the obvious.

[:] Damn. Imagine having someone to kiss in public. Or at all. [:]

“So how do you reckon the staff caught onto us… I mean PDA really isn’t our thing.” Namjoon looked at (Y/N), “Who have you told?”

“I haven’t told anyone!” (Y/N) frowned, “Maybe someone saw us go home together? I bet it was that bitch Brianna. She gives off the stalker vibes.”

“I’m not gonna let her suck my dick.” Namjoon looked at (Y/N), “And she’s already failing my class so even if I did let her suck my non-ribbed punisher, she still would probably only have a D-.”

“Hey- I thought we stopped referring to your dick as non-ribbed.” Namjoon raised a brow, making a face that said ‘you’re-the-one-who-started-it.’

Reading his expression (Y/N) glared at the demon, “Technically you’re the one who started it because you freely admitted it freely.”

“What makes you find out the hard way that my dick isn’t ribbed?” Namjoon looked at (Y/N) suggestively before flopping namtiddie first into the couch.

“I think I would've preferred finding out the hard way.” (Y/N) flopping onto Namjoon’s hard back.

“So I can’t even have the couch to myself?” Namjoon groaned before realizing what (Y/N) meant by ‘finding out the hard way,’ “Are you saying you rather had found out in the heat of the moment after having prepared yourself for a ribbed demon dick?” Namjoon leaned his head up to bump (Y/N) who still had her fat ass on his back, “I can’t breathe, get off.”

(Y/N) rolled off of Namjoon before plopping herself down in front of Namjoon, “That’s exactly what I am saying.”

[:] Smh stalkers at every moment [:]

“And I got a big fat ass!” (Y/N) shook her ass while singing off-key.

“Your ass is everything but big, baby.” Namjoon passed (Y/N) to reach for the garlic from the spice cabinet.

The girl turned and looked at Namjoon with an offended look, “You know. As my rental boyfriend, you’re supposed to be nice.”

Garlic forgot, Namjoon turned to (Y/n) and grabbed her waist, “I’m not your rental boyfriend and you know that.”

(Y/N) laughed, “Okay go off I guess, not my rental boyfriend.” (Y/N) rolled her eyes before pushing Namjoon away.

“Woman,” Namjoon placed a hand over his heart, “You wound me.”

(Y/N) turned around and smiled at her demon, “I could argue that you’re the one that wounds me.”

“I do not wound you.” Namjoon scoffs, “But I could very well wound you if you keep saying i’m a rental boyfriend, love.”

“Well we wouldn’t want you to wound me now would we,” (Y/N) smiled up at Namjoon before leaning in and placing a quick peck to his lips, “I love you.”

Namjoon smiled before returning (Y/N)’s peck with a chaste kiss, “I love you too, baby.”

*Meanwhile from the dining room 6 men were watching from not so afar*

“Hyung! Hyung! Did you see that!” Jungkook excitedly pointed towards the couple in the kitchen.

Yoongi groaned, “See what?”

“Le gasp! How could you have missed that!” Taehyung held a hand over his heart, “(Y/N) initiated affection for once!”

Jin smiled, “It really was adorable.”

[:] Oh look, you're at the end. [:]

“Every kiss begins with consent.” Namjoon wiggled his shoulders while grading papers at the table.

(Y/N) smirked before leaning over the table and planting a large whet kiss on Namjoon’s cheek.

“Rude.” Namjoon scoffed before pulling (Y/N) in for a proper kiss.

“You know that kiss didn’t have much of my consent in it.” (Y/N) smiled before leaning in for another kiss.

“I don’t think I consented to that either though.” Namjoon smiled.

“Get back to work baby.” (Y/N) nudged Namjoon towards his pile of papers.

“Yeah yeah.” Namjoon smiled before looking down and putting a big red ‘F’ on a paper clearly marked Brianna Simms.

“When will she just drop the class?” (Y/N) chuckled, “Dumbass.”

all rights reserved © misfit-fics

do not repost, translate, or claim as your own. :]

#bts #bts fanfic #bts x reader #kim namjoon x reader #rm x reader #knj #demon bts x reader #namjoon fluff #namjoon crack #every kiss begins with consent #x reader #reader insert #demon namjoon #demon namjoon x reader #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook #bts fluff #bts crack

[kintatsujo]

LoZ AU- The Courage of Running Away Part THIRTY

Previous Post Is HERE

This is the last outline post!  But like I said before I’m probably gonna take a run at NaNo with this story this year because of how thoroughly it got out of hand lmao and probably will keep doing smaller art posts and shit at this point.

And again there’s already ideas for a sequel in the works, although that’ll probably trickle in MUCH more slowly for the time being.

Next week I’m probably going to take a break from Tumblr altogether bc of Real Life Stuff and the fact that this project turned So Big.  Maybe.  Possibly.  Don’t take me at my word lmao

This is a text heavy post and I apologize but there was a lot to cover; each section is separated by headers.

Content warning for mention of hanging used as a metaphor.  

#AU August

#LoZ AU: The Courage of Running Away

Astramorus’s Sentencing 

Astramorus is stripped of his rank within Hylia's Church, although he's allowed to keep his home at the sky commune since he and Catena had shared it since before her death and Zelda isn't cruel. She assigns him a Shiekah escort-and-therapist on Impa's recommendation, someone he's not allowed to leave the Sky Temple Commune without until further notice, and Astramorus tells her it's generally much more generous than he expected even considering the help he'd offered.

Link doesn’t go home with him, at Astramorus's insistence.

"Listen to me, Link," he says, touching Link's face gently. "For all that I'd LIKE to undo the last twelve years of our lives, do it better, you're still healing from everything I did wrong."

"Uncle Seren was-" Link starts.

"Giving me the rope with which to hang myself," Astramorus finishes. "I still took it in hand, son. We both need a little distance to start, you to heal and me to sort my own head."

Link frowns at him. "You need to heal too," he says. "You wouldn't have taken that rope if Mama had been here to stop you."

"Probably not," Astramorus agrees. "But that's why her Majesty is assigning someone to follow me around, isn't it?"

[Image Description: Link throws his arms around Astramorus, to his father’s surprise.  When Astramorus hugs him back, looking like he’s ready to collapse into the hug, Link opens one eye and tells him sternly, “Take CARE of yourself, Father, or we’re gonna have WORDS.”  “Mhm,” Astramorus mumbles. End ID.]

(Hilda, it should be noted, tells Astramorus and Link that they’re both welcome to visit Lorule Castle at any time, trying to hide her eagerness until finally admitting; “You both know what having Serenumbra in your head is like.”  And Astramorus and Link agree with that and promise to meet there in a few months, once they’ve had that time to sort themselves out.)

As for Serenumbra, for now Eltani decides to let him “enjoy” some solitude in the Gerudo City prison while she deliberates more thoroughly on what to do with him.  He did quite a lot, after all.

What to do About Ghirahim

Eltani and Zelda Sr discuss what to do about Ghirahim more privately, with Aldway, Impa, and Vaba (Eltani's oldest advisor) there to offer input.

"You say he froze upon being presented with the mere image of his old master," Aldway says. "I'm not sure I trust that."

"It wasn't like-" Zelda starts, then starts over. "He was like a frightened child, darling." She pauses, reevaluates. "Or like a dog expecting to be beaten."

"Like Link?" Aldway asks mildly.

She shakes her head. "Much worse than even that, my dear."

"Even knowing he's half mortal he has trouble stilling his tongue towards me," Eltani notes. "Faced with his former master, he was struck silent."

Vaba speaks up. "You say that Serenumbra called the thing he summoned a god's nightmare, correct?"

"The boy Link saw a figure he couldn't hope to live up to. Your Majesty saw a figure from history you've tried to avoid being since you were her age. Whose nightmare was Demise? Dinravi didn't know his face, and you tell us Ghirahim stepped in the way. Dinravi only faced a copy of Ghirahim's master because he was reflected from Ghirahim's half human heart."

They decide to let him stay.

What Dinravi Would Like to do About Ghirahim

And in the meantime Dinravi and Ghirahim are having their own discussion somewhere else in the castle, partly because Eltani asked Dinravi to keep Ghirahim away from where they're discussing and partly because of course they are, it's been a lot, the last day and a half or so, between Ghirahim saving Dinravi from assassination and Dinravi punching Nightmare Demise in the face. And finding out that Ghirahim is definitely around half human now, there's also that.

There's a bit of an awkward silence, at first. It's so, so much. Ghirahim is stealing a lot of glances and Dinravi seems to be collecting himself.

And then Dinravi asks: "Can I kiss you?"

Ghirahim stares at him for a moment, eyes wide, mouth small in surprise, bright red, and then he smiles a little and looks away and says "You still don't... my prince, you don't need to ask PERMISSION to do whatever you PLEASE with me."

Dinravi goes quiet. "... Is that how it was with him? Demise?" he asks. His face is gentle and open, nonjudgmental, but Ghirahim sputters.

"Of course it was," he says, "is there a problem with that?"

Dinravi studies him. "Apparently there is," he says. "Because you're shaking."

Ghirahim jolts in horror and stares at his hands, which are indeed trembling, almost as badly as at the sight of Nightmare Demise, and he screams: "DAMN this frail useless human body!!"

Dinravi takes a step backwards, watching him, and says, "Ghirahim." And at getting his attention, he asks, "Does this mean that you came to me, tried to seduce me into conquest... Knowing that might mean you, too?"

Ghirahim stares at him for a breath, vulnerable, then looks away, frowning. "Of course I did," he says.

Dinravi sighs. "Of course you did," he echoes.

"I was FORGED for this," Ghirahim says helplessly. "To serve Master Demise, or the one who inherits from Him. Whatever that might mean."

"Ghirahim," Dinravi says gently. "You're almost half human now. I believed in your choice before, when we were thinking you entirely demon, but... Being human means getting to choose."

Ghirahim is adrift and he looks at the floor, the ceiling, out the window, and finally back at Dinravi, trying to find solid ground.

His voice is small. "Please kiss me?" he asks. Dinravi smiles and steps forward, leaning into him, brushing his lips tenderly with his own. Ghirahim whimpers and surges forward, and Dinravi puts his arms around him and steadies his stance, chuckling, soothing him, kisses him again. Ghirahim gasps as his knees buckle and he slides downward, almost ragdoll as Dinravi catches him again.

"Are you okay?!" Dinravi asks, holding him against his chest.

"I'm fine," Ghirahim whispers, hanging on for dear life. "C-can- Can we take this somewhere your MOM won't stumble on us, or worse one of the BRATS running around the castle? I'm about to become very embarrassing if we keep this up." He gives Dinravi a significant stare, face crimson. "Maybe with a bed?"

Dinravi's eyebrows shoot up. ".... Would you like me to carry you?" he finally asks.

"I think you're going to have to," Ghirahim admits.

We're going to give them some privacy. XD

[Image Description: Dinravi is tilting Ghirahim into a kiss, the sun setting through the window behind them.  Ghirahim’s eyes are open but he’s pliant in Dinravi’s arms, one hand curled against his chest.  Dinravi is smiling, eyes closed and his grip gentle but rather thoroughly in control of the situation.  End ID.]

Back At the Sky Commune

Maurice and the other priests/monks at the Sky Temple Commune had some word of what was going on by the time Astramorus returns, and Maurice has more or less been put in charge now, in recognition of his years of service and care of the commune’s day to day.

He’s a bit annoyed at Astramorus about the whole thing, if he’s honest, which he is, but he also does care about his former superior, and once Astramorus has settled back in and the Sheikah escort is being shown around he approaches him in his quarters, finding him by the window thrown open, chin resting in his hand, looking out of place in the kind of civilian clothing Astramorus has barely worn his entire life.

“So what are you going to do with yourself, Astramorus, once the Queen’s man has decided you’ve moped around here enough?” he asks.  Maurice is kind but he’s also gruff.  Birds don’t tend to care about your word choices, and Maurice spends much more time with pigeons and cuccos and loftwings than with people.

Astramorus shrugs, not turning from the view of the blue sky.  “Honestly Maurice, I was raised by Hylia’s Church.  Mayhap I’ll find something else, but.  Well, it was kind of the Queen to let me keep these quarters for more reasons than memory of my wife.”

Maurice bristles his mustache, and then he says, “You know... she stripped your rank.  There’s nothing about your sentence as I read it that says you can’t start over from the beginning.”

Astramorus finally turns to him, and Maurice is struck by how... well, how much happier the other man looks.  He’s lost nearly everything, and yet it’s like a great millstone’s off his neck.  And Astramorus smiles:

[Image Description: “Maybe,” Astramorus says, smiling against his hand.  He looks relaxed and happy, and maybe like he’s considering it seriously.  The sun shines on him gently.  End ID.]

What Now, Link?

And perhaps at the same time, now that he’s said his goodbyes and everything’s settled down, Marla finds Link sitting on a balcony rail of Hyrule Castle, looking out at Castle Town and looking pretty peaceful himself.

She comes up behind him and folds her arms against the rail, smiling up at him.

“So, Link, we finally got your father to listen to you,” she says, and she’s thinking of that conversation at the Shrine of the Furious God when she says it.  “What now?”

Link shrugs.  “I suppose I’ll stay here for a little while,” he says.  He wants to see Gray recovered, and to spend more time with the Royal Family, and it’d be nice, if he’s honest, to rest a while himself.  “The Queen says my mother’s family are probably still running around the continent somewhere, so I might look for them after that.”  Adventuring runs in the family, apparently, because Zelda Sr. only has some idea of where his grandparents have gotten off to, only some idea of where to find his mother’s younger siblings.

“Sounds like a plan,” Marla says.  She looks out at Hyrule Castle Town for a quiet moment, enjoying the sound of Link breathing.

“Do you think,” she says, “That we could take a few weeks to check back at Windfish Isle?  I have this horrible suspicion that the Mayor has filled Tonbo and my house with fishing nets and I’d like to let him know to find someone else to live there before the walls take on a permanent stink.”

We’re staying with you so we should let them know goes unspoken, but Marla has known for a while she’s tying herself to Link for the rest of his life the same way she’s tied herself to Tonbo for the rest of his life, and the world’s a bit wider than it was when she and Tonbo left with Link, and if Link’s going to be in the wide world, Marla and Tonbo should be too.

And Link knows what she means.  Because family means the people you don’t need so much courage around.

He smiles.  “Yeah,” he says.  “We can do that.”

[Image Description: Link and Marla.  Link is sitting on the balcony rail while Marla is leaning on it.  They’re giving one another fond smiles.  The sun shines on them gently, giving the image a slightly faded look.  End ID.]

#my art #loz au #loz #loz au: the courage of running away #au august #at last!!

[fascination-street-writing]

Somewhere to Begin | Pannacotta Fugo x Ghirga!Reader

He has always adored you, like the sun and the moon and more - but he had a brilliant way of convincing you otherwise.

- 200 Follower Giveaway Piece iii for @idontlikerisottounlessitsnero​ -

Content Warnings: Not SFW Content, Post Break-Up, Emotional Hurt & Comfort, Regret, & Explicit Sexual Content (Aged-Up Characters)

You had promised your brother Narancia to never involve yourself directly with Passione; even the occasional stay for a meal at Il Libeccio made him antsy, yet you failed to see the harm in sharing a plate of bruschetta with Fugo, or a pot of hot tea with Abbacchio – two of his closest companions. It was only fair that you ought to spend time with the men who gave you unbridled protection at the behest of nothing more than goodwill and magnanimity. Not that you needed such security, but it kept street thieves from picking your pockets, at least.

You had promised him indeed, and now that he lies in the casket before you – clad in the suit from your mother’s funeral that you never thought to see him wear again – you intend to keep it. Giorno had offered to have an outfit tailored for your brother, but you refused him with consternation that your he would not be buried in something from the boy responsible for his death.

“No,” you had told him, cold as the wall of ice that has crept around your heart, while clutching the woolly material to your chest. “This one will do nicely.”

And so, the mortician severed the seam along the back of the jacket and draped a silk sheet over Narancia’s legs so that no one would be wiser to fact that his ankles stick out past the bottom hem of his trousers. It was bad enough that you could not afford the casket on your own. You knew better than to believe it when Mista told you that it and the headstone were paid for with the money yielded from the liquidation of Bucciarati’s assets. If that were true, then why not pay for a new suit, too?

Trish snatches a single white lily from the memorial wreath and tucks it between your brother’s still, clasped fingers. She hides her grief behind a pair of sunglasses that do not match the overcast weather that looms above your heads. You had not wanted to wait so long for the funeral – for two months, Narancia’s body had been left in the morgue to chill on ice, par Giorno’s insistence that the service must wait until his transfer of power over Passione has finished.

Thus, for two months, you had lain awake at night, shuddering at the melancholy and its melody that reminds you how you your brother died without saying farewell – his platonic little soulmate. Giorno may have his victories and suffer for them, but you would not let him entomb Narancia in the mausoleum with Bucciarati and Abbacchio.

“He’ll be buried next to our mother,” you said to the new Don with indignancy. “After everything you’ve taken from me, let me have this. Lascia che mio fratello torni a casa – let my brother come home.”

Your wish was granted, though you suspect it only so because he was growing tired of fighting with you over burial rights and passages. The congregation is kept small, consisting only of yourself, Mista, Trish, a tortoise named Jean-Pierre Polnareff, regrettably Giorno, and a handful of bodyguards, though the latter kept their distance from the immediate service; it would not come as a surprise to you, should you learn that the men in black suits were employed to protect their Don from the mournful sister of the deceased.

The handkerchief clutched in your grasp is damp with past tears. Not even your father had come, despite your pleading that he ought to pay his respects to his only son. Too preoccupied with his floozy of a new wife and her children from two previous marriages than to love his own – you never needed him in your life anyways, because you had Bucciarati. Now, you suppose that you must be a proper orphan.

You do not weep when the casket seals and cleaves the line of sight betwixt you and your brother forever. You do not weep when the mechanical apparatus lowers the coffer made of Osage orange wood into the steel vault that already holds your mother in oak. You do not weep when the gravediggers shovel the dirt mound back over the crest of opened earth.

You do not weep until Mista clasps your trembling hand, pulls you to his chest, and embraces you amidst the anguish that burns you alive. His is the consolation that you needed, but never thought to ask for, though it is not his touch that you long for. One by one, the attendees disperse for the train of luxury cars and you remain alone with the gunslinger who had been courteous enough to come without his oddly patterned beanie hat.

“Why don’t we get going?” Mista urges to coax you away from the gravesite – away from yourself and the suffocating agony. “Giorno’s having dinner for us all, back at the estate.”

You pull away. Rivets of mascara stain his white dress-shirt. “You can go on ahead,” you tell him, not quite liking the way your voice strains in your throat. “I’m not hungry.”

“Then, let’s go grab some coffee or something –”

“I’m fine, Mista.” He frowns and averts his gaze. “I have some things I need to take care of.”

“Oh?”

You tug your cardigan closer to your chest. “I’m going to collect Narancia’s belongings from our dad’s house. Not sure what I’ll do with it all, but I know it can’t stay there.”

Mementos of life, from when things were far simpler and your brother far more alive. Family photographs with tattered edges and holes of where your father should have been, wedged between unread and abused schoolbooks. Worn out blue jeans with patches of fabric scraps from your mother’s old dresses that you had sewn on for him. A collection of empty glass soda bottles. CDs and cassette tapes of Snoop Dog, Tupac, and whatever other American rappers had appealed to his tastes.

“Alright, I guess. Promise me you’ll call when you get there.”

Soon to be packed away in cardboard boxes and to be stacked precariously in the living room of your studio apartment – another gift from Bucciarati – with nowhere else to go. You simply cannot afford to rent a storage unit downtown.

“I will.”

Mista does not offer to help, because he knows you will refuse it. With that, he takes his leave of you in the cemetery. Left to your solitary devices, you clench your fists and stew on hatred and loathing for none other than Giorno Giovanna. You do not blame Narancia for his eagerness to trust the boy so quickly; his charisma, as appealing as it entreats to the willing, is an infectious disease.

If not for Giorno, your brother would have been buried two months ago. If not for Giorno, your brother might still be alive. And perhaps you must resent Fugo too, for what he has done – or rather, the lack thereof of doing; yet for everything, you are incapable of such feelings, as you have always been fond of each other. The optimistic heart within you stands that he has saved you from suffering more – that in his choice to stay behind in Venezia, it only meant you would not have to bury him, too.

Because surely, his unrestrained anger would have gotten him killed – if not before, then certainly after Narancia’s death.

With a quivering sigh, you turn from this dreary place and meet his illegible violet stare. A row of crackling headstones separates you from the boy whom you love more than life itself. Fugo clutches a pretty bouquet of daffodils wrapped with parchment paper and a white-string bow – your favorite flowers, though you wonder whether they are meant for you or your brother’s fresh grave.

You do not know, nor will you ever, as he sets the flowers atop the nearest monument and makes off, as if on sabbatical to you.

And it fills you with nothing more than bitterness.

“Everyone misses you,” Mista confesses between a sip of tea and a bite of strawberry cake. “You should come around sometime soon.”

Nearly a year has passed since the funeral, and you have yet grace anyone from Passione with your presence, with the exception of Mista for weekly sojourns to Il Libeccio to catch up on life – because, as you have learned, much can happen in seven days’ time. With each occasion of crossing the archway’s threshold into the private dining room at the back of the restaurant, you find yourself preening for two heads of black hair – one neatly combed and clipped, the other a sprawl held in place with an orange headband –, taut lips painted in black, and Fugo. And every time, you are left with the kind of disappointment that curdles your soul like sour milk.

“Who misses me, Mista?” you reprimand, pointing your icing-lacquered fork in his direction. “I barely even know Trish, and I have no interest in ever speaking with Don Giovanna again.”

You wish Giorno would call off the bodyguard who trails you every waking hour of the day; it makes you feel like a child who has proven herself untrustworthy to her parent. But you have done nothing deserving of such punishment. You suspect that his intent is an extension of the olive branch treaty that does not exist between you two – a reiteration of Bucciarati’s protection that should not have to be reiterated, because he should not be dead, either.

Or, alternatively, he wants to irk you so far that you might barge into his office one day – fuming with unspent determination to admonish him regarding his dominion over your life – just to trap you in a conversation wherein he might attempt to suspend your animosity towards him. Alas, you are simply not interested; you will scorn him, because it is all you can do.

“Forget I asked . . .” Mista trails off, swirling a dollop of whipped cream with his knife. “So uh, by the way, have you seen Fugo lately?”

Just the utterance of his name has you perking in your seat.

“No.”

“Hm, well, rumor has it, he’s working at the public library. Shaking people down for late fees or something like that.” It is not implausible to imagine Fugo in the position of extorting old ladies and young children for overdue fines – but, you know that it is only a jest. Regardless, he has always been the type of boy to surround himself with books instead of people. “Why not visit him sometime? He’s not affiliated with Passione anymore. Or, not now, at least.”

You stab at a strawberry. It bleeds beneath the weight of your fork.

“I mean, what’s the worst that can happen?”

Mista’s question is one that you ought to be asking yourself, as you sit here at the scratched pine desk of the library – pretending to study for an upcoming exam on the history of art in Pompeii – though you look up from your scrawl of notes every few minutes to see if Fugo should pass you by; perhaps pushing a cart of books to be put away, or branding return cards with a plush red stamp to mark the date in two weeks’ time.

You have seen him only once more since his implied attempt of reconciliation at your brother’s funeral. It was by chance that you should wander into the same café as him that day; and by extended odds that – while you stood over his table with a sad smile and a cup of coffee – he stood abruptly and left without finishing his own drink. He had not even bothered to wish you well.

Today, you catch him on your way to the reference section. The look of hurt in his eyes – like salt instead of sugar on the tongue – brings a scowl to your face. “Please, Panni,” you plead, and though your fingers ache to catch his hand with your own, you refrain for you know the gesture is a crossing of the line between you two. “Can’t we just talk?”

“No,” he says, so dry and unrecognizable. “I’m not getting paid to do that. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Panni, I – Please, don’t do this. I already lost my brother: don’t make me lose you, too.”

A fuse switches in his head, and you have been the one to flip it. He clutches the encyclopedia in his hands with such fervor that his knuckles pale, and for a moment, you wonder if he means to hit you with it. And maybe he thinks it too, but he drops it atop the ground as soon as the thought crosses his mind. He takes a step back, as if you have scorned him – maybe, after all, you have.

The cover spills open, and the pages bend against the hardwood floor. You wish he would do the same to you – to disclose his grievances and let you in. Instead, it is the toxicity of acrimony “Don’t ever come near me again,” Fugo warns. “Haven’t you realized by now that I never want to see you again? Get out of my life – get out of my dreams – and leave me alone.”

You will save the tears for when you stand in front of the bathroom mirror tonight before bed to wash away your makeup from the day, amongst other regrets. But you will never understand the guilt that suffocates him – a noose that is just taut enough to keep him breathing – each time he looks at you, and even when he does not. You are everything he has ever wanted and more.

And you are the emblem of everything he has ever done wrong.

“I still care about you,” you tell him with an affirmation that will not fix the desolation. “Doesn’t that mean anything?”

He bites his lip and looks away.

“I know you’re hurting. I am too. So, can’t we heal together?”

“Are you stupid?” You grimace at his words. “I told you to go.”

There is no chance to dispute it, nor to bid him an aggrieved adieu, because he is gone again. Burying him might have been easier, after all; a corpse cannot remind you of what a fool you have become.

And so it seems to you that dying dreams are the best ones.

Adulthood is – as you have found in your years of treading its waters – a dreadful inevitability. You and your brother’s boxes have outgrown that compact studio apartment, though for years, you had made it work perfectly fine. When Giorno pulled the strings to terminate your lease and forcefully relocate you into a sizeable townhouse in the Chiaia district, you wanted to hate him for it – for his reminder that you cannot sever your connection to Passione. Yet, boggled down with university loans, you were in no position to turn down his assistance.

And he knew it, well.

A pretty townhouse located in one of the nicest regions of Napoli cannot bring Narancia back, nor can it attune for every bit of suffering incurred since his death; but if it is a strain upon the aging Don’s wallet, then it is all the better.

On the day of your fourth birthday spent in solitude, you treat yourself to a tub of gelato and a dress from the costly boutique across the street that you will never wear because you have no need to. It will hang in your closest amongst other unworn gowns, still pinched with price tags, that you have impulsively accumulated over the years – a hereditary habit of your mother’s that had caused more than a few spats between she and your father. You know your vice, but there is something so gratifying about it.

You sink into the tweed couch that does not quite match the architect’s vision for the living room – with its crown-mould white walls and hardwood floors the color of wenge; too clean and proper for what furniture you have kept from your former residence. Silver spoon clenched between your teeth as you page through television channel after channel, you balance that melting gelato on your lap. Perhaps you should have grabbed a straw from the kitchen as well.

The evening passes by, uneventfully so. You have spent it spoiling yourself and replying with fabricated enthusiasm to incoming text messages from study mates, who wish you well on this happy day – as if you have a reason to remember your twenty-first beyond the accomplishment of finishing the entire tub of would-be-frozen lemon curd without incurring a single regret or twinge a of brain-freeze. You have gotten rather good at knocking back shots without needing to stop for breaths, too.

At the ringing of the doorbell, you are torn from the real estate program that you have invested so much time these past few hours. Mista, no doubt – come to deliver a gift and takeout because he knows you have not eaten properly tonight. You have no room left in your belly, but whatever he brings will make for a decent meal tomorrow.

You do not bother to tidy up, and when you open the door, you wish you had. Illuminated only by the balcony light stands Fugo with a bouquet of daffodils, a bottle of sauvignon blanc, and a remorseful, sheepish smile upon his handsome face.

Get out of my life – get out of my dreams – and leave me alone.

“Uh . . . “ He trails off before he has even begun, perhaps taken aback by the widening of your eyes and the disheveled appearance that, despite your own judgement, he thinks to be the most beautiful vulnerability in life. He speaks your name with the kind of tenderness that you have not felt since you were teenagers. “Buon compleanno.”

You need not ask how he found you, because you know without question that either Mista or Giorno had told him. “Why are you here?” you ask.

He clutches the flowers a bit tighter. You do not move to take them; however, you have already decided on which vase you will place them in. “I wanted to wish you a happy birthday. And give you these.”

The bottle of wine feels far too heavy in your arms – and the daffodils, as if they might float off in an unforeseen gust of wind. “And, to apologize. For too many things that I can’t ever make right; although, if you’ll let me, I’d like to try.”

“Fugo, I . . . I don’t know.”

“Please, [Y/N]. That day in the library, all those years ago . . . I never stop thinking about the horrible things I said to you. It killed me – it ate me alive; I thought for all this time and before that you hated me, because of what happened to Narancia. Because I wasn’t there to save him.”

“It hurt when you told me to get out of your life, but I listened, and I did it.”

He brings the heel of his hand to swipe at the tears in his eyes. The curling of his other fist is a gesture that terrifies you – although, not for your own sake. “I couldn’t face you. I was scared to look you in the eye, because I thought you hated me,” he mutters like a broken record as his voice cracks with agony. “I thought you hated me, because of him.”

He stops, throwing his head back with a groan. The apple of his throat bobs up and down as he chokes down a sob. He refuses to look at you when he speaks again – too afraid to come undone before he has made his peace with you, his greatest loss. “We were young. Probably too young to even understand what love really meant. But, dio dannazione, you were the most important thing to me, and I understood that more than love.”

His words have always held the capacity for swaying you, as if they replenish the empty spaces within. It is why, as you open the door wider, you let him fill you once again. Fugo contemplates the crannies of your living room, hovering above the couch that you insisted he take a seat upon – he remembers when you bought it, because you had dragged him to the furniture outlet that day. He pretended to be annoyed, though in truth, he was beyond elated that you had chosen him over Mista, or even your brother.

“I guess I should put these in a vase,” you say about the bouquet of flowers. “They’re beautiful, Fugo. Thank you.”

He nods, suddenly entranced by a photograph of Narancia that sits atop the fireplace mantel. You do not notice his unease.

“I’ll grab us some glasses, too.”

You find your vase in the kitchen cabinet niched into the alcove above the refrigerator. Its emerald swirls glisten under the twine of the recessed lights that add no character to the room. So much for a birthday spent in reclusion, you chide alone. Deep within you sits a fire that longs to ignite – to send Fugo away in some thwarted act of retribution for the very loneliness he inflicted upon you years ago; as if to say that the rejection suits you well.

Of course, you cannot deny that your heart leapt into your throat when you saw him standing before the front door, a vision of a man who still held those inklings of boyish charm that you fell for in your adolescence. They say you should not dote over the first person beyond your mother and father to call you pretty; it is weakness to complacency. Your life has never been one of convention – and so by that right, who there is to insist that you must abide?

Bearing a content grin, you trim the stems one-by-one to better fit the vase. In synchronous rhythm to the next, the green stalks bounce from the cluttered countertop to the floor. You have only just stuffed the flowers back into the vase when the shattering of glass resonates its way into the kitchen.

The photograph of Narancia lies amongst bits of broken frame and wreckage. Face buried in his palms, Fugo crumples until his knees meet the ground; he shakes, as if smothered by a chill. When his hands fall to smack the coffee table – baring his grief, in all its pandemonium – you catch them and force his arms around your waist instead; his fingers lock together, holding you in place. He whimpers against your stomach. Already, you can feel the wetness of tears through the fabric of your overstretched shirt.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “I’m sorry, [Y/N]. I’m sorry.”

Your own fingers curl through his strawberry blonde hair – a means of stability as you too have begun to cry. “It’s just a picture frame,” you promise, and it is the grandest thing he has ever heard. But it is more than a box made of wood and glass – it is an impossible longing. “I’m not upset at you.”

“I . . . Okay.”

Mindful of the mess, you rock him backwards until he is lying down. You join at his side, take his hand into your own, and wait in silence for the moment when his misery will dissipate for clarity. Regardless of the circumstances that have brought him here tonight, you are grateful for it – even if your birthday is spent wallowing in irrevocable regret.

Above all else, you know that he has always adored you, like the sun and moon and more – but he had a brilliant way of convincing you otherwise.

Your thumb coaxes over the back of his knuckles. “There’s a crack in your ceiling,” Fugo announces, nonchalant and monotone.

“Where? I don’t see one.”

He raises an unoccupied finger, and you follow its gesture to the corner of the ceiling, just above where the moulding meets. It is no longer than the length of hair from his head, and quite honestly, not an underlying issue of foundational complications. Still, you indulge him. “Oh, wow. I never noticed.”

In this hasty repertoire of patterns, you fall into stillness again. “Panni,” you whisper with the utterance of his endearing name. “I’m glad you’re here.”

He squeezes your hand.

“But it’s getting late. Why don’t you stay the night?”

Truthfully so, you cannot send him on his way in such a state of disarray.

“I can make up the couch for you, if you’d like.”

“Yes, please,” he murmurs.

However, you do not make it far because he has – inspired by a need to express his devotion and apologia – pulled you atop himself, hands braced on your hips as you balance on bent knees and grasp his shoulders. Tenderness is becoming of the boy – no, the man – who looks up at you as if you are the embodiment of everything good that exists in one life to the next. It is a side that he has never shown to anyone other than you.

You covet it like a piece of cherry-flavored candy, even when you lean down to capture his lips and nip at his tongue that likewise explores the long-forgotten caverns of your mouth. It is a distraction of meaning and not; from the broken frame, loss, and perhaps everything in between. Every attempt to catch a breath of air is met with resilient protests of needier touches and not before long, you lie on the couch – shedding your clothing like the skin of the woman you no longer wish to be – and let him in.

Bare chest to bare chest, you cup his hardness as he places his fingers to your untouched folds. You mean to tell him that you love him, but the penetration of unpracticed digits to your core stifles the very thought from your scattering mind. In dark closets and empty rooms, you two have had your share of imprudent experimentation with one another’s bodies in the past – and nothing more than warm, tentative touches that lead to girlish giggles and boyish huffs.

Fugo pinches your nipple, drawing a plush gasp from you; it urges him to do it again until at last you are throbbing with need from your lower half, your pelvis jerking upwards to meet his for the stimulation of wanting. His breath ghosts your face, and you think you smell wine – a drink for good luck, you think, because despite the distress manifesting in his soul, his mannerisms are otherwise as habitual as you might recall from moments of normalcy.

It feels wrong – to be filled with such wanton, salacious desire within the very hour that you have both spent in mourning of your brother and everything else that has been discarded to the wind, to be picked up by someone else. Yet tonight, you will not sleep with Fugo to forget your blue heart, nor for celebration’s sake as you embark upon another year of being – you will sleep with him, because you have grown tired of learning how to end your days without him.

“I haven’t . . .” You trail off, mesmerized by the way his violet eyes look at you; though puffy and stained red from crying, you take them in as he cocks a brow, imploring you to finish your thought. “I haven’t been with anyone else since you.”

“Good,” he sighs, and you think he is trying to hide a smile. “Me neither.”

Braced by his arms, you are flipped onto your stomach. The tweed upholstery bites into the soft flesh of your breasts with each jostle elicited by the curling of a finger within you. You push backwards until you swear you can feel his fingers against your cervix.

“Oh my god,” he groans, flexing out as if to move deeper. “Ti senti così bene.”

“If it feels good, then do something,” you whine, hands dug between the cushions for support.

But, to your chagrin, he takes his time to admire the way your folds pulsate around just two fingers. You glisten like a gem – his gem. Indignant with petty annoyance, you pull away and straddle the lithe, albeit toned, legs that dangle off the edge of the couch. Arms thrown around his neck, you sink down until you have reached your fill of his manhood.

“I did tell you to do something,” you sigh at Fugo’s displeasure, biting your lip as you adjust to the size of his shaft. “Didn’t I?”

He kisses you once and moves grasp your backend. You savor the feeling of him ingulfing you. “I was distracted.”

You would laugh if not for the anticipated bulging inside you as Fugo buckles into your heat. The sight of your jostling breasts with each bounce of you on his cock is a page of some heavenly doctrine – one that he should study and commit to forever. He moves with strength that he reserves for moments of rage, and even his fingers dig into your skin hard enough to leave bruises for the days to come. You do not mind; they will help you to remember the best night you have had in years.

With a cry that blossoms into a moan that tells him that he has treated you well, you ride out your orgasm and slump against his chest in your own exhaustion. When he reaches his peak, he slides out; you reach for him – dampened with your slick – and finish him until white pearls bead at the tip and trickle over your working fingers.

Foreheads pressed together, you flash tired grins before settling against the cushions, your head pressed to his chest and his arm braced around the small of your back while his fingers trace shapes against your perspired skin.

Panting, his heart skips every few beats – like a song, sung only for you. Content with that which has returned itself to you, you fall asleep to the sound of this lovely little love affair.

| 4966 Words |

#pannacotta fugo x reader #fugo x reader #pannacotta fugo #jjba reader insert #jjba x reader

[scullydubois]

What about a time when mulder meets up with scully to go for a walk with queequeg?

i may have gone overboard here, but how could i not? this prompt is so precious, thank you.

----------------

Friday Night with Queequeg, 2.4k--set in season three

“I can’t, Mulder,” his partner insists, her voice dialed up a few intervals for dramatic effect. “I’ve got Queequeg to worry about.”

Mulder drops his Washington Nationals tickets on the desk in disappointment. How lame to be overshadowed by a dog. “That fluffy little guy?” he whines. “Or girl, I'm not sure.”

“He’s a boy.”

“Okay well, he reminds me of one of those Tamagotchi things, have you seen the commercial?” Mulder rambles while shuffling various stray papers from his desk into a single incoherent stack. He’s careful not to sweep the tickets into it. “It’s a pocket pet--”

“I know what it is, Mulder. I have a godson.”

“And is Queequeg not just a glorified version of one of those?”

“Yes, I suppose you could say that. He needs food and attention and care. But, in case you didn’t know, he is also real and capable of giving much of that back to you.”

“Eh, reciprocated affection is overrated,” Mulder jokes, though life would be a lot damn easier if he believed that. “And it’s one of the few Fridays where we’re not traveling or jet-lagged or wholly tired of each other.”

Scully purses her lips. “I see significantly less of Queequeg per week than I do you,” she mutters, and Mulder wonders whether some of her feigned contempt might be genuine. He’s used to being subtly disliked, but the thought sure makes him sad.

Seeing the passion in his face dissolve, Scully realizes that he’s backing down. It’s not like him to back down, no matter how frivolous the issue is. She knows this about him if she knows anything. It’s as if he’s giving up, and that strikes her more than anything.

“Haven’t you ever had a dog, Mulder?” she asks, ignoring the chair in front of her to perch on the edge of his desk.

“Once. After Samantha.” He laughs out of pure scorn. “I think it was my parents’ way of trying to replace her.”

Scully frowns. She should know by now that any journey into his past will turn into a probe of his eternal wound, and that’s no fault of his own.

“What was its name? And were you fond of it?” Scully feels like a therapist--hopefully a kind and supportive one.

“Sparky. I’ve got no clue where the name came from, or the dog for that matter. He was just kinda there one day when I got home from school. And then in a few months, he was gone in the same way. Taken to my uncle’s cause my parents couldn’t stand all the upkeep.”

A thought pops into Scully’s head that is evidently shared by her partner. “No, he didn’t “go live on a farm’ or whatever, I was old enough not to fall for that,” Mulder insists. “He really did go live with my uncle. Lived like seven more years.”

Scully raises an eyebrow. “But did you like him? Were you sad when he was gone?”

“I was sad about a lot of things at the time, Scully.” He opens his desk drawer and pops a piece of gum in his mouth. He’s out of sunflower seeds. “But about the dog? Eh, he was fine to have around but it wasn’t a quintessential boy and his dog moment. He was already a couple years old and well into his grumpy old man phase, if I remember correctly. And he was a mutt, so I think my parents hated him because he didn’t match the furniture.”

“Mmm.” Scully rolls her tongue over the roof of her mouth. It would be a shame to put Mulder through this whole conversation only to insist that she can’t attend the game. But she wasn’t just making excuses. Queeqeug has been home alone all day. and she always takes him for a walk when she gets home from work. He’s used to their routine now, sitting there at the door when she unlocks it like he’s got an alarm set. He gets his dinner when they get back home and falls soundly asleep. Scully’s convinced this is the only thing keeping him from rebelling for being on his own for ten hours a day, and she doesn’t want to test that theory.

Mulder glances at the office clock. 5:46. First pitch is at 7:05.

“How about this...” He props his feet up on the desk to give himself the air of confidence that he’s lacking. “I’ll run over to your place, walk him, make sure he does his business...the whole shebang. You can finish up here then take a taxi to the park, and I’ll meet you there. Sound good?”

The edges of Scully’s lips turn downward. Mulder notes that today, they are brushed over with a very nice coral. Must be a new shade.

“Do you really care that much about me attending this game?”

Mulder shrugs. Yes he does, but he’ll be nonchalant about it. “I bought the tickets cheap through a newspaper ad. I just thought it would be nice for the two of us to do something that’s not chasing phantoms.”

“Phantoms?” Scully’s left eyebrow arches. “Have I finally broken your spirit?”

Mulder smirks. “Sorry, I thought flattery might get me somewhere here.”

Scully taps a heel against the ugly linoleum floor. He’s so adamant about this...boyhood loves stick, she supposes.

“If it means that much to you, go ahead. But don’t come crying to me when you’re late for the start of the game. Queequeg takes his time.”

Mulder claps his hands together. “That’s fine, that’s fine!” Surely he can hurry the canine up. “You take one ticket and head to the seats, and I’ll find you.”

Scully pulls her lips into a thin line, a hint of humor gleaming in her eyes. “Okay, Mulder. Do you have your key?”

He nods, pulls on his jacket, and edges toward the door. “See you there, Scully!”

“Bye.” Scully smiles at the empty office. Her partner’s enthusiasm is endlessly endearing.

---------------------

Mulder has no time to register that he has no clue where Queequeg’s leash is, or if he’s supposed to bring some sort of bag to pick up any...ehm, droppings, or if there’s some special trick to walking a dog that makes it look easy when it’s secretly hard. In fact, he can’t recall ever walking Sparky. Thirty years old and never walked a dog before...surely that qualifies him for the Guinness World Record books.

Queequeg is alert at the door when Mulder opens it, and he’s glad the thing is more teddy bear than canine--he doesn’t have to deal with any barking or biting. He checks the coat rack for a leash, then begins rummaging around in the front table when he comes up short. It’s all old issues of girly magazines he never would have expected Scully to subscribe to.

Begrudgingly, he looks into Queequeg’s beady eyes. “Where’s your leash, boy? You wanna go for a walk? Show me where your leash is.” He uses a baby voice he didn’t even know he had.

Queequeg does nothing but paw the ground in annoyance.

“I know the feeling,” Mulder quips. He pulls out his phone and chooses Scully’s name from the speed dial list.

It rings and rings, then goes to voicemail. Mulder ends the call, grumbles, then tries the office number instead. She picks up after one ring.

“Hello?” her dainty voice projects through the line.

“Scully, you haven’t left yet?”

“I was just locking up the desk. Is there a problem?” she asks like she knew there would be.

“I can’t find Queequeg’s leash.”

“It’s by the pantry, next to his treats.”

Mulder sighs, heads into the kitchen. “And I suppose I have to take his treats too?”

“Uh-huh. And there’s plastic grocery bags in there that you can use to clean up after him.”

Mulder opens the pantry, sees the hoard. “I feared so.”

“We always go left down the block,” Scully tells her partner. “There’s a patch of grass that way he likes to chew on.”

“And how much does he pay you for such indelible service?” Scully doesn’t listen to a word he says, but she’s at the dog’s beck and call apparently.

There’s a bit of silence as Scully decides not to reply with a smartass remark. Then--”I’m leaving the office now,” she murmurs into the phone. “Better hurry up or I’ll beat you there.”

During this teasing, Mulder attached Queequeg’s leash to his collar. Now, as he tries to lead him into the living room, the dog refuses to move.

“Uh, Scully?”

“Yes?”

“I put his leash on, but Queequeg won’t budge.”

“Do you have the treats?”

Mulder shakes the treat bag and makes kissy noises to encourage the canine. (How humiliating.) Still, nothing.

“He doesn’t want to come with me,” Mulder says. “Even the treats won’t lure him over.”

“Are you sure it’s the right treats?” Scully asks.

“Since when are dogs picky about their treats? Treats are treats. And these are the only ones in the pantry.”

“Huh.”

“If you’re rolling your eyes, I can’t see it,” Mulder mutters.

“I’m not rolling my eyes, I just--we’ve never had this problem.”

“Has anyone else walked him?” Mulder wiggles the leash, which does nothing.

“My mom.”

“Well, maybe he doesn’t like men,” Mulder remarks.

“He lived with Clyde Bruckman…”

“Exactly.”

Scully takes a quick exhale. He has a point. “I’ll head over, okay? But I doubt we’ll make the game.”

“We’ll see.” Mulder sighs. He’s being...well, cockblocked isn’t the right word for it--but something like that--by a dog.

-----------------

Scully arrives half an hour later to find Mulder crouched on the kitchen floor rubbing Queequeg’s belly.

“Am I interrupting something?” she teases. The dog rolls over and leaps into excitement at the sound of her voice, abandoning Mulder altogether.

“Hi buddy.” She scratches his ears and dodges his attempts to lick her face. “You ready to go for a walk?”

Queequeg whimpers and sits as if she commanded him to.

Scully looks to Mulder with a brilliant, taunting smile. “I think he’s ready.”

Mulder stands up, every disk in his back rebelling against him. “That thing--” Mulder jabs a finger in Queequeg’s direction--”has a Jekyll and Hyde situation going on.”

“Really, cause you seemed to be having a great time until I came in.”

“No, no, no, don’t spin this. I had to get down on the kitchen floor because he wouldn’t move! What was I supposed to do while we were waiting for you, ignore him?”

Scully shrugs, tries to hide her smirk. “Well, if you were so bothered by him…”

“Whatever, whatever. Let’s just go for the walk, okay? I don’t want to miss this game, it’s against the Red Sox. It should be good.”

Scully takes Queequeg’s leash from her partner, gestures for him to go ahead. “After you.”

------------------

It’s a beautiful spring night--the perfect occasion for a baseball game, Scully will give Mulder that. The sun is drifting down the cloudless horizon, and the chill that has hung in the air for months is finally admitting defeat. The sidewalk is crowded with other dogs and their humans, eager to end the week on such a lovely note.

Queequeg trots blissfully in the usual direction. Scully lengthens her stride to keep up with him--for once she and Mulder are walking at the same pace.

“So this is DC on a Friday night, huh?” Mulder says, glancing around at their fellow pedestrians and bicyclists.

Scully nods. “If you got out of the office before seven, you’d know.”

“Doubtful. My usual impression of DC on a Friday night is the traffic on the 14th Street bridge, and I’m pretty sure I can witness that at all hours.”

Scully allows herself a sidelong glance at her partner. She had never realized someone could be too dedicated until she met Mulder.

“Have you ever considered getting a pet?” she asks tentatively.

His gaze snaps to her. He chuckles and sticks his hands in his pockets. “My complex has a hefty monthly pet fee. Rent is already bad enough.”

“Well it’s not like you go out often…” Scully starts, knowing this is short of a compliment. “You’re not a big spender, surely you have the extra cash on hand.”

“Ha, thanks,” Mulder responds. “Should I put that on my resume?”

“I just mean that…” Queequeg finds his beloved patch of grass, and they pause to let him chomp at it. “...you could use the companionship of a dog. Or cat, if that strikes your fancy.”

“I have enough companionship, Scully. More than I know what to do with. Have you heard my answering machine?”

“A woman from an 800 line is not companionship, Mulder. And you never actually answer any of your messages. Friends don’t count if you never see them.”

“Ouch.” Queequeg finishes up, and they resume the walk. “And what are your plans this weekend, Scully?” he asks, hoping to catch her in her own hypocrisy.

“As a matter of fact, I’m going to visit my mother tomorrow afternoon.”

Mulder busts out laughing. “You’re a real party girl!”

She ignores him, focusing on Queequeg. “But you get my point, don’t you? It’s not good to be alone all the time.”

“I seem to recall being told that we spend more time together than you and your dog,” Mulder wisecracks.

“That’s different,” Scully swears. “That’s work.”

“That’s the bulk of modern life, my dear.” He delivers this statement in an old-timey mid-Atlantic accent like some leading man of the 40s. It makes Scully smile.

“I have an idea,” she says, her eyes sparkling.

“Oh boy.” Mulder glances at his watch. 6:51. Damn it. “We’re gonna miss the game.”

Scully nods. “Let’s go to the animal shelter instead.”

Mulder stops. It makes Queequeg, and therefore Scully, stop too. “What?”

“You could make some dog very happy, you know. And Queequeg would have a playmate...I think it would be really good for you, Mulder.”

“Come on, I can’t just adopt a dog on a whim.”

“I did.”

“Shit.”

Scully laughs. “You’re realizing there’s no way out of this, aren’t you?”

Mulder grins. “Yeah, I--” He looks down and sees Queequeg taking a dump in the middle of the sidewalk. Scully readies the plastic bag she brought, then bends down and scoops the pile up like it’s nothing.

Mulder screws up his face. “On second thought…”

“Nuh-uh.” Scully ties the bag and taps it against Mulder’s arm. “You’re empty-handed, take this. It’ll be good practice.”

Mulder frowns but takes the bag. His partner’s huge smile is not lost on him, and it makes him smile despite himself. She knows how to get what she wants, and he has a feeling this one will benefit him too.

#txf fic #txf prompt #the x-files #txf #mine

[let-the-dream-begin]

A Family of Our Own: Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Read on AO3

May, 1754

Claire was in her garden with Maggie. Brianna and Kitty were supposed to be helping as well, but they were a bit preoccupied chasing chickens and making the dogs bark their heads off.

“I don’t want to hear it if either of you get bitten!” Claire called over her shoulder.

“We won’t, Mummy!” Brianna said, exasperated.

Claire turned back to face Maggie again, and the girl shook her head.

“Ye canna stop them,” she said. “No’ until it’s too late.”

“You’re too right.”

Claire was just about to demonstrate something for Maggie when the sound of a horse’s hooves caught her ear.

“Girls! Get the dogs inside!” They obeyed, turning it into another game of sorts to corral the beasts. She didn’t want the dogs spooking the horse and throwing whoever the rider was to the ground. It was midday, and they weren’t expecting any visitors. Claire squinted down the road, wiping her hands free of dirt on her apron, her throat clenching on instinct at the sight of a flash of red. Her nerves settled however, when she remembered.

Once a quarter.

Apparently it was time for Jamie’s first visit from Lord John Grey.

“Who is it, then?” Jenny appeared on the porch, flanked by the girls, including Janet this time, all having realized that getting the dogs inside could only mean a visitor on horseback.

“It’s Lord Grey,” Claire said, returning to Maggie’s side.

“Lord ha’ mercy,” Jenny breathed. “Inside, girls. Now.”

“He won’t hurt anybody,” Claire said, furrowing her brow. “There’s no need to worry. Jamie trusts him.”

“That makes one of us,” Jenny said, her jaw hard, and her eyes fierce. “Inside,” she said again, and Maggie trudged past Claire to obey her mother.

“Wait, Brianna,” Claire called, stopping her from joining the throng.

“Are ye mad, sister?”

“I want her to meet him,” Claire said lightly. “It’s about time she meets a respectable Englishman,” she reasoned, with no little disdain directed at the assortments of horrible Englishmen they’d been harassed by over the years. “Besides, he’s a friend of her father.”

“Respectable and English dinna belong in the same sentence,” Jenny grumbled, ushering the girls inside.

“Should I take offense to that?” Claire said testily, putting one hand on her hip and the other on Brianna’s shoulder.

“I’ll let ye know in a bit.” She gestured with her chin, and Claire turned around to see the horse crossing the threshold of the archway. She was surprised by his appearance; she didn’t know why. Perhaps it was because he bore little to no resemblance to the scrawny young lad from all those years ago. His face was kind and gentle; his eyes held both quiet mirth and an impenetrable sadness. He was slender but still finely muscled, the makings of a good soldier.

“Good day, Madame,” he said, slowing his horse to a stop. “Is this Broch Tuarach?”

“That it is,” Claire answered.

The man paused for a moment, blinking back something that was seemingly shock, his lips parting silently, then closing. “Well,” he said, awed. “I do believe I’m in the presence of the Englishwoman I’ve heard so very much about.”

He dismounted, keeping hold on the reins. He bowed lowly, bringing his tricorn hat to his chest, maintaining eye contact all the while. “Lord John Grey,” he said. “I am entirely at your service, Ma’am.”

“Claire Fraser,” she answered, curtsying, keeping one hand on Brianna’s shoulder. “And I do believe it is I who is at your service, my Lord. You’re the reason I’m no longer a widow, after all.”

He smiled, almost seeming uncomfortable as he put his hat back in place. “Yes, well, it was the least I could do,” he said. “And this is?”

“Brianna Fraser,” Claire said proudly, nudging the girl a bit so that she’d curtsy. “My daughter. Jamie’s daughter.”

“My God,” John breathed, his eyes wide with wonder. “No wonder she’s his spitting image. He never mentioned…”

“He never knew,” Claire said sadly. “I wasn’t showing until after Culloden. She was quite the surprise.” Claire gripped both of Brianna’s shoulders.

“Indeed,” John said. “Well, Mistress Fraser, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Brianna answered, her normally hybrid speech entirely posh, her nose stuck in the air. Claire briefly contemplated that perhaps her daughter was mocking John’s Englishness, but she quickly dismissed the thought.

“She doesn’t have the burr, then?” John said, amused.

“She has whatever she wants in the moment,” Claire said with a chuckle. “She’s quite the impressionist. Isn’t that right, darling?”

“Indeed, Mother,” she said in the same tone, staring John down, or up, rather.

Both of the adults chuckled, perhaps a bit uncomfortably.

“This is one of Da’s dearest friends, Brianna,” Claire said cheerily, squeezing her shoulders and looking down at her. “He’s the reason that he came home to us. I’d like it if we were all friends. Wouldn’t you?”

“I should indeed love to make the acquaintance of one of the King’s finest,” Brianna said rather obnoxiously, drawling the vowels like a veritable fop. “Even if he’s a bloody Redcoat,” she added, not skipping a beat, her accent remaining perfect.

“Brianna — !”

“John!”

Before Claire could scold her daughter’s behavior, Jamie came running from the side of the house, trailed closely by Rabbie, likely along to take care of John’s horse. John smiled uncomfortably at Claire before turning to greet Jamie as he quickly approached. Claire was rather shameless in how she admired her husband, glistening as he was with sweat from a long day in the fields, curls damp and wild, shirt slightly stained at the collar and clinging to him despite its loose fitting, exposing the overworked muscles beneath. She had to remind herself there was company, including that of their small daughter.

Dragging her eyes off of her husband’s beautifully made body, she immediately noticed she was not the only one aware of said beauty.

John immediately changed when Jamie came into view, in ways that Claire could not exactly put her finger on. He seemed lighter, as if being fed for the first time after months of starvation.

Christ...this isn’t attraction.

This man is in love with my husband.

“Christ, man, it’s good to see ye,” Jamie said enthusiastically, shaking John’s hand with fervor. “Ye’ve met her then? Ye met my wife? And my child?”

Any insecurity that had just seized Claire’s heart upon her realization melted away, and she strode contentedly to meet Jamie, pulling Brianna along by the hand. She smiled, standing at Jamie’s side and settling herself into him, warming to her core as Jamie draped an arm over her shoulder. She reveled in the smell of him; dirt, manure, sweat, and Jamie, his general masculinity.

“Yes, I’ve had the pleasure,” John said, smiling more genuinely at Claire. “Beautiful, both of them.”

“Thank ye, a charaid.” Jamie was warm against her, flushing with pride. “Can ye imagine? I had a bairn all those years and I hadnae a single clue.”

“I can’t imagine,” John said. “You must have been overjoyed.”

“Aye.” Jamie looked down at me, catching my eye sweetly, then winked down at Brianna. “She is...they both are my greatest joys.”

“It does my heart good to see you so happy, Jamie,” John’s voice became soft and light, his eyes glistening. “To have seen you through such pain, then to see you like this…” He stopped himself, seemingly overcome. Claire threaded her arm around Jamie, grasping at his side. “It’s overwhelming.”

“It is,” Jamie agreed. “There are still days I canna believe it’s true. I’m overwhelmed near every day at my luck. And it’s because of you, John. You are the reason I’ve got them back.”

He grasped John’s hand, tightly. Claire felt herself go flush, and she tightened her grip on Jamie’s side despite herself.

“I’d do it again and again, Jamie, no matter the risk.”

Their hands remained clasped together, and they maintained eye contact, and Claire suddenly felt like an unwelcome voyeur to something she did not fully understand.

He told me nothing happened. He told me nothing happened. He—

“Mummy,” Brianna piped, still not dropping her put-on airs. “I would quite enjoy something to eat.”

“Christ, a nighean, why’re ye speaking like yer mother?” Jamie wrinkled his nose down at Brianna, finally releasing John’s hand.

Brianna shot a look at John, her nostrils flared. “I’m hungry.”

“Alright, lovie. Go inside and ask Mary MacNab for something from the kitchen. We’ll be in.”

Claire briefly brushed a few curls away from Brianna’s face before the girl scampered inside, apparently all too eager to get away.

“I’m sorry…” Claire said once Brianna was inside. “She’s not normally so rude.”

“She was rude?” Jamie furrowed his brow.

“Before you got here, she called him a bloody Redcoat.”

Jamie snorted, then smiled crookedly at John. “Well, she isna wrong.”

Claire pinched Jamie’s side, causing him to jerk a bit.

“She also was most certainly mocking his speech,” Claire said. “She does that sometimes, impersonates the Redcoats that come by. To make her cousins laugh. I suppose she thought she’d try doing it to your face since she knows you’re a friend.”

“Yes, well,” John dipped his head a bit, clasping his hands behind his back. “I can’t say I blame her. I’ve heard brutal things.”

“Aye. My family suffered many an indignity in my absence at the hand of some Redcoat or another,” Jamie said, tightening his grip on Claire. “My brother-in-law told me Claire was beaten.”

“Oh, Jamie,” Claire said. “I wish he hadn’t…”

“No, I’m glad he did. Because if he ever returned — ”

“I know Lord John is a friend,” Claire interrupted quickly. “But perhaps it’s best either way to...refrain. From what you’re about to say. Or anything similar.”

Jamie nodded, tight-lipped. “Aye. Well, ye get the idea. The wean’s trust has been broken. Hers and the rest of my family, unfortunately. My sister is none too pleased ye’re here.”

“Brianna has had to lie to protect me, us, all her life,” Claire said softly. “She saw me bruised and bloodied after that beating. She’s...she’s only eight. Back then she was only six. It’s...difficult to conceptualize a ‘good Redcoat’. For everyone, not just her.”

“I understand,” John said. “Believe me, I do. The last thing I want is to make anybody uncomfortable. I’ll just fill out the report and be on my way.”

“Ye mean just leave?” Jamie said, incredulous. “I’ll no’ have that. Ye’ve been traveling fer days, no doubt, no’ a home-cooked meal in sight.”

“Well, yes — ”

“And beds at an inn arena so comfortable, I ken it well.”

“Stay the night?” Claire said, perhaps a little too abruptly. “Do you think that’s the best idea? You know...Jenny?” she added quickly.

Not because I’m threatened...because of Jenny.

“Jenny can hang,” Jamie said, genially. “This man sacrificed his own safety to see me home. Right this minute he’s putting himself in danger, knowing as he does I’m no Mister Malcolm. The least we can do fer him is give him some leisure, good food, and a warm bed. Fer one night.”

Claire sighed. “Alright. But you are talking to Jenny.”

John chuckled, oblivious as to just how much he should fear Janet Fraser Murray.

“Speaking of Mister Malcolm, should I mention a Mistress Malcolm in my report?” John asked.

“Well...the other officers who’ve come by know me as a Fraser cousin, and a Scot at that,” Claire said uneasily. “Elizabeth Fraser.”

“I suppose I could say Mister Malcolm was made a widower during his time in prison, and that he’s remarried to the previously unmarried Fraser cousin. Would that make it easier for you both to live your lives together?”

Jamie and Claire exchanged a look. “What d’ye think, mo ghraidh? Any interest in being Mrs. Malcolm?”

She hummed an amused laugh. “It would be an honor.”

He leaned in to kiss her sweetly, and Claire was so swept up in the moment, she nearly forgot John was standing right in front of them.

“I thank ye, John,” Jamie said warmly.

“We thank you,” Claire corrected, smiling at John while embracing Jamie, “my friend.”

“It is a privilege to be known as such by such a woman,” John said with a small bow of his head.

“Shall I show ye around the grounds, then?” Jamie said, excited. “The lads are in the fields waiting fer me to return, but they can surely wait. Fergus can lead.”

“Fergus. Your son?” John said, as if recalling.

“Aye,” Jamie said, swelling with pride. “Ye’ll meet him at supper.”

Claire nearly offered to show John around herself so that Jamie may get back to work, but she knew that he was proud of his ancestral home and that he would find great joy in showing his friend all there was to see.

But she was too curious to pass up the opportunity to be alone with John for a few minutes.

“Why don’t you tell the lads you won’t be back so they’re not waiting for you? The last thing we need is Jenny’s wrath that productivity was slowed for all this,” Claire said.

“Aye, ye’re right.”

“We’ll wait for you in the stables, I’ll show him the stock.”

Jamie made a Scottish noise of approval, squeezing Claire to him and kissing her temple before darting off to the fields.

“Shall we?”

Claire looked up to see that John was offering her his arm. She curtsied slightly before accepting, fitting her arm in the crook of his elbow before heading off around the house and toward the stables.

“You have no idea how often he spoke of you,” John said, seemingly out of nowhere. “He loves you dearly.”

“I know,” Claire said. “I can assure you it is equally returned. Believing him dead was...nothing short of horrific. For eight years.”

“I am sorry,” John said, sincerely. “If there were a way to get word to you safely…”

“Please, don’t. You’ve risked yourself enough as it is.” Claire gave his arm a squeeze, offering him a reassuring smile.

A small silence passed between them, nothing to be heard but the bleating of the goats, the clucking of the chickens, and the leaves rustling around them.

“You love him,” Claire said.

John stiffened against her, nearly stopping in his tracks. “No, I hardly know what — ”

“It wasn’t a question,” Claire said, strengthening her resolve a bit, hardening her jaw. “Jamie told me of your predilections.”

He made to pull away, panicked. “Madame, I — ”

“It’s alright, my Lord.” Claire tightened her grip, not letting him get away. “Where I come from...such things are not so taboo.”

He gawked at her. “I’d certainly like to know where that is.”

“It’s...hard to explain,” Claire said wistfully.

John cleared his throat. “How...how much did he tell you?”

“He told me of your friend that you lost. Which…I am sorry for that loss.”

“Thank you,” he said, his voice tight.

“And he told me how you...looked at him. And now that you’re here...I see it.” Claire looked away, staring ahead at the stables as they came into closer view. “You look at him the way he looks at me.”

“I…” John sighed. “I don’t know what to say.”

“I’m not sure either.” Claire kept her gaze ahead, uncomfortably aware of their closeness. “In a way, selfishly...I’m glad you love him so much. Because that’s what brought him back to me. But it’s...cruel, isn’t it?”

“How is that?”

“Because he...he’s not…” Claire almost stopped, as John nearly had before. “He isn’t. Is he?”

John chuckled softly, smiling sadly. “There were a few times where I thought perhaps he might be. But his heart belongs to only one.”

Claire could feel his eyes on her, so she turned her head, making uncomfortable eye contact. “So you really never…”

“No, Madame, I did not. We did not.” He did stop then, looking at her seriously. “I’d never met you, of course, but I’d not be able to live with myself if I was part of betraying you.” He started walking again, his more serious point made. “I confess I hardly even had the desire, knowing as I did how madly he loves you.”

“Hardly?” Claire’s brow furrowed.

“Well…” She could feel the heat from his blush radiating off of him. “I couldn’t say never. That would be a lie. And I do pride myself on my honesty.” His words were clipped and terse; Claire almost regretted bringing it up. “You could say the mind was willing, but the flesh was weak. In a way.”

Claire nodded slowly, staring ahead again. “If it...weren’t for me. Would you have?”

She felt him stiffen again. “No. It would be an abuse of my power over him. Such a thing would be despicable.”

Despite his discomfort, Claire could hear the genuineness in his voice. It was a comfort to know, but that still wasn’t what she meant.

“What if...that wasn’t an issue?” she pressed further. “Would you have?”

She heard him swallow. “Well...yes. I’d have tried.”

Claire nodded. “Would he…?”

“You know him better than I do,” John said, not a hint of malice. He meant it.

“I’m...I’m not so sure about that,” Claire said, sounding more sad than she’d meant to. “I just mean it’s...it’s been eight years. A lot of things can change in that time. People change.”

“While that may be true, Madame Fraser, one thing has not changed,” he stopped again, turning to face her, taking both of her hands in his, “and that is the love he bears you. That I can assure you.”

Claire forced a smile, gratefully squeezing his hand.

“God, you are a dreadfully forward woman,” he said, chuckling.

“I’ve always been terribly honest,” she said sheepishly.

“While frightening, I don’t find that necessarily a detriment,” he said lightly. He offered his arm again, and she took it much less hesitantly, leading the rest of the way to the stables.

“Do you know that I bear you no ill will?” John said rather suddenly. “I realize how shallow of a promise that may seem, given that you have everything I’ve ever wanted and could never have. But it’s true.” Claire felt shame burning in her core to think of her initial reaction to the depth of John’s feelings. “Do you know what I said to Jamie after he was freed?”

“Cherish that wife of yours, Fraser,” Claire quoted fondly. “He told me.”

“Did he tell you why I said it?”

“No?”

“He asked me what he could do to repay me,” John said.

Claire felt an unexpected rush of tears, suddenly overcome with something resembling pity, mixed with immense gratitude. She squeezed his arm and looked at him.

“Thank you, my Lord.”

“John,” he corrected lightly. “Please.”

“Then I’m Claire,” she echoed, “John.”

“Alright, Claire.”

They finally reached the stables, and Claire took the initiative to introduce him to all of the horses. Rabbie was in a stall with John’s horse, still brushing the beast down as he gnawed on his hay. John was absolutely tickled when Claire introduced Alastair as Brianna’s horse.

“Takes after her father, then?”

“Quite. She’d been begging me to ride since she could talk. I delayed it for years because of her condition.”

“Condition?” John’s brow furrowed, concerned.

“Oh, she’s perfectly healthy. Just...leftover complications from a difficult birth. If she fell it could kill her. I’m just...paranoid.”

“I see,” John said, though he still seemed concerned. “Does Jamie know?”

“Do I know what?” Jamie appeared in the doorway of the stables.

“Brianna’s condition,” Claire said, welcoming Jamie back into her arms.

“Oh, aye, I ken all about that,” Jamie said. “She’s a fighter, my daughter. Braw wee thing.”

“I can tell,” John said, smiling knowingly.

“Alright,” Jamie said, taking the place that John had just had, settling Claire’s arm in the crook of his elbow. “Ye’re acquainted wi’ the beasts, aye? Shall we move on to the rest of the land?”

Claire and John exchanged a fond look before both looking up at Jamie.

“We shall,” John said.